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!”

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 20

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 Tarka huddled closer to the flames, for warmth.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Strafe nodded and drank from her composite container.

 

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

 

The coastal commander scratched his head, and smiled.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Professor Baines stomped his work boots in the dirt.

 

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

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 19

 

 

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Pick felt nauseous, and clutched his stomach while answering.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

The Calimex leader literally spat mucous while shouting abuse.

 

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

 

Goland Pick bowed deferentially, while continuing his work.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Gardino slammed his right palm against the control console.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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