Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 29

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

The dinner table in Angelette Pringle’s expansive kitchen was long and sturdy. Covered with a white, lace runner that spanned its distance from one end to the other. It had been built by local craftsmen who were skilled at making furniture of all sorts, without sophisticated tools or any other modern conveniences. By necessity, they had relearned old arts long forgotten in the world that existed, over a century ago. Now, their services were desired around the small community of Grafton Depot, and in other pockets of civilization that were hidden in the wilderness areas. Perhaps most of all, in the eastern enclave of Atlantia. Though they shunned traveling to that dominant region, to find wealth and privilege. Instead, they preferred to retain the mountainous, Appalachian heritage that had made them so durable in the face of many challenges after the Great Uprising.

 

That simple furnishing was a fitting centerpiece for the lively grandmother, and her brood. To be invited for a meal, with her sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, children, great-grandchildren, and neighbors, was an honor not bestowed on seekers of fortune, or those who already held power and notoriety. But always welcome to common travelers, laborers, or those in need.

 

Judson, Kelly, and Serge were all seated together, at one end of this considerable platform. They stood out as being foreign and unfamiliar, yet were welcomed with enthusiasm. Once the full meal had been prepared, everyone gathered as a group, united in purpose and emotion. Then, the family sire appeared, from a stockroom behind their abode and general store.

 

Bodean Pringle III was a man in his 70s. Still fit and able to supervise the operation of his business directly, as a manager and purchaser. He did not keep a special office for himself, but instead, worked out of what had been a pantry before the home and emporium were expanded. He had a minimalist approach to acquiring goods and services, with every transaction occurring over a handshake. His word was secure in a way not enforced by legal documents, or public edicts. He spoke softly, but with a firmness of faith in the goodness of his kind. And trust in his own wits, to assess every situation on its particular merits.

 

Before the feast was served, he bowed graciously over the table end, placed both palms on its polished wood, and offered a blessing.

 

“Dear Lord, we give thanks for this food prepared to nourish our bodies. We also give thanks for the word you have delivered, to nourish our souls. We ask to be worthy in partaking of these gifts, to be humble in spirit and in deeds. We ask for mercy when our hearts stray from the path of righteousness. And forgiveness when we become full of pride, and forget the bounty we are given, in your name. We also ask for you to embrace strangers and outsiders that may visit us, and seek guidance or favor. Let us never forget that but for your grace, we might also be as they are. We might also be in need of a helping hand or a warm embrace. Let us shine as the sun shines on our fields, every day. Let us be cool-headed as the nights are cool, after dark. Let us always move carefully, with deliberation and affection, as we find challenges to face. Let us never act in haste, or with ignorance. Let us always be your servants, loving one another as we love ourselves. In your holy name we offer this petition. Amen!”

 

Baines felt his cheeks burning. He was not used to such crude expressions of fealty to a higher consciousness. He did not subscribe to the philosophical tilt toward a creation ethic. Science in any of its forms, was his primary focus. God as a concept seemed better suited to those who were intellectually weak, and uneducated. Yet something in the moment struck him as undeniably authentic. Perhaps, even motivational in a sense he that could not measure or quantify. There was an aura of some sort present in the room, a crackle of static electricity shared between all of the relatives and guests who were present. He felt this energy in his bones, ebbing from his pores, and resonating in his mind.

 

Strafe, the resigned Space Force officer, took to this prayer of humility more easily because of her own background as a sworn protector of the Mars colonies. She had also bowed in reaction to the blessing being offered. Her echo of the tagline was ebullient, and genuine.

 

“Amen, Mr. Pringle! Amen, amen, amen!”

 

Angelette and two of her granddaughters began to assist with passing heaping plates and filled bowls, around the table. Aromas of smokehouse ham, garden tomatoes, pickled onions and peppers, mashed potatoes, cornbread dressing, and fresh biscuits teased everyone’s nostrils and taste buds. Sweet tea flowed freely, along with hand-squeezed lemonade. A festive atmosphere swelled hearts, and caused faces to smile or grin. While this culinary celebration unfolded, part of the banquet was set aside, to be distributed around the town for those who were no longer mobile enough to attend. Those who were shut-in because of physical infirmities or handicaps still mattered.

 

Finally, Bodean turned his attention toward the new trio sitting in a place of honor, near the kitchen door. He was intrigued by their odd manner of dress, particularly with the one who seemed to be an outlier in this group of three.

 

“Friends, I won’t trouble you with many questions, because that isn’t my habit. I don’t concern myself with gossip, or prying into details that aren’t mine to know. But I do wonder about how you have come to us, today. We are lost in the woods here, so to speak. Our hillside village doesn’t attract much attention from outsiders, which is a convenient benefit of being hidden in the brush and bramble. Still though, I have to ask, how did you find us? What miracle of goodness brought you here? Is this an act of chance, or a result of some calling we do not understand?”

 

The three voyagers stared at each other for a moment, being visibly unprepared for that kind of query. They whispered among themselves briefly, before sitting up straight, clearing their throats, and widening their eyes.

 

Baines identified the cause in simple terms. He did not attempt to elaborate.

 

“We heard about Grafton Depot on the radio, sir. You’ve apparently got great taste in music of the old-world variety! And so, here we are!”

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 28

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Lotharian Gardino was known for expressing blunt opinions when in the midst of difficult situations. And, for brooding in silence, when it appeared that he had suffered some sort of personal defeat. But the disappearance of their target in the wilderness that had once been called Ohio caused him to break every previous rule of conduct. He became a nuisance to those on his governance staff, and even other members of the ruling council. His obsession with what precipitated their failure to keep a watchful eye on the Digger shuttle would not abate. He pestered technicians and engineers at Toqua Platte to the point of verbal altercations, and a near mutiny.

 

Finally, he confronted Arbiter Goland Pick while the facility head was at his control console, directing operations for the day.

 

“YOU LET THAT PRIZE SLIP FROM OUR HANDS. AM I CORRECT, MISTER? WE NOW HAVE NO IDEA WHERE IT HAS GONE?”

 

The Calimex officer reddened with embarrassment. He did not appreciate being reprimanded in front of others on the technical team.

 

“Prime Keeper, we know that it apparently took off from its original location, south of the Lake Erie region. A C-drive signature registered on our sensors, but it was intermittent, and fluctuated in output. That is not normal by any measure, when compared to our compiled charts from previous sightings. We suspect the craft suffered some kind of damage, possibly when our Seagull bots deactivated themselves...”

 

Gardino did not accept this explanation graciously.

 

“SO, IT JUST DISAPPEARED THEN? DIDN’T WE SEND OUT MORE SURVEY DRONES TO KEEP TRACK OF THAT THING?”

 

Arbiter Pick grimaced over having to describe the incident in greater detail.

 

“Sir, our Seagull units take days to travel from this installation to the heartland. We sent a new wave of them out immediately, but none were present when the small ship departed...”

 

This response only intensified the raging tone of his superior’s voice.

 

“NONE WERE PRESENT? ABSOLUTELY NONE? YOU JUST ALLOWED THEM TO SIT HERE WAITING, WHILE THE OTHERS WERE STILL ACTIVE?”

 

The lead engineer was flustered by this ignorant remark. All of their normal procedures had been followed in a routine manner.

 

“Sir, we did what is customary when a group has already been dispatched.”

 

His answer only caused the tirade of insults to become louder.

 

“YOU IMBECILE! WE COULD HAVE BEEN PROACTIVE! WE COULD HAVE BEEN READY! BUT INSTEAD, YOUR SLACKING HAS PUT US IN A SPOT WHERE WE HAVE NO GOOD OPTIONS REMAINING! THIS IS RIDICULOUS! WHAT SHALL I TELL THE COASTAL GOVERNORS AT OUR NEXT MEETING? THAT WE SIMPLY DIDN’T KEEP UP OUR PACE IN THIS COMPETITION TO GAIN NEW RESOURCES?”

 

Pick was puzzled by this odd characterization.

 

“Competition, Prime Keeper? With who or what? None of the other enclaves have a sufficient level of technical skills to comprehend something like a C-drive system for propulsion. They would be completely dumbfounded by such an innovation. Indeed, we don’t even understand it ourselves...”

 

Gardino went wild at this candid admission. He shouted and stammered, and stomped his feet.

 

“NO, NO, NO, I WON’T TAKE THAT AS A STATEMENT OF FACT, GOLAND! YOU KNOW MANY THINGS, AFTER YEARS OF STUDY AND EXPERIMENTATION! YOUR CREW IS ALWAYS BUSY LEARNING NEW TRICKS! YOU ARE PERPETUALLY TRYING NEW IDEAS, DISCOVERING NEW COMBINATIONS, AND REVISING OLD STRATEGIES! THIS WAS A FAILURE TO EXECUTE YOUR RESPONSIBILITIES AS A LEADER OF MEN AND WOMEN! THE BURDEN OF GUILT RESTS ON YOUR SHOULDERS! YOU ARE THE ONE WHO MUST BE... PUNISHED!”

 

The Toqua Platte supervisor went pale. He felt a chill of fright run over his skin.

 

“Punished, sir? I must say that I do not understand...”

 

The titular head of their federated republic had to catch his breath, after such a long outburst. He could feel a drumbeat of cardiac elevation thumping in his chest.

 

“Alright Goland, once again if you please. Explain how the Digger shuttle was able to take flight and then disappear while we were tracking the signature of its unique drive system!”

 

Arbiter Pick covered his eyes with one hand. If was as if he were schooling a little child.

 

“Keeper, the transport initiated its impeller thrusters first. That produces a low hum of energy, it is difficult to detect with a distant array like our own. That sort of propulsion is very slow, we have something similar, but more primitive in nature. Their version has a level of sophistication we can’t duplicate. For whatever reason, after being in the air for a period of time, the C-drive was activated. Normally, that system is used for returning to a mother ship, which is in orbit. I cannot explain the event without more information. Then, for some unknown reason, the utility was terminated. That part of the continent was being buffeted by a cyclical storm, it had already passed over our area in previous days of the week. Maybe there is a connection? My suspicion is that the shuttle had already been damaged. Possibly, the meteorological conditions overwhelmed their ability to navigate, because of already being compromised. We could not tell from our remote scans. The Digger apparently circled over that large body of water, then turned south and perhaps, made a crash landing. The nearest Seagull we had in place was still at least 24 hours away. It wasn’t possible to document any details with certainty...”

 

Lotharian Gardino softened his facial expression. He understood, at last.

 

“Therefore, we can be sure that the craft is somewhere beyond that lake, directionally. It might be buried in the mud, covered with woodland foliage, or have even split into pieces, at this moment. Am I speaking the truth, Goland?”

 

Pick cleared his throat with a low groan of surrender.

 

“Yes, Prime Keeper. The Digger models are durable, we think, because they serve as a kind of workhorse for the Martian colonies. It is their conduit to haul goods and passengers between their interplanetary vessels, and the surface of whatever orb they are visiting...”

 

His head-of-state whispered with a deliberate growl.

 

“Then I task you with this – to stay on course regarding the Seagull surveyors. When we have more of them in place, scout around for that shuttle. Find it if you can. And if you cannot, then prepare yourself to stand before the council of governance. There will a hearing on this incident, and about your career as a servant of this republic. Do you get my meaning? We all have to be accountable for our actions. You do, I do, and all of my fellow governors do, as believers in the sanctity of this territory. Calimex exists because of our vigilance. It will survive because of the same. Failure is not an option, it is only a hindrance to us inheriting our birthright of greatness! We will endure, and succeed. That I swear is our manifest destiny! Let no one block our path to the ultimate goal of ruling this world and all its of people!”

 

 

Writer's Forum: “The 7 a.m. Train”

  

by Sarah A Burton 

c. 2026

All rights reserved

 

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 next installment in her series...

 

I started walking to the station, it was a crisp day, not yet Autumn, summer sun still had warmth but in the early morning, breath could be seen. I looked down at my shoes, I could have polished them last night, don't like her to see me scruffy, she would worry. Oh well not this time, tomorrow I will make more of an effort. I went across the road to where the coffee cabin was, Sally was there, in her red tabard looking bright and fresh. She won't be long leaving now as she goes back to college, leaving grumpy Mr. Graves to work the winter months. Sally says 'morning sweetie, your normal? I smiled at her friendliness and nodded A large flat white no sugar was my 'Normal' I said 'I think I'll take one of those cakes too' 'for your lady friend no doubt' was her reply with a wink. I Paid for the coffee and the cake, 'yes’ I breathed, 'Her favourite'

I was walking slower today; most days I'm chipper I think it's the fear of not seeing her in the winter months. I get onto the platform, platform two. It's a lovely station, never been modernised like the city ones. Edgeleigh  Station aging with dignity.

The Big old clock showed 6:45. 15 minutes before arrival. No digital screens telling me of delays, it was just like the 'old days' I can picture her, with carful elegance she steps down from the train, her heeled shoes making a delicate sound on the steel steps. oh how I cannot wait for those minutes to pass before I see her.

I sat on the usual bench, sipping my coffee. Remembering other days, mornings just like this, people rushing, men greeting their loved ones, children rushing up to their fathers, their sons, tears of happiness and relief in their faces. Ladies (yes, I will still call women ladies, I am an old man, and I think it's only polite to call women ladies. Some sharply dressed, some in scarves and overalls, some, helping others with crutches.  it is always busy.

The sun was getting higher now shadows were shorter, thinner, looking up I asked in silent prayer, please let her be on the train again.  Then I heard it, the whistle, that familiar old sound that quickens my heart. The steam bellowing into the station, the conductor whistles and flags waving in an eager fashion as though his life depended on the very essence of the train's arrival. Then it stopped with brakes grinding, noises that sound like a dinosaur's roar. So much steam and smoke you could barely see anything accept the doors of all the carriages flying open, shadows appeared, like every day, crowds of people, families, rushing off the train, I saw one young girl wating on the platform and running to her beau, arms outstretched laughing and giggling as they walked past me. Her curls bouncing, coming out of her pins, she didn't care because she was so happy.  

 

Then out of the shadows, she came, she walked quickly but not rushed in her footsteps. holding on to her hat, her ruby lips; not a smudge out of place, she was searching, of course, searching for our bench. I sat still, not even wanting to breathe.

Then... 'Hello' I looked up and she smiled down at me, I answered, 'good morning' She then spoke uncertainly 'Can I possibly sit here for a minute? I need to find the address I'm looking for' She started rummaging in her bag, 'where is it, I need to know where I am going to let the taxi driver know' I smiled at her dizziness and spoke softly 'Have you tried your pocket?' she stopped and plunged her red fingernails into her Princess coat pocket.’ oh my you are clever, how did you possibly know?' there it was, the address, on the back of the  envelope in her hand. I could just make out, a glimpse of my father’s handwriting.

 

'You don't need to worry about a taxi' I say, 'I have been sent to fetch you' Her beautiful face looked astonished, 'Really?'  That's good news. Who are you?' Well I am the man You are going to marry in two years to the day, and I am the son of the Doctor you are working for at our village practice' Her face was a picture, like every other day, then she broke into that wonderful smile and said 'We better get on with it all then if that's the case' she gave a half giggle, a giggle that lasted until she died many many years later.  I got up from the bench and told her to ‘walk this way, with an exaggerated sweep of my hand, we strolled arm in arm until we got to the gate. the train already started moving on its journey, and there, with her beautiful, graceful face; disappeared into the smoke.  

The sound of the clock bought me out of my reverie, 10am, 2 hours, that was the longest time it had been, nearer now, nearer my love.  The station; emerging through a different light now......the smell, the noise.   Men with leather jackets and jeans strode passed with harassed wives and children, not really caring for their day out on the train, not realising until a few years later that it was a privilege to ride on a 1946 steam train. The train that meant, and still does mean so much to people, the sign of better days, wonderful days to come.

 

I get up from ‘our bench’ and walk towards the Edgleigh Station gate. I sigh, as a poster appears in front of me announcing, ‘Our lovely train will be going away for the winter by 30th of September until May the 2nd.  

 

If only they saw what I saw in those summer months.... my love, coming home to marry me. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 27

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

The abandoned trailer community of Evergreen Estates had seemed undeniably primitive, when compared to colonies on Mars, or the bustling confederation of Calimex territories. But upon reaching the small, hillside enclave at Grafton Depot, a new perspective was in effect. For all three travelers onboard the Digger shuttle, this sense of being displaced from their normal environment was unifying. As a trio, they hiked over the woodland terrain for about an hour, until reaching this cluster of brick buildings, board shacks, and log cabins. There was some evidence of electrification on a meager scale, yet many of the homes seemed not to have that mode of power available, or even indoor plumbing. Crude outhouses dotted the mountainous slopes, along with sagging barns and pig pens. Most curious was the multiplicity of steepled churches that were interspersed with the other structures. For such a remote and inaccessible population center, there was evidence that the inhabitants were still deeply spiritual as a group. Perhaps continuing onward with old traditions left over from a century, before.

 

Kelly Strafe and Serge Tarka were interested in the local geography, and agricultural development that had evolved, out of necessity. But for Judson Baines, the immersion into pure, Appalachian culture was most compelling. It was as if the history of humanity had been reborn, from some nugget of DNA revived in a laboratory. Even the life of his great-grandfather, T. C. Lincoln, had been modernistic by comparison.

 

At the bottom of a long incline, by the riverbank, they found a great hall of some sort. It appeared to have been constructed with hand tools, and manual labor. Everything had a rustic feel of antiquity, though the condition of its timbers indicated a lifespan that could not have been too great. Next to this large, central structure was a stone building that boasted a much older pedigree in its makeup. The kind of durable fortress that might have been a post office or other official terminal for government business. Creeping vines had worked their way up its sides, which provided a decorative accent of nature on what was otherwise, foreign to the area.

 

Across from this town concourse sat a general store, with tools and shovels displayed in the front window. A banner draped from the roof’s edge proclaimed what awaited, within.

 

“Bodean Pringle III, Sole Proprietor. Goods and sundries for sale, at fair prices. We aim to please our customers, so we’ll see them again!”

 

The university professor was stunned by this family connection. It referenced something included in one of his progenitor’s notebooks.

 

“Lincoln wrote about having a cousin in West Virginia with that surname. Maybe this is a descendant member of the bloodline? That’s an odd coincidence to encounter, but it would make our detour more worthwhile!”

 

Tarka was cautious while surveying the makeshift village. He still wore the duty uniform of a coastal commander.

 

“These people are likely to be suspicious of outsiders. I would be careful when we approach anyone...”

 

Strafe was less fearful of arousing conflict with their presence. She carried a long, walking stick which could also be used for combat, if necessary.

 

“Most of this looks like it came out of a museum. But the time markers don’t add up. Some houses look new, where others must be very old. You’ve got a few motorized vehicles sitting around, but also carts for mules or horses. It’s a strange mix of eras, all thrown together!”

 

Baines scratched his red beard, and smiled while pondering.

 

“That’s a product of social evolution, Kells. After the Great Uprising, they would’ve been in a quandary about how to survive. For those who didn’t hop on a Larman transport, to the Red Planet, life would have become inhospitable. There wasn’t much left, according to my archaeological digs, over the past decade. War, famine, and ecological destruction took a heavy toll on the civilization that remained. In essence, there was a breakdown of that order, and a return to methods not used for generations. They would’ve had to relearn everything. Basic survival skills were lost long before that collapse occurred.”

 

As they came near the long porch that fronted Pringle’s emporium, a woman appeared, carrying a homemade broom. Her long skirt billowed in the breeze. After sweeping away dried grass and dirt from the wooden steps, she paused and turned her head at an angle. Something unfamiliar had gotten her attention, a tingle of voices or a fragrance of unfamiliar chemistry.

 

She shielded her eyes with one hand, then called out across the gravel lot.

 

“You there! We’re open for business, neighbors! Come in and sample some of my dandelion tea, it’s fresh and feisty, just like me!”

 

Kelly Strafe was first to step out of the thicket of trees, and introduce herself. Her boldness resonated with authenticity.

 

“Are you the owner’s wife? We’re looking for some shade and home-cooked meal, after walking a long way. Our umm... wagon broke down out there on the hillside.”

 

Angelette Pringle had wild locks of gray, and a gentle face. She stood with her broom acting as a prop. It felt good to have an excuse to rest for a moment.

 

“Walkin’ around? I don’t reckon nobody ever comes here on a pleasure hike. We’re a good distance from anywhere else. But y’all are welcome just the same. We’ve got a little kitchen in the back, I got smokehouse ham, green beans, sweet potatoes, and biscuits on the table. Or if ya prefer cornbread, that’s still in the oven, bakin’ up in a cast-iron skillet!”

 

Tarka was uncomfortable with this new venue. It did not match anything he had ever experienced, on the Pacific coastline. But his associate from the Percival Lowell Institute had turned giddy with the glow of this chance encounter.

 

For Judson Baines, it meant interacting with living relics from his own past. The sort of experience one could never expect to have, without learning the fantasy art of time travel, through some artificial means.

 

Mrs. Pringle noted the hesitance of her guests to accept this cheerful invitation, and reacted with a motherly dose of encouragement.

 

“Y’all come on, there’s no need ta stand out here in the hot sun! Those storms from yesterday have passed by now, and its time ta celebrate! Let’s get inside, and have ourselves a feast!”

 

 

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!”