Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 26

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Powering up C-drive propulsion seemed to allow the Digger shuttle to maneuver more effectively in the worsening storm conditions, despite its handicapped state. But as the small transport lunged forward with renewed vitality, it overshot Lake Erie completely. The skipping-stone effect they had hoped for was sidelined, completely. With a hard landing somewhere in Torontara awaiting their uncontrolled descent. And the original orientation they had desired being reversed by chance.

 

Baines was flustered at the helm controls.

 

“I still can’t get this creaky crate to respond as it should! Damn those Seagull bots! We’re about to come down like a sack of stones!”

 

Serge Tarka had been trained for emergency situations, as commander of the Mare Frigoris mission. Moreover, he had been observing intently, as the university professor wrestled with the dashboard systems used for navigation. He guessed that a pivot while they still had enough altitude to spare would place them in a better position for survival, and reaching their intended destination at Grafton Depot.

 

“I’ve been studying your procedures, Judson. May I give it a try?”

 

The professional scholar knew that their chaotic jaunt was about to terminate abruptly. He strained to move backward in his web chair, and gestured over the console.

 

“Do what you think will work. I don’t have a better idea. We’re about to crash on the shoreline!”

 

The Calimex engineer switched off their autopilot assistance, and sensor array. Now, they were completely under analog control, and in motion only with a human in charge. Then, he grabbed the manual joystick, and peered through their forward viewport.

 

“Hang on friends. This is likely to make you feel disoriented for a moment...”

 

The Digger craft accelerated rapidly, while spinning in a clockwise rotation. Loose implements were thrown around in the cabin. All three of them teetered on the brink of vertigo, and unconsciousness. But the shuttle righted itself quickly, went back toward the large body of water, and took a steep dive into its wealth of blue.

 

The gravity arc sent their vessel upward again, with reflected energy. This time, in a southern direction, with enough distance between themselves and the landscape below that a more hospitable spot could be found to perch.

 

Kelly Strafe was nauseous, but impressed.

 

“Shit, that was insane! I never even pulled off a trick like that in pilot school!”

 

Tarka narrowed his eyes while monitoring their elevation and velocity with digital gauges on the dash. He crouched forward in the safety harness, until his muscles ached from the added restriction. He wanted to be certain that nothing escaped his attention, while bringing their short trek to an end.

 

“There’s a clearing of some sort around a mile from the town center. I figure that will keep us distant enough not to arouse undue suspicion from the local populace. They appear to be rural Appalachians, with a revived sense of individuality, and the old arts used for enduring hardships, while living in the wilderness. But they’ve got some sense of the outside world, at least...”

 

Baines laughed while marveling at their good fortune. He felt confident that a safe landing was about to transpire.

 

“And they’ve got a hillbilly flavor to their radio broadcasts! I heard the Foxfire books mentioned as being on their library shelves. My great-grandfather mentioned those in some of the notes he left behind. They’re like a user’s manual for surviving in a subsistence environment!”

 

The wounded transport sputtered a bit as its Cloitanium crystals were no longer synced-up properly. But had built up enough inertia from skipping off the lake surface, that it made the overland leap without risking a crash. The squarish ship came in at an angle that was steep enough to avoid clipping treetops, but conducive to sliding through the woodland loam, comfortably.

 

Strafe held her stomach and groaned as they reached ground level. The impact shook every girder and stress point in their Digger conveyance.

 

“Man, what a ride that was, Juddy! But I’d be glad not to do it again!”

 

Having come to a full stop, they could more directly observe signs of a civilized area, close at hand. The inhabited region around Grafton followed a hillside slope by the river, and also, the remnants of a railroad line that had once operated nearby. The abandoned B&O station still stood proudly, as a marker that indicated how busy the community had been in days of yore.

 

Tarka unhooked his safety straps, and sat back for a moment of relaxation, and introspective thinking.

 

“We were luckier than my men in the Farragut. I had no control over our drop from the sky. But this time things were different. You might say it is something of a miracle, if you believe in such things...”

 

The university steward shook his head in disagreement.

 

“I believe in technical skills. And the ability of a smart innovator when things get rough!”

 

The former Space Force lieutenant was more spiritual in her assessment. A din of dizziness still buzzed inside her skull.

 

“I won’t reject a miracle if it was sent my way. Right now we could use some divine help, to avoid seeing more of the surveyors from your coastal republic! If it takes a prayer for that, I’ll join in, willingly!”

 

The trio wanted to disembark after a few minutes, to catch a welcome breath of fresh air outside of their sealed bubble. But the atmosphere remained too unruly for being exposed to natural unrest, in a storm environment. Rain and hailstones pelted the ship’s hull, with a noisy downfall of violent precipitation. Eventually, this howling of wild weather began to rock the shuttle on its undercarriage. Stray branches and decaying matter blew up from the forest floor. The gray glow of a day ruled by meteorological mayhem took hold. They had nowhere to escape while watching this show of force by Mother Nature.

 

Feeling impatient with the period of rest, Baines activated a receiver on the dashboard panel. He scanned regular frequencies, until a local signal locked the automatic tuner. Then, the piercing pluck of a vintage banjo filled his ears.

 

“There’s a well-beaten path in the old mountainside

Where I wandered when I was a lad

And I wandered alone to the place I call home

In those Blueridge hills, far away

Oh, I love those hills of old Virginia

From those Blueridge hills I did roam

When I die won’t you bury me on the mountain

Far away, near my Blueridge mountain home...”

Writer's Forum: "The Nova Girl"

 

 

Editor's Note: The talented author featured here is someone I have known for at least 25 years. A native of the United Kingdom. We met on MySpace originally, where she shared music compositions that I thought were authentic and compelling. I became a long-term fan and have followed her career ever since. Recently, she spoke about writing short stories as a new project, and that news immediately made me want to become involved. I remember well as a young wordsmith, how a basic gesture of encouragement could mean so much. With that in mind, here is the first installment in her series...

 

by Sarah Burton

c. 2026

All rights reserved

 

Sonya was perturbed, she looked out at the new Nova Lady who was popping the latest brochure through her letter box, I liked Suzanna so much better. She suited the class of the suburban area she thought. Why did she have to retire ha, she slightly grunted, that's a laugh I thought most Ladies or Gentlemen usually do this as a retirement hobby. But since one team leaders' decision to go to the job centre to scout for new representatives then a whole new flock of them started going around the town.

 

Suzanna didn't have to do Nova as a job like these others, her husband was a big thing at the bank or something but she liked the way she dressed and was well spoken and her makeup was perfection, As a Nova Lady Should.

 

The ‘new woman’ all sports gear, trainers, pierced nose, tramped back down Sonya's path and started her attack on the neighbours. Geoffrey was cleaning his car out side, nice chap, married to a nurse. He works at the port one town over. Sonya approved of this 30 something couple, reminded her of Trevor and herself at that age doing well and moved to a nice area. Blour Lane, such a quiet and refined place. Little train station, a micro pub, hair salon and post office. Even the charity shop is more like a vintage boutique and certainly not ‘everything for a pound’ type shop like in the City. Sonya did not approve of those.

 

Sonya opened the front window and was intently trying to hear what Geoffrey was saying to the Nova woman. She heard ‘Suzanna’ mentioned and the girls answer was a shake of her head. Then gave Geoffrey a brochure and said she will speak to her….not exactly understanding, Sonya grabbed a watering can and headed for the front garden. ‘Got a brochure?’ Sonya called to Geoffrey in a sing song voice, ‘er yes, Geoffrey replied, Jess will be wanting to get a few things’ Sonya looked pitiful shame about Suzanna isn't it?. 'Well' Geoffrey shrugged, 'she made her money didn't she?!'  he sighed  and   almost giggled. Sonya looked at him with her eyes raised.  'I think it would have been her husband that did that. Anyway why on earth she had to retire is beyond me'. Sonya thought she would push it a little further,  'does the new Nova girl know Suzanna?' Geoffrey itched his head with one finger whilst the rest of his hand clasped the sponge, he answered a little defensive ‘Well she saw an opportunity to take her place after Suzanna…..then he trailed off. Anyway I better get back to cleaning he smiled without it reaching his eyes.

 

That evening Sonya heard a car, she had just finished dinner and Trevor was washing up. She tweaked the curtains to see who it might be….it was parked outside Geoffrey and Jessica's. She saw a well dressed woman in the porch light speaking rather irritatedly  to Geoffrey, Sonya gently opened the top window. She couldn't catch the words apart from ‘stop asking her OK?’ She yelled that bit, Sonya was disgusted at such behaviour.

 

Then the Well dressed woman stormed back to her white Lexus and as she got into the car under the roof light Sonya gasped, It was Suzanna!

 

Trevor came into the room with a couple of glasses and said ‘let's have a drinky’, he looked at his wife who was stood with her mouth open and a look of bemusement on her face. ‘What's up lovey?’ ‘I have just seen Suzanna have an heated argument with Geoffrey’ she exclaimed. ‘Ah had he not paid for the Nova? Was Trevor's response. ‘Don't be daft Trevor she doesn't do it anymore’ Sonya spat.

 

A couple of days passed, it was Sunday morning and Trevor was on his tablet reading the morning news. Sonya hated this, she liked it in the old days when Trevor would go and get the papers and a bunch of flowers for her..…civilised she thought.

 

Trevor out of no where suddenly loudly exclaimed, Sonya almost dropped her cup of tea. ‘Listen to this’ he said ‘There is a police investigation going on after Intel had been passed through from the Blour Lane police station to County lines that drugs have been delivered all around Blour in broad daylight through, wait for it, an Nova representative.’ Sonya shook her head in disgust. I knew that women was no good. Only been doing it for the past month too, she really worked the streets rather quickly didn't she? Sonya grimaced and was still grimacing when the door bell rang later that day.

 

‘Good afternoon madam said the young detective smiling. Could I please come in?’….Sonya moved aside of-of course she flustered. ‘We are just making inquiries about certain activities that have been brought to light over the last couple of days Concerning a drugs matter.’ ‘Oh yes’ said Sonya, ‘My husband Trevor has just been reading about it haven't you dear?’ Trevor nodded. ‘Its such a dreadful thing’ carried on Sonya, ‘to be honest I knew that new Nova girl was no good’ she sniffed in a dismissive way. ‘Only been doing Nova for a month’ The policemen shook his head ‘oh no Mrs..? ‘Redbridge’ Sonya obliged

 

‘Yes Mrs Redbridge, you see the Nova Lady had been doing this for years, her name is Suzanna West, she made thousands, was one of the top dealers in the whole area’. ‘This has only come to light because of the new, as you put it, Nova girl, reported it’. ‘Your neighbour over there’ he pointed to Geoffrey's House ‘was asking the poor girl if he could get a delivery and I do not mean bubble bath’. ‘Suzanna was trying to get her to do “extra rounds” but she wouldn't have it. So I am hoping you can answer some of my questions as you have been a regular customer of Ms West's haven't you?’ Sonya's jaw dropped …. 

 

 

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 25

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Once the Digger shuttle had been loaded with necessities, its three-person crew was ready to embark upon a mission to find some better, safer venue where they could live anonymously. The lure of Grafton Depot, and folksy inhabitants that were likely to be present, was strong. Because it seemed to be an environment in which they could hide from the Seagull bots, while learning more about how separate societies on Planet Earth had evolved, in postmodern times. And indeed, when the underpowered impeller drive engaged, their rise from ground level brought a sense of comfort, and relief. The transport managed to soar over evergreen treetops, and turned south, toward what had once been called West Virginia. But as Judson Baines wrestled with the helm controls, it quickly became apparent that their craft had suffered more damage from the mass explosion of surveyors, than they first believed.

 

Engineers at Calimex had lost their battle to steal the tiny ship for themselves. But won out in the end, by impeding the operation of its navigational systems with an unexplained lagging in directional stability.

 

Kelly Strafe was still woozy from her own injury. So, despite having the benefit of military training, her own internal gyroscope had been compromised. She held on tightly, as the vessel rocked from side to side, with nauseating variations in altitude.

 

“Juddy, what the hell? I thought this bucket of bolts was in good shape! You said it yourself!”

 

Serge Tarka strained against the harness of his web chair, for a better angle at the forward viewport. He watched attentively as the university professor fiddled with tiles and gauges on the dashboard panel, while groaning under his breath.

 

“What’s the matter with this shuttle, is it something I might be able to diagnose? Your technology is beyond anything we have in my home republic, but I’m good at innovating in tough situations. Trust me, that’s how I survived my fall from orbit, and crash landing on the Sidley’s hilltop!”

 

Baines was concentrating too intensely to answer in a polite manner. But a grunt of anxiety signified his frustration, and willingness to hear any ideas for a solution.

 

“The Digger is unbalanced now, its hull buckled from the blast forces. I can’t seem to keep us on an even keel, this is like trying to steer a go-kart on a muddy race course. Every time I get us on track, the center of gravity shifts. There are strong winds blowing in from across this continent, I can see the movement of more cyclical storms toward the lake region...”

 

Strafe sputtered and swung her long ponytail with befuddlement.

 

“Toward the lake? Aren’t we headed in the opposite direction, Juddy? That would mean we’re going north, not south!”

 

The wounded transport kept bobbing with the wild swings of a swivel lure. It could not maintain a disciplined heading, despite thrusters acting to correct its wobble.

 

Tarka unstrapped the safety restraints on his passenger seat. He peered deeply into a dark fog of meteorological mayhem that was gathering, on the horizon.

 

“We’ll never make it flying like this, your Digger is out-of-sync. See how it responds when you work the impeller jets? There’s a long delay in the command sequence. Whatever happened with the Seagull devices has put the helm programming into a drunken stupor. I would suggest going to fully manual operation, and saying a prayer while we spin and shake!”

 

The classroom scholar was offended by this reference to making a petition for spiritual guidance. He was a man of science, not superstation.

 

“Look Serge, what we need right now is a hard, technical solution, not mumbo-jumbo and theological platitudes! The Digger is balky and uncooperative. But it’s all we’ve got to get away from our ground zero. Your friends on the Pacific coast are sure to send more of their mechanized birds to hunt us down. We’ve got to go somewhere, anywhere, even if it is in the wrong direction!”

 

Kelly Strafe was swooning from the bumpy ride. But clear-headed enough to think her way through the perilous situation, logically.

 

“Juddy, the Gibidan Impeller is too weak for travel under storm conditions. Whatever happened to our controls only makes that worse, but it isn’t the main factor. If you want to survive, that’ll mean putting more thrust behind our tailfins. It means cranking up the Cloitanium cells! Quit arguing, and do it!”

 

The third member of their trio was gloomy about this risky maneuver. He cautioned against willingly surrendering their cloak of invisibility.

 

“You’ll be condemning us to die out here in the wilderness. The C-drive whistle is easy to detect, even from such a great distance. They’ll be onto us immediately, and salivating about the prospect of capturing this vehicle, at last!”

 

Baines slouched over the dashboard panel. He had run out of options, and also, time to debate about strategy.

 

“Does it matter at this point? If the Digger suffers more damage, it will be scrap metal, anyway. I can’t keep us on course, the ship won’t maintain its geographical orientation. If we skip off of the lake surface, and bounce forward, that might give us a reasonable chance to make landfall in one piece. Otherwise, it’s a goodbye kiss that’ll last forever!”

 

Tarka grimaced over the fate that awaited. He had no appetite for a second brush with death.

 

“Do what you must then, I don’t have a better plan in mind. But all the same, I will say a prayer, on my own!”

 

A gale of atmospheric unrest howled around their shuttle, as it spun freely. The shoreline of Lake Erie was still visible, despite being partially obscured by the murky melee. If they had any chance of jumping across that body of water, to the enclave that lay beyond, it would be a product of intensified velocity.

 

The Cloitanium crystals heated up in short order, as onboard wave generators were activated. A corresponding lunge forward and upward resulted. Then, the hapless craft became more responsive to virtual commands from the helm.

 

Strafe bounced in her seat harness, and cheered. She had the ebullient glee of a visitor to an amusement park, tempting her brain to rebel. Her mood became rowdy and defiant.

 

“THAT’S IT, JUDDY! WE’RE GONNA MAKE IT AFTER ALL! LET THOSE BASTARDS OUT WEST SEND MORE OF THEIR SURVEYORS! I DON’T CARE, WE’LL SHOOT THEM ALL DOWN, ONE BY ONE! TRUST ME, I’LL DO IT MYSELF!”

 

 

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 24

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Serge Tarka’s plan to eliminate the threat posed by invading, Seagull bots seemed simple enough as a concept. And the implementation would be easy to accomplish. Yet when he started the repurposed transmitter from his downed craft, they were presented with an unexpected reaction from the airborne surveyors. The semi-autonomous devices began to swarm around their prey, once again taking flight. In an aerial ballet of chaotic interdependence, the units soared upward, dived precipitously, and rolled as if gravity and gyroscopic orientation had no bearing on their work. Then, there was a glimmering glow of energy pulses, between the mechanized birds.

 

Kelly Strafe had to shield her eyes from the white-hot glare.

 

“What are those blasted things doing? It looks like they are about to explode!”

 

Her partner from the university reacted with a defensive twist of his upper body, and a sideways jerk that took both of them to the ground. There was no time to explain this impulsive maneuver. But a moment of finality appeared to be at hand.

 

“Brace yourself, that’s exactly what they are about to do! Get down and stay down!”

 

A ring of electric fire sparked around the shuttle, leaving its hull scarred and buckled. The resonant boom that resulted echoed all across Evergreen Estates, and off the hillside slope above their position. Some unexplained variance in the Seagull design had added a terminal feature, in the event of an assault. Perhaps a measure taken by engineers from Toqua Platte, as a safety feature while operating so far from home. Or, a byproduct of the virtual learning curve employed by the surveyors themselves, as a feature of artificial intelligence.

 

All of the wandering devices had committed suicide, in unison. Tarka was stunned.

 

“Believe me, I beg of you... this defies any sense of logic. Someone must have altered their onboard programming. These machines were never intended to kill!”

 

Strafe and her companion had both been scalded in the blast. They were closer to the shuttle transport, while the Frigoris-Farragut commander stood with his radio controller, atop a set of fiberglass steps outside one of the singlewide trailers.

 

Ashes had scattered around the street and nearby yards, after this explosive conclusion to their experiment. But the Digger appeared to have remained intact.

 

Baines struggled to stand, while scratching residue out of his red beard.

 

“That was really dramatic! It’s hard to think that your team in Calimex would do such a thing, because it puts them at a great disadvantage, now. But we’ll never be sure, I suppose. Whatever the case, our shuttle is free once again. The next question is more of a quandary though, what should we do now?”

 

His female cohort had skinned her knees in taking a tumble. She spat out bits of gravel and weeds.

 

“That’s a damn good question, Juddy! Will they give up on hunting down our little ship, or keep searching for a way to steal it for good?”

 

Tarka put aside his remote device, and sat on the steps, while thinking.

 

“They’ve got our location, that can be assured. I would guess that they think the lander-capsule crew are all dead, including myself. So, the only remaining goal would be to commandeer your vessel, and study its propulsion system. But the problem of traveling so far over land still remains. My coastal republic doesn’t have a sophisticated network for moving people and cargo by air. Our lift capabilities are inhibited by fuel shortages, and a manufacturing deficiency. We’ve basically been piecing together old hardware from a century ago. Lotharian Gardino can’t be underestimated, however, he’s an innovator by nature. And he has the thought patterns of a gambler. Taking risks is never a challenge for him, never an obstacle. I can’t be certain of how honest he has been with engineers at my facility, or with the other members of his ruling council...”

 

Strafe pondered their plight for a moment, before offering strategic direction.

 

“Okay boys, here’s what we know. They have this abandoned village pinned on their map boards. That’s already been confirmed by the Seagull bots, right? It gives them a starting point to keep hunting. So, our best plan of action is pretty obvious, we’ve got to bug out! Change the parameters, and it’ll upend their little game of hide-and-seek. Confuse them and watch it mess with their heads!”

 

The professional scholar winced a bit while listening. His friend from the Space Force was still slightly off-balance after her cranial injury. She had a bold edge to her personality that was exaggerated from its original character. But what she said was undeniably correct.

 

“Kells, our only way out of here is in the Digger. But we won’t know if it has suffered any serious damage without a test run of the drive unit. That could be tricky if something fails with us in the sky and moving at speed!”

 

Serge Tarka offered a wise note of dissent. He remembered that the signature whistle of Cloitanium cells in operation had first given them a clue that the technology existed in their region of the solar system.

 

“If you want to fly that thing, it has to be done judiciously. Your drive tubes will call out to the people on duty at my western, technical center. It will indicate what we are doing, in real time. There has to be another way, we can’t just hand them an advantage by acting too hastily...”

 

The former lieutenant stomped her feet and swore, in defiance.

 

“Okay, if that’s a damn problem, then keep the shuttle in first gear! Use the Gibidan Impeller, it’ll conserve energy as a bonus. If we travel like a snail, it won’t matter too much. Any amount of distance will throw them off track. Once we’ve found a new spot to land, the craft can be camouflaged so it won’t be seen by aerial surveillance. That’s all we need to worry about. I’m tired of this old dump, anyway!”

 

Professor Baines stroked his temples while considering this shift in tactics. He remembered listening to the primitive broadcasts from Grafton Depot, a reference point not far away, if traveling in the shuttle. Some sort of communal structure must exist there, to produce the radio outreach he had heard. It was reasonable to assume they might be welcomed, if entering the tiny enclave on foot, after hiding the Digger.

 

“Okay, I guess we’ve got no other choice. You can bet that more of those Seagull bots will be on the horizon, very soon. Let’s load up the transport, and get moving!”

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 23

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Kelly Strafe seethed with irritation, when beholding the Seagull bots that surrounded their Digger shuttle. She hissed and stammered, and stomped her feet. But for Judson Baines, this unexpected sight evoked more curiosity than alarm. He wondered openly how the surveyor machines were designed and controlled from so great a distance.

 

“Serge, you can tell us a lot about how these things operate, I would guess. They seem to be acting independently, but at the same time, show evidence of remote guidance. It is almost as if they have default settings, some kind of standard algorithm maybe, which operates in relation to local conditions. But then they receive updates from a central controller...”

 

Tarka nodded in response, and paused to think for a moment.

 

“You are perceptive, which must be a prerequisite for teaching at a respected university. The Seagull program was originally developed as a way to explore uninhabited regions outside of our own republic. We didn’t have the communications technology to build a fly-by-wire system, at least in the beginning. So, they were literally searching on their own, before reporting back to us with a delay in effect. Each unit can interact with the others, while on a mission, which enhances their operation. Data is then shared with the facility at Toqua Platte, on our Pacific coast. It takes time to cross the continent, and process all that information. Eventually, we incorporated a variable element in the programming, for redirection as needed. It’s a slow link-up, but works well enough to make the devices useful.”

 

Strafe flipped her long ponytail from side to side, and spat on the ground.

 

“If we had any weapons, I’d blow those mechanized birds to bits!”

 

The Calimex engineer was slightly amused by her oath, but also concerned.

 

“You don’t have any offensive capabilities? That has to be a handicap when roaming around in an alien territory!”

 

Baines shrugged off this worrisome comment. Then, he offered an explanation of their core philosophy on Mars.

 

“See, it’s a matter of evolutionary thinking. Our progenitors knew that war and conflict had ruined the old world. It made Planet Earth a desolate and unfriendly piece of rock, which they had to escape. In addition, to survive in the colonies, we had to breed out those qualities that made it all happen. Humanity had to better itself, in order to endure. Therefore, none of the Morningstar vessels carry lethal implements. It would be against our creed as a civilization to fight with other races, on neighboring bodies in the solar system. We are seekers of knowledge, and traders in goods and services. It is how we have lived for so long in sealed environments on the red soil of our homeworld...”

 

Tarka was somewhat embarrassed to be puzzled by this resistance to do battle. But inspired by the nobility of it, in principle, as a method of living in harmony and peace.

 

“Those are brave words, indeed. Our governors speak with such goals in mind, when debating over the rule of law in our coastal republic. But I suspect it never quite works so easily, when dealing with outsiders and foreign agents. We haven’t fought a war in generations, basically because the independent enclaves are so distant from each other. Though I am certain our Prime Keeper would be willing to use force to impose his desire to unite the districts, if necessary. He has a heavy hand with our own people...”

 

The former Space Force lieutenant clenched her fists, and reddened while listening.

 

“So what can we do, just stand here and watch those surveyor bots steal our ship? That doesn’t work for me, I think we need to get busy, do something!”

 

The professional scholar did not disagree, yet had his own strategy in mind to defeat the surveillance bots, and preserve their safety.

 

“What kind of link is there between your western facility, and these airborne machines? Just a basic form of radio transmission?”

 

The Frigoris-Farragut commander gestured with affirmation. He had already begun to form a plan of sorts, subconsciously.

 

“Yes, that’s it in simple terms. The connection depends on geography and weather, being over such an extended distance. Cyclical storms sever the link sometimes. Physical obstacles make reception difficult or even impossible. That is why the Seagull units had to have their own capabilities as independent observers. They can’t be effectively controlled in real time, all day, every day. We don’t have your advanced methods for data processing, either. It works well enough to serve our needs, but is far from perfect!”

 

Baines lowered his head while pondering. Then, exhaled with a breathy burst of inspiration.

 

“That’s it then, the solution is one we can implement in two phases. First, jam the hook-up between your technical center and the surveyors, so that no data can be exchanged. After that, we scramble their onboard paradigm by introducing a computing error into their archives. A virtual virus you might say, that will stall their regular operation and cause chaos to abound between members of the flock. I’m guessing they will regress into standby mode at that point...”

 

Tarka smiled at this direct and non-violent solution. His role in their escapade of sabotage was now obvious, and one that might bring him a restored sense of being liberated from Lotharian Gardino.

 

“I have the functional equivalent of their transmitter array on my lander. Give me enough time to retrieve it from the hilltop where we crashed, along with some power cells from the cargo store, and I can set up what we need. The streaming platform will accomplish what you have described, in a matter of minutes. Once the wireless connections are broken, and protocols are erased, our standoff will be ended. The team at Toqua Platte will be confounded by their failure. As will the governors on our ruling council.”

 

Kelly Strafe was still uncharacteristically aggressive, after her cranial injury and restoration. She lusted for a more combative solution.

 

“I’d rather zap them with a laser gun, or maybe T. C. Lincoln’s old Ithaca Model 37! But have it your way, boys, we can finally settle this dispute, and flip a middle finger to those bastards on the west coast! I guess that’ll be good enough for me!”

 

 

 

 

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!”