c. 2024 Rod Ice
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(9-24)
With the Ibid carrier prepped for travel, Kelly Strafe buckled a safety harness over her ample chest, and reached for the control joysticks. She powered up the Gibidan impeller, and set a course for Mars. A task she completed while feeling a strange sense of loss. The transit between Planet Earth and her current position on the stellar map would take approximately four weeks, at cruising velocity. That would be enough time to compose her petition to Commander Hornell Block, and his superior officers in the Space Force. Yet doubt made her feel weak. She was certain enough that her university cohort could survive in the wild environment of Evergreen Estates, by himself. But what awaited when she arrived back at the space dock, and New Cleveland or Texas City, was far less certain.
She would need to offer a compelling rationale for a rescue mission. Something that seemed unlikely, in view of the controversies involved.
At the community of mobile homes in what had once been known as Ohio, Dr. Judson Baines busied himself with chores that related to basic survival. He perched the Digger shuttle on a vacant, concrete slab that was next to the trailer where his great-grandfather lived. Then, he logged into the main computer, and started a program running to scan all available frequencies for communication. He also activated a sensor array, that would warn him if any vessels or land vehicles approached.
With these measures in place, he returned to the boxcar dwelling at Lot 13.
Townshend Carr Lincoln had been a simple fellow, who by accident rubbed elbows with those of much greater stature and accomplishments. Something that expanded his own field of vision, and made intellectual and spiritual growth a possibility. His arrival at the trailer oasis had come through bad personal decisions. These included being divorced twice, and on numerous occasions, battling the effects of alcoholism. The latter of these challenges proved to be more vexing to handle. So, in the balance he chose to accept drunkenness as a shield from the pervasive gloom of his adopted neighborhood.
He was not regarded highly by many individuals who shared residency in the rural development. Yet being left alone was something he took as a sign of respect. It kept him centered and happy. Only the intrusive presence of those who wanted to recruit followers in the area caused him to turn loud, and combative. He was not a joiner, by any means. Not one given to being part of social groups, clubs, or associations.
While boiling ears of corn over an open fire, in the evening, Baines read from a journal found in the bedroom closet of his ancestor. It had been written after the initial spark of rebellion that caused their cataclysmic, Great Uprising.
“I’m a damn outcast here, which is how I like it! But lately, things have turned more serious. Linn Speck on the corner was sour after his plan to organize citizens of this trash heap failed. He and his homely wife bugged out, on a Larman transport. They’ll be riding with that caravan for a whole freaking year! I can’t imagine spending so much time in a glorified garbage can. But it’s been a lot quieter without him. People are jumpy though, because the MAGA Defense has been marching around with their hero, Aimes Hefti. He’s a rockhead, I think. Stupid, but trainable. Like a breed of dog that can take commands. His instincts are good. He knows how to strategize against the sheriff, police, and FBI agents. They’ve been crawling all over this shithole since the militia activity started. I keep my cool, and try to stay out of anything political. I don’t know how long that’ll work though. Bombs have been going off all around Washington, D.C. and other big cities, east and west. I’ve heard martial law is a possibility. Who’d have thought we might have the military in control, on this continent? It’s a screwed-up proposition. The only thing that keeps me sane is Jack Daniel’s, and occasionally plucking on my flat-top, acoustic guitar...”
The geek scholar had to pause while stirring his campfire meal. Silently, he calculated how long it would take for his friend and former partner to cross the distance back to their red homeworld. He figured only a matter of days would need to elapse, once she had reached the colony. Either her gamble would prove to be bold and brave, or instead, it might burn up in the scorching heat of criticism.
Getting a verdict would not require much waiting.
His feast of uncultivated maize was less than satisfying, without salt or butter for seasoning. Yet it filled his aching belly. That was enough to sustain him, physically, and emotionally. He drank a glass jar of rainwater, and swirled it around in his mouth to clear away the bland taste. Then, saw a deer leaping through the brush, behind an empty propane tank. Briefly, he pondered retrieving the Ithaca shotgun found earlier, and harvesting this wandering beast for a protein fix. But the violence of such an act made him tremble.
He was more likely to vomit, than to gorge himself, after making a kill.
With the sunset revealing twinkling stars in the sky, he found an electric torch from the Digger stash. Then sat on the porch steps, and again, began to flip through pages of his progenitor’s notebook.
“My estranged daughter lives on the Pacific coast. She doesn’t know me well, but I still think about her, and my grandson. I’ve heard that chaos has taken hold all along the edge of California. Some militia members were jailed, and their supporters formed a posse. Pickup trucks went rolling through downtown Los Angeles. That protest didn’t last, because diesel fuel has been scarce since the mandates for electric propulsion took effect. But the Army has its own store of crude oil. So, they keep moving while regular people have to walk. It’s got the downtrodden masses rising up angry. For a nobody like me here in Buckeye country, that might as well be happening on another planet. It doesn’t affect my daily life. Maybe though, just maybe, it will someday. I can’t be sure of anything now, with this park half empty and dwindling. Everybody wants to go to Mars. But not me! I say fuck that nonsense! I’ll die right here, on this mound of garbage. With a bottle of Tennessee whiskey in my hand! And the pledge of allegiance on my lips...”
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