c. 2024 Rod Ice
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(8-24)
Hornell Block had been perpetually bored since being temporarily relieved of command over the Morningstar III. Something never experienced before, in his journey between the outer planets. His life had been dedicated to serving colonies on Mars, and elsewhere, as a Space Force officer. So, his solitary status did not sit well. He roamed around Heinlein Heights, with a listless sense of being dead. His purpose in living no longer existed. His inner gyroscope could not find its own direction. Even family members brought him no peace.
In Lowell Plaza, he passed through as a drifter of sorts. Members of the population center thought that he must have been a retired, military officer. His disciplined gait and groomed appearance were both characteristic of someone with a long history of public service. Yet when he arrived at Bradbury Cove, in a southern region of the Red Planet, this learned mode of conduct had worn thin. He was betrayed by beard stubble, darkening his facial features. His close-cropped hair had become unruly. His clothing was wrinkled and dirty.
When 90 days had passed, no call to return came via his com-link. Members of the command structure and high council seemed uninterested in his leadership career. They made excuses about his craft being docked above the homeworld, for repairs. Friends soon abandoned him due to crankiness and a sour disposition.
But on a Friday evening, as he sat drinking a brew concocted from a recipe popular with explorers of the Jovian moon Europa, there was a chirp from his tunic pocket.
Lt. Kelly Strafe appeared in the viewfinder. Her familiar smile brightened his mood.
“You look drunk, Big H! I’ve not seen you with that kind of expression since a staff party before our vessel launched officially, a dozen years ago...”
The professional soldier shrugged slightly and raised his Watanae glass.
“Not quite, but getting there. How have you been, Kells?”
Her voice changed its pitch immediately.
“They’re hesitating to bring you back. It hate it! Your judgment call about leaving our scientist pal on his own to wander around Planet Earth made plenty of sense. It was a better choice for him and for us...”
Block stroked his chin, while thinking.
“So, now I get to bear the brunt of that decision. They stay safe from whatever skeletons Dr. Baines can dig up in the dirt of Ohio, and I have no voice to argue. They’ve shut me down, like a Cloitanium reserve, taken offline.”
His junior officer from the Morningstar huffed and hissed into her wireless device.
“IT’S NOT FAIR! WHAT YOU DID COVERED THEIR ASSES! THERE, I SAID IT OUT LOUD!”
Her former commander nodded and continued to drink.
“Do you think that’s the final straw? Are they done with me as a ship steward?”
Strafe glared at her screen. She turned bright red, feeling rowdy.
“I honestly don’t give a damn what they intend to do! You’re years away from retirement. The force needs people with your experience and rank. I was proud to serve on your watch!”
He sputtered through a mouthful of the crude libation.
“I appreciate that, Kells. But if they’re going to knock me down from the top peg, then it doesn’t matter. Without my post and position, I’m nothing. Just an empty jar. Worthless and vacant...”
The lieutenant flipped her long ponytail in defiance.
“NO! NO! NO! NO! I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THAT! DON’T GIVE UP ON YOURSELF! DON’T GIVE UP ON ME! DON’T GIVE UP ON YOUR CREW!”
Hornell Block raised his eyebrows. He was confused by such words of protest.
“The crew follows orders. You follow orders. I used to... follow orders. Now, it appears that I’ll be told to stand down, for good. So be it, there’ll be more time to drink here with hardhats from Jupiter and Saturn and wherever-the-hell-else mankind has gone!”
Kelly Strafe lowered her tone to a whisper. Her eyes narrowed with catlike intensity.
“Sir, the onboard team is ready. I’ve been canvassing our recruits. To a man, or woman, everyone is loyal. They remember your strength as a crew chief. Their faith in your skills and temperament hasn’t wavered. They know you better than any of the bureaucrats who run our colonies!”
Her superior officer gestured with gratitude.
“That’s great Kells, thanks for the vote of confidence. But we’re stranded without a tug to sail. The planets will exist without us, without me, without the Morningstar...”
His erstwhile aide screeched and spat metaphorical fire.
“WE’RE READY TO GO BACK INTO SPACE! THE CREW IS READY! I’M READY! THE DOCK TECHNICIANS ARE READY! CALL IT A MUTINY, OR REVOLT, OR WHATEVER! GIVE THE ORDER, AND WE’LL ALL LEAVE MARS TOGETHER! IT’S TIME TO GO BACK TO EARTH, AND FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT PALE GEEK WITH THE THICK GLASSES!”
Block felt a chill run over his skin. He had turned clammy.
“Go back into space? With the Morningstar? Be careful now, there are voice sensors in these walls. You can’t be certain of who might be listening...”
Strafe laughed at his warning.
“Here at the space dock maybe, but not where you’ve landed! The grunt workers at Bradbury Cove are barely human, by our standards. I’m surprised they haven’t already staged an insurrection with their mob.”
Her deposed commander finished his drink, and slouched low over the bar.
“They still hang traitors, you know. So to speak. You get an isolation cell in the brig, then a round in the wellness chair of some quack physician, with electrodes strapped to your skull...”
The lieutenant snorted and sneered with rebellious confidence.
“I trust the team. Every last one of them! Give me the go sign, and I’ll make it happen. All you need to do is be ready. Be ready for the biggest adventure of your military career!”
Even after a half-dozen measures of Jovian Watanae, suddenly, he felt sober.
“Be ready? It’s that easy?”
His junior aide bared her teeth, and roared like a wild creature.
“BE READY! I’LL HAVE OUR VESSEL ON THE WAY BY TOMORROW MORNING!”
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