c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(9-24)
Porthos Pyle was a perfect mouthpiece for the Atlantia district, because he did not carry the prejudices and biases of those seeking power and influence. His sole purpose was to curate leftover artifacts and culture from their ancestors on Planet Earth, and share this yield with others. In this way, he immediately bonded with his unexpected visitor from the Mars colony. Yet the two men differed in their ultimate goals. While he rarely ventured past the imaginary boundaries of Roosevelt Station, this new presence was someone who viewed mankind as a single entity. A stream of consciousness flowing with many branches, teasing the soil on a dozen worlds and beyond.
For Dr. Judson Baines, curiosity was a constant. He never stopped wondering about the universe, and seeking to know more.
As the makeshift duo discussed their unique experiences, each one felt a glow of relevance. Their stories were different, but both timelines took fuel from this hunger for education. Pyle wanted to document the past of his tribe. Baines also leaned upon that cause as a motivating factor, yet tempered it with his desire to grow, intellectually. He knew that only through a process of evolution had the human species been able to rise above its origin as a high-functioning animal.
He wanted that journey to continue.
When the radio archivist had finished with his daily broadcast, he signed off with a pledge authored by one of their most respected figures. A matron who had been among the first to express the philosophy of patient minimalism that came to embody what this fledgling state considered to be their creed.
“In the pursuit of yesterday, let us be careful.
In the pursuit of tomorrow, let us be bold.
In the pursuit of our identity, let us never forget the beginning
In the pursuit of what is right, let us never see our passion go cold.”
Dr. Baines wanted to ask many questions. But he knew that as a stranger in this foreign land, his best hope for enlightenment would come with an investment of time given freely. He did not want to hurry in this quest.
“So, Roosevelt Station is one community? One of many along the shoreline?”
Pyle narrowed his eyes, and thought for a moment. Then spoke in a raspy tone of authority. He would have much preferred engaging in a discourse about old, vinyl records. The subject of politics and governance made him uneasy.
“Yes. One of many, indeed. We have enclaves situated north to south. Every district carries its weight. We meet throughout the year, as a congress of citizens. Our people make decisions. There is no Prime Keeper Gardino in our culture, no king. No dictator...”
The university professor smiled with satisfaction.
“I don't know anything about Gardino. But I get it. What you describe sounds very old-fashioned, very democratic.”
The amateur disc jockey frowned and gestured with a wide shrug. He had the look of a graying, hippie philosopher.
“Don’t you want to talk about my collection of MAD Magazines? There’s some hilarious material in those, I have issues that go back to the EC Comics!”
Baines shook his head. He had a specific interest in understanding how they handled the routine of organizing their communities. Both as an archaeologist and anthropologist.
“I love those publications of course, but, for the moment I’m curious about your way of life. How you’ve designed your system to function. Is this a throwback to pioneer days? A necessary, backward step into yesteryear?”
Pyle was visibly irritated.
“Yesteryear? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I thought you liked the hillbilly classics I was playing on my show!”
The geek scholar tried to make amends.
“No, no, I didn’t mean that as a slam. We’ve come a long way where I live, for better or worse. But the fresh air, the aromas of nature, having room to roam, those are qualities that birthed our bloodline. Living in artificial atmospheres, with enhanced gravity, is barbaric. We’ll never get used to being sardines, sealed in a tin...”
His host sat at the turntable and transmitter board. He seemed to be confused.
“I don’t know what you mean exactly. But if it’s truth you’re seeking, then use your eyes and ears, instead of waiting to hear my words. I’m not that gifted. Come with me, let’s take a walk through the forest. The great hall is not far away. I’ll show you what you want to see, the hub of our spinning wheel. Everything turns around that meeting place.”
Dr. Baines puzzled over his cryptic declaration. Eventually, the two men embarked on a short jaunt through tall trees and leafy thatches of green. A narrow trail meandered through the undergrowth. One beaten into the loam by a hundred-thousand footsteps, and more.
Along the way, Pyle blew a crude horn, fashioned from a hollow tusk. The instrument had been painted with coats of shellac, and decorated with inscriptions in an ancient language. Now and then, there was a call and response. As if others in the area were signaling their agreement for a conference.
When they arrived, their destination was a large, rough-hewn shack. It looked both rustic and abandoned. But obviously, that appearance did not tell the tale, completely. When they entered, dozens of participants were already inside. A central figure occupied a seat at the head of a long counter. She swung a polished gavel, made of brass. Her white mane flowed gently, over shoulders covered with a homespun, hemp robe. She had a piercing gaze of intense consideration. Yet upon speaking, her cadence reflected the wise habits of a crone.
“Porthos? Who is this that you’ve brought to the great hall? Introduce him to your brothers and sisters...”
The Mars voyager was intrigued by her dignity. He wanted to communicate respect for her position. But knew that nothing would erase the stigma of unfamiliarity that he carried.
“Madam, I’m a traveler. On a mission to study journals left by my great-grandfather. I have no intent to interfere in your society, or any other...”
Grelda Kohn raised her official scepter with the dramatic flair of a judge.
“Interfere? Of course you won’t. It is forbidden here! So, I’ll ask you to answer this query, where did your great-grandfather live? Among us, along the coast? In Calimex, with the lords of conquest? Or somewhere else? Somewhere unknown to us?”
Baines took a deep breath.
“He lived in Evergreen Estates, a rural development of mobile homes. Located in what your ancestors called... what our ancestors called... Ohio!”
Kohn tightened her jowls, and paused before commenting on this shocking revelation.
“OHIO? THERE IS NOTHING LEFT OF THAT DREADFUL PLACE, LOST TO ANTIQUITY! DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A FOOL? IT IS DEAD! OHIO IS DEAD!”
The educator cleared his throat. Then, stepped closer to the judicial bench.
“Nothing left but rubbish and ruins, yes. But every upturned stone, every notch in the trees, tells a story. A tale of what went before. That’s my life’s work. To be silent, and listen to the testimony of ghosts. To see what the sky witnessed. To know what the waters tasted. To hear what the winds received!”
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