“Return Mission, Second Assignment, Part Seventeen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

Chief Medical Officer Becka Stoudt now had two priority cases in her sick bay aboard the Morningstar III. A sidelined officer, Lieutenant Kelly Strafe, and Dr. Judson Baines, who had been pulled from the wreckage of his Digger shuttle on their flight deck. Both were special for opposite reasons. The professional soldier had been mentally realigned, with technology used by the Space Force to revive her career as an obedient defender. Something that was controversial, and yet undeniably effective. The university professor was a civilian, and scholar. Someone that did not fall under the authority of military procedures. But his importance as a researcher and archivist had the high council on Mars oddly concerned. Continuity and cooperation were twin pillars of life in the planetary colonies. Anything or anyone that might threaten the regular order of their society was considered to be suspect.

 

The managing physician felt bound by her creed to protect both of these patients from the consequences of political decisions. As she monitored their life signs, words from the original Greek text of the Hippocratic Oath echoed inside of her head.

 

“I swear by Apollo Healer, by Asciepius, by Hygieia, by Panacea, and by all the gods and goddesses, making them my witnesses, that I will carry out, according to my ability and judgment, this oath and this indenture. To hold my teacher in this art equal to my own parents; to make him partner in my livelihood; when he is in need of money to share mine with him; to consider his family as my own brothers, and to teach them this art, if they want to learn it, without fee or indenture; to impart precept, oral instruction, and all other instruction to my own sons, the sons of my teacher, and to indentured pupils who have taken the Healer’s oath, but to nobody else. I will use those dietary regimens which will benefit my patients according to my greatest ability and judgment, and will do no harm or injustice to them...”

 

Commander Hornell Block entered the primary cubicle of their care-ward without making any attempt to excuse the brusque manner of his appearance. He wore a standard uniform for duty, made of synthetic fibers dyed in a minimalist pattern of stripes that signified his rank. He did not seem patient. Yet his facial expression remained calm.

 

“Doctor, I had a call from Admiral Nauga this morning. He asked me to do two things, neither of which should present any difficulty. The first is to see that Ms. Strafe returns to her position as second-in-command of this ship. She is a valued component in our system. I need her at my side. The command structure needs her participating and at the ready for any challenge.”

 

Dr. Stoudt snorted at his insistent tone.

 

“When she is ready, sir. Not a moment before...”

 

Her superior on the vessel paused for a moment, and then continued his declaration.

 

“Added to that responsibility is my order to transport our guest from the graduate school back to New Cleveland, immediately. There is a team of specialists waiting to assess his condition, and offer treatment, as needed.”

 

Stoudt hardened her gaze, and stood with the stiffness of a sentry on watch.

 

“Let me guess, they’ve got one of Mr. Hidecki’s high-voltage marvels waiting to spin his brain cells into a compliant mush?”

 

Commander Block gasped at being addressed so directly. Beads of sweat broke out across his forehead.

 

“Becka, I know you’re not a conscript. So, I’ll allow you to speak freely. But keep in mind that the other people on Mars are just like you. They function according to the same standards. They hold the same sort of ethical beliefs.”

 

The physician shook her head like a child refusing an unpalatable vegetable.

 

“You’re a bad bullshitter, Hornell! They’ll strap him into a Wellness Chair, and rearrange his cerebral matter. That’s the plan, correct? Another misuse of our technology?”

 

The Morningstar chief clenched his fists.

 

“Take care with your accusations, friend. What we say here is monitored remotely. If necessary, it might be used in a future proceeding...”

 

Dr. Stoudt laughed out loud. She was not intimidated by this quiet threat.

 

“I’m beholden to the Space Force with regard to health issues, Hornell. That’s my purpose in being a member of the crew. I make judgments about the fitness of your officers every day. Whether they are able to complete their routines, or not. That’s my charge, handed down from the same individuals that tell you where to go and what to do on their behalf. So, don’t bother with the puffery of thumping your chest. It doesn’t impress me a bit. I made a promise to heal those in need, when I first donned this white coat. And another promise to the leadership of our planet, when I took the assignment on this craft. Do you need to hear it again? Stay in your lane! And I’ll stay in mine!”

 

Block felt his hands trembling. His mind was seething with rage, yet he did not betray this mood with any outward indications.

 

“I’ll say it again, Admiral Nauga wants Strafe back on duty, and Baines returned to our homeworld. Those are not requests, they are orders from the planetary brass! Your job, and mine, is to make those things happen. I’ll let you run your diagnostic tests, and take measurements, or whatever is necessary. But the end result has already been determined. Don’t doubt that there will be severe consequences if we fail. Both of our careers rest on getting these things done!”

 

Stoudt brushed strands of graying hair out of her eyes. Suddenly, she was very fatigued.

 

“I’ll keep you up to date, Hornell. My medical log has all the details, read it if you like...”

 

Her colleague nodded and turned toward the entry port. Once he had slipped outside, into the hallway, he slammed his right fist into the mylar wall.

 

“GAWDAMM THAT WOMAN! GAWDAMM THE ADMIRAL! GAWDAMM THE HIGH COUNCIL! AND GAWDAMM THAT CLASSROOM GEEK, HE’S STIRRED UP MORE SHIT THAN HE’LL EVER KNOW!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment - Part Sixteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

After the eruption of unrest and war during Planet Earth’s calamitous period known as the Great Uprising, things were changed forever. The North American continent was nearly emptied of its population. Political alliances were shattered. Technological advancement was stalled. Social evolution turned backwards. And, the environment suffered damage that a century of recovery could not erase.

 

Cyclical storms became commonplace in this new paradigm of human existence.

 

As climate woes were manifested, it became normal for the entire region to suffer bouts of extreme weather, on a monthly basis. These regular rhythms were augmented by the natural progression of seasons. Life for those who survived was difficult. Their homes and communities were constantly threatened by moments of uncertainty. Yet as during eons of planetary history, living creatures prospered despite such hardships.

 

Dr. Judson Baines was new to this reality. But like those who had gone before, he had the sort of human ingenuity that made outlasting these challenges possible.

 

After being washed offshore, the Digger shuttle was tossed upon the waves like a buoy, lost in the raging waters. Alarms sounded from the instruments. Great crashes of debris made the outer hull ring with each strike. There was little visibility through the forward windscreen, or viewports. Sensors indicated that the craft was spinning wildly.

 

Having been battered and bruised, the university professor hung in his safety web, while manning the controls. Then, it occurred to him that the C-drive had been disabled by land drones sent from Calimex. With that threat eliminated, suddenly, he had another option to rescue himself, and the transport. After keying in an access code, he tapped at the dash with nimble fingers.

 

A high-pitched whine resonated through the vessel. He could feel the crystal generators coming online, as intended. With a forceful blast, the tiny ship shot upward. Cresting the turbulent, lake surface with ease. Daylight returned as it burst out of the spray. Finally, with its untrained navigator at the helm, the high-tech mule gained altitude. With every pulse of the Cloitanium reserves, it gained velocity and purpose.

 

Baines veered toward the sky, while running a diagnostic check. There were creaks and cracks resounding as he throttled up, toward the speed necessary for escape. Soon, vibrations shook the craft with ominous frequency. Yet he knew that lingering in the mayhem of winter would only increase his risk of perishing, alone. His once chance of breaking free, from gravity, and the woes of environmental chaos, would come with a bold, brave leap into outer space. He cursed as his battered vessel pierced the clouds overhead, and aimed itself toward oblivion, in a life-or-death gamble with everything on the table.

 

In orbit, the Morningstar III had been performing perfunctory chores, like re-mapping areas of the surface, and cataloging conditions in real time. The crew was somewhat bored. Even Commander Hornell Block battled a sense of ennui, while planning steps to be taken, once they had settled in as temporary residents of the global neighborhood. But when the errant, Digger shuttle appeared from a swath of gray and white, his attention sharpened immediately.

 

“Lieutenant Reale! Hail that craft on all channels! Is it one of ours? Specifically, the one we left behind on our last mission?”

 

His second-in-command nodded excitedly.

 

“The homing signal matches what you’ve got in our database, sir. It looks to have been through some sort of impact trauma!”

 

Block pounded his right fist on the communications arm.

 

“Digger! This is the Morningstar! Are you in distress? We have stabilized our position, and the flight deck is ready to receive cargo. Lock in on our coordinates, and prepare to be accepted...”

 

Static filled the air. There was no confirmation that their appeal had been heard.

 

Reale sat smartly in her seat at the navigation board. She repeated the plea while programming a recovery sequence that would alert their crash team in the event of a failed landing attempt.

 

“Digger shuttle! This is the Morningstar! We have observed damage to the outer skin of your ship. There is no time to link up for a traditional entry at the flight deck. Pilot your transporter by manual controls. We will do our best to align with your intended vector. Do you understand? Please reply!”

 

The C-drive emissions had turned to a whisper. With much chagrin, Block realized that the lifeboat was coasting on inertia. For whatever reason, it had run out of reactive fuel.

 

“Lieutenant, I don’t think he can answer us, his engines have gone dead. Maybe his battery backup, as well. We’ve got to tractor him into the reception bay. Open the flight deck, and let it rip!”

 

His junior aide was wide-eyed with disbelief.

 

“You want him to bounce into our tail sector, sir? That’ll be a messy situation! What if his shuttle doesn’t survive?”

 

Block cursed and gestured defiantly.

 

“GAWDAMM IT, HE’S COME THIS FAR! SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG, MAYBE THE STORMS WERE TOO WILD, OR HE KNEW THE SHIP WASN’T GOING TO LAST IT OUT. WHATEVER THE CASE, WE’VE GOT TO MATCH HIS INTENSITY. THAT EGGHEAD SON-OF-A-BITCH IS PLAYING ROULETTE, SO WE’LL JOIN HIS GAME, AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS! OPEN THE HATCHES, AND LET HIM INSIDE! IF HE’S WILLING TO TAKE THIS CHANCE, THEN SO AM I!”

 

Baines was in the dark, both metaphorically, and literally. He had exhausted the energy reserves of his metallic beast. There was no response from the helm. As a last breath of oxygen ebbed through his lips, he remembered a prayer sometimes recited by his estranged friend, Kelly Strafe. Swooning at the dashboard, he repeated it while slipping into unconsciousness.

 

“Eternal Father, strong to save

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave

Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep

Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee

For those in peril on the sea!

God, Who dost still the restless foam

Protect the ones we love at home

Provide that they should always be

By thine own grace both safe and free

O Father, hear us when we pray

For those we love so far away.”

 

Reale watched her monitor as the Digger slammed into a web of synthetic restraints that had been stretched across the flight deck. Sparks and smoke filled the cargo bay as it was sealed off, automatically. Then, silence followed the uncontrolled re-entry. The wandering ship had been blistered and scarred from its reckless journey. Now, it had come to rest on one side. With the nose cone compressed against an interior wall.

 

Commander Block covered his face and groaned. The onboard instruments had all flatlined. Every sensor registered a quantity of zero. His responsibility to lead a welcome party, or conduct a funeral, was now at hand.

 

 

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Fifteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

Matron Margo reached the threshold of Tremblay Lodge just as the next cyclical storm had begun to blow across their northern district. Snow piled quickly, though she was already dressed for inclement weather. A fur overcoat, gloves, and knee-high boots kept her protected. A traditional tuque capped her flowing, gray locks. In Torontara, she was known well as both a willing adviser, and someone who often saw visions that were suspect in authenticity. So, when she burst through the doorway and began to proclaim that a visitor from the Red Planet had reached the crest of their lakeshore boundary, few took her seriously.

 

“I’ve told you all for years about my Nana sharing her memories, eh? Well now, there’s proof on the waterfront. Follow me if you wish! It’s wicked nasty outside, but what you see will justify the trek! If not, then I can’t call myself an heir to the House of Jasper-Thorne!”

 

Guelph Brampton sat on an overstuffed Chesterfield, near the fireplace. He was one of a small group that used the community center to keep order in their district. After hearing the emotional appeal, he shrugged slightly, and cradled his whiskey glass while pausing to think. Hot coals were refracted through the crystal, into diamond shapes of orange and yellow.

 

“Mama Mar, you must’ve been dipping into your crock of swill, at that cottage by Lake Erie. You’ve played the role of a tribal queen and a sorceress. And now you’re trying to sound like royalty here in the woods. What’s the point, woman? What’s the point?”

 

The weathered sage was offended by his brush-off.

 

“You still laugh at me, eh? Sure, I like to tease the children with wise tales. But at this moment, I’ve never been more serious. The aboriginals and ancients talked about machines flying to other worlds. It’s part of our lore. Except that today, I’ve seen one of those travelers in the flesh! He’s come back here, to stand where his ancestors stood! Come and see! Come and see!”

 

Preston Kitchener was younger and less patient with the senior figure. His burly arms were covered with scars from logging camps that kept the network of lodges supplied with firewood.

 

“Mama, please! I trust you on things like baking biscuits, or finding the right mix for a meal of poutine and lager beer. But these fantasies about leaping into the sky, they make you sound like a crazed old hag! A big-headed biddy, drunk on her own mash!”

 

The octogenarian female cursed in a native dialect that no one understood. Then stroked a long necklace of bear teeth and claws that hung over her ample chest.

 

“An it harm none, do what ye will! That’s the wisdom of ages. So be it, close your eyes to this gift from the heavens. You must’ve learned as I did, about the exodus that came a century ago. It changed us, all of us, forever. In the before, there were great roads across this continent. Cables stretched from one coast to the other. There were speedy modes of getting places. Stores of knowledge saved from antiquity. A blessed heap of everything on our plates! But being so smart made that generation deaf, and dumb. They couldn’t hear Mother Earth crying out her warnings. She tried to speak and no one listened. Just like you lot, looking away from me, as I stand here by the fire...”

 

Laughter echoed in the great room, fashioned from woodland timbers. Then, Brampton finished his strong drink.

 

“Aye, if she did speak in those days, it would’ve been to say that war and famine were a blight on her garden! Maybe she expelled that horde to purify her lands! I don’t rightly know. Neither do you, Mama Maniwaki! Neither do you!”

 

The social relic was somewhat shocked to hear her indigenous name said aloud.

 

“Bastard! When you chirp with that sentiment, do it carefully! Don’t tread on my heritage like a piker slogging through the mud! Show respect for an elder in this commonwealth!”

 

Kitchener flexed his muscles as a sign of superiority.

 

“I’ll put it out in the open, Mama. Nobody here cares a damn about seeing your alien friend, stuck in a sand bar. He’ll freeze out there right now, the seasons have turned. What bluster we get’ll be frost and muck. I hope he’s got a clear chimney in that ship from space!”

 

More amusement resounded within the lodge. Finally, their grandmother-by-proxy had reached her limit of endurance. She stomped her right foot with defiance.

 

“That’s it, eh? Just brush me off with your serviette, like bread crumbs at the dinner table! Who needs to listen to a wild-eyed crone? Very well then, out the door I go! Out the door, into the windy, winter white! Au revoir, mes amis!”

 

When the disgraced matron left Tremblay Lodge, sounds of sarcasm and celebration trailed in her wake. Bottles of distilled spirits clinked together. Glasses were raised. And with each step, she felt heavier and darker, inside.

 

At the lakeshore, there was already a thick cover of precipitation on the sand. Meteorological mayhem was taking hold. She shuddered and shivered while searching for the vessel of her contact. Yet in the swirling mass of opaque crystals, she could see very little. Sunset was not far away. Stumbling along the water, she peered from under her icy brows with one hand shielding the view. A dim outline of jutting rocks and abandoned piers was still evident. But as she scanned the coast, it became apparent that the man from Mars had been washed away. He and the shuttle were no more. Her newfound evidence, and reason for professing faith in the gossip of old, had been obliterated.

 

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her skin chapped from the force of a gale that stirred the lake waters. Finally, she shouted into the din with all the energy that her tired lungs could muster.

 

“I STILL BELIEVE! DO YOU HEAR ME? I STILL BELIEVE! I’LL ALWAYS BELIEVE! ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Fourteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

Dr. Judson Baines had been unconscious for several hours. Then, the persistent beat of a wooden staff on the outer hull of his Digger shuttle began to emerge from a mass of cranial fog in his head. He unstrapped himself from the pilot seat, and lazily rolled sideways, tumbling on the deck. Grogginess made it difficult to stand. But with a bit of effort, he was able to leverage his sore physique upward, finally leaning across the control dash.

 

Through the front viewport, he could see sand and a long stretch of empty beach. Beyond was a forest, overgrown from many years of neglect. There were no signs of any human inhabitants. But as he swooned and grasped the ledge of control dials and screens, once again, the pounding resumed. With a staccato rhythm that accelerated and declined, as if fatigue toyed with whoever wanted to attract his attention.

 

He slid open an emergency hatch located beside the main pod, and came face to face with a gnarled, gray matron in a long, handmade dress. She wielded a knobby stick that appeared to have been carved from a tree limb. Her eyes were strong and bright, which indicated an intellect more lively than her mortal coil. She must have been very old, indeed. Yet her prowess with the natural rod testified to an unflagging amount of endurance.

 

When she realized that first contact had been made, a gasp ebbed from her leathery lips.

 

“You survived that crash, eh? It sounded right horrible...”

 

The stranded professor squinted for a better view before answering. His face was bruised.

 

“Since I’m not drowning at the moment, that must mean I made it across the lake?”

 

The seasoned marm laughed and tapped her tree branch on the ground, twice.

 

“I saw you falling from the sky. My cabin is up the road, not long if you walk briskly. I spied your air-boat through the trees. You know, not many people here believe in men dropping from the blue. It’s thought to be a giddy-goose tale, eh? Something you’d tell kids for fun. But I’ve always known it must be true. My fam has retold stories for generations about life before the wicked kerfuffle...”

 

Baines tried to shake off a lack of focus, and an inability to concentrate. His eyes were watering.

 

“Family? Like how many? Just yours, or others as well?”

 

The wizened female smiled with a playful curl of her mouth.

 

“We’ve all got lodges, eh? Here’n there under the greenery. Probably a dozen along the shore. A lot more going inland. But you won’t find ‘em easily, we like it that way. Nobody wants to be out in the open, it’s a habit since people down south biffed it with their damned uprising...”

 

The university nerd sat on a corner of his control console. He still felt somewhat dizzy.

 

“My name is Judson. I’ve been poking around in what the old-timers called Ohio. On the other side of this body of water. Someone in my bloodline lived there during the past century. Before the human race bugged out to Mars...”

 

Suddenly, a look of awe made his unexpected contact glow with comprehension. She danced on her spot with the wooden stick providing support.

 

“MARS, EH? IT’S MARS! MARS! MARS! JESUS MURPHY! ALL THE JUNIORS WOULD BE TICKLED TO HEAR THAT NAME SAID IN CONVERSATION. YOU’RE A SEED THAT DROPPED FROM THE SKY! SPRINKLED LIKE FAIRY DUST ON A WIND CARRIED FROM THE RED PLANET!”

 

Baines cleared his throat, and leaned forward to fully open the emergency hatch.

 

“Not quite that dramatic, but yes. I teach at a graduate school in one of the colonies...”

 

The pale grandmother began to cackle and swing her staff, excitedly.

 

“The old stories are out of favor now. I’ve been told to stay quiet when repeating them, eh? But yeah, no! I’m no keener! You’re proof that I’m not so crazy as they think. I might be touched a bit, in the noggin. That comes with living so long. But I’m still in my right mind! I’m still right!”

 

She switched hands with the walking implement, and reached forward to grab his arm, just above the wrist. This made him stiffen and narrow his gaze.

 

“Yes, you are definitely right...”

 

The feral femme pulled him closer, and whispered gently in his left ear.

 

“I’m Margo Jasper-Thorne, and if you go out for a rip around here, my grandchildren and great grandchildren will chirp at you about their Granny Mar losing her marbles!”

 

The professional scholar was intrigued by her mention of apocryphal narratives about those who had emigrated to other planets. He sensed that in the realm of Torontara, the evolutionary curve had reversed itself, out of necessity.

 

“So, people here aren’t familiar with the historical timeline that reshaped this continent?”

 

Jasper-Thorne tapped her pole on the ground for emphasis. Her eyes lit up with a fiery intensity.

 

“Don’t know, don’t care, eh? It’s safer that way, maybe. I’ve been hushed and scorned, but my brain is still sharp! I know what the nannies told me as a child. My home was one of the biggest lodges, there were dozens of us, aunts and uncles and cousins, and neighbors! Now there’s just me, just an old crone with a wandering mind. Mainly, I keep to myself!”

 

Dr. Baines was betrayed by his sense of curiosity. He wanted to know more about the isolated, northern enclave.

 

“What about your descendants? Would they share their own stories? I’d be interested in knowing more about your social order. How you self-govern, how you raise your young...”

 

His accidental host turned cold at this suggestion. She withdrew her hand, and stood back as if contemplating a potential liability.

 

“Yeah, no. I think not. Did you hear me before? The others in this woodland don’t believe as I do. They don’t read the ancient tomes. They don’t listen to the ramblings of old woman. Be sure, they wouldn’t listen to you! Hah! It’s better that I keep you as my secret, eh? You wouldn’t be welcome at any of the lodges. We all help each other, but otherwise, keep our distance. Talk from someone like me is nothing. Just noise to make the young’uns giggle!”

 

The Digger transport had been wounded beyond repair. Soon enough, it would be washed away with the next cyclical storm, and lapping waves from Lake Erie. So as the gray-headed witness departed, Baines pondered his meager options.

 

Without modern mobility or communications, what should be do next?

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Thirteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

When the Morningstar III arrived at its destination, a sense of accomplishment and pride swelled spirits on the ship’s crew. Yet for Commander Hornell Block, an inflection of gut instincts made him too cautious for any celebration. He knew that in the cold, airless void of outer space, nothing could be taken for granted.

 

While pondering the blue orb below, he gestured toward Lieutenant Tara Reale. An officer assigned as his second-in-command while Kelly Strafe was receiving treatment for her lingering ailments. The perky, slender conscript had risen through the ranks quickly, as a candidate for advancement. Her dark hair and eyes were distracting for some on the team, because she appeared to thrive solely on visual appeal. Yet her capability to learn and process information at a rapid pace soon convinced any detractors. In fact, she sometimes intimidated others who inhabited the vessel. Though her inclination was always to put cooperation, and military service, above all else.

 

Block felt confident with this new shipmate at the helm. Though he secretly mourned losing the personal connection with his former partner onboard.

 

“Station us in a geosynchronous orbit, Number Two! I want this craft directly over the location of Evergreen Estates. Find that university professor, and make contact!”

 

Reale left her seat to stand behind their navigator as he tapped at the control console.

 

“Aye sir! We are decelerating now. Will be in position shortly....”

 

Their main viewscreen rendered a live, 3-D image of northeastern Ohio, along the lake. With magnification, it was possible to see the outline of what had once been a remote property dotted with mobile homes and storage barns. But there was no sign of a Digger shuttle, anywhere. Circling the perimeter of this abandoned development were piles of wreckage. A trio of waste mounds indicated that in recent days, some invading force had visited and failed in an unknown mission.

 

The commander could not hide his puzzlement. He huffed while rubbing his eyes.

 

“No clue about Dr. Baines? His transport isn’t on the premises, anywhere?”

 

Reale returned to her perch beside his primal throne. She peered at instruments that were projected overhead, from a panel on the side.

 

“There has been a lull in storm activity, sir. With incredibly good weather on the surface, considering seasonal changes that are at hand. That part of the continent is usually deep in snow right now...”

 

Block reflectively stroked the rough stubble on his square chin.

 

“So, where did the shuttle go? Do you suspect that he wanted to find an escape route? What direction would he have taken? East to Atlantia, or west to Calimex?”

 

The lieutenant paused to look at notifications on her com-link. Then offered a brief assessment in response.

 

“We’ve got an energy trail going north. It is very weak. Something seems to have stalled the C-drive before he could veer away from the park. The electronic signature dissipates over that body of water on the coast...”

 

Her superior was confused, but curious.

 

“He took the Digger out over Lake Erie? Does that mean he probably drowned when the thing ran out of power?”

 

Reale nodded without giving a direct answer.

 

“Maybe sir, we’d have to do a scan from down there to be certain. But I’d think it is more likely that he made it far enough to land on the other side. Torontara is a region we don’t know much about. Our records show that the area once known as Canada is largely vacant. Those who are surviving there live on a subsistence basis. They are the least sophisticated of the three, independent districts on this continent. Yet perhaps, the most resilient.”

 

Block nodded and stiffened.

 

“Resilient, how? Because they exist in harmony with the land? Things have to get frosty up there, with the cyclical chaos of modern planetary meteorology. Things are a mess! The Great Uprising ruined what used to be a very hospitable world.”

 

His junior aide echoed this sentiment.

 

“Mankind left this big rock a century ago, sir. But I’d guess they are living as our ancestors did 200 years in the past, or maybe more...”

 

The commander felt a chill run through his bones.

 

“If the seasonal cycle hasn’t happened yet, then we might be able to find the Digger, and our wandering scholar. That’s your conclusion, Number Two?”

 

Reale narrowed her gaze while doing mental calculations.

 

“That’s assuming he had a soft landing. We don’t know if there was a skirmish before he left that trailer community. Or who had him pegged as a target. Honestly, sir, we don’t know much of anything right now!”

 

The Morningstar chief wanted more details about what awaited them on the planet surface. But he had been placed in a situation where gambling odds were his only source of enlightenment.

 

“So, we’ve got to send another craft to investigate. You’re telling me to plunk down good money after bad? To risk losing two short-range ships instead of one?”

 

His lieutenant sharpened her tone when answering.

 

“I won’t tell you anything, sir. That’s not my rank. What I will say is that making a plan of action means having a closer look. We know Dr. Baines has been doing an archaeological dig for months now. It’s more than school work for him, he’s got a personal connection to the site. I can’t imagine that anyone else would have a vested interest in what he was doing. Nobody besides us...”

 

Block reddened with ire.

 

“What does that mean, Number Two? Are you pointing a finger in my direction?”

 

Her candor came as a shock.

 

“Sir, it’s well known that the high council on Mars wants to cover up the story of what he’s found on our former homeworld. And your career rests on making that happen. Maybe mine as well. I won’t argue the point. What I mean to say is, that no other motivation for interfering seems logical. I don’t know why he’s disappeared. But I do know that we can’t go home until that mystery is solved!”

 

The military veteran shrugged and sighed while reviewing his options.

 

“Very well then, prepare a shuttle on our flight deck. I’m putting you in charge of the landing group. Go to that damned junkyard in Ohio, and find out what happened. Find the other craft. And find the one who started all of this, in the first place! Judson Jeremiah Baines!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Twelve”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

After the failure of Calimex drones and bots to capture their target at Evergreen Estates, Lotharian Gardino was forced to call a meeting of the coastal governors. This diverse group acted as a sort of ruling council that regulated the western state as an independent territory. For the de facto leader and his supporters, much concern had been aroused that their political opponents would use the squandered mission to hinder ambitious goals set forth in previous sessions. And upon opening their confab, this suspicion was confirmed immediately.

 

Gorden Guaca, the most senior member of their tribe, stood up dramatically, and addressed the group in cautious, careful tones. He had the look of a desert sage, in a long robe and a necklace of animal teeth set in gold mounts.

 

“I could’ve told you, man! Lothi, we don’t have an unlimited stash of resources here. You just wasted a big chunk of our tech reserve. That defensive capability kept us safe. Now what? Where do we go from this day, forward?”

 

Their unofficial leader bristled at hearing such a candid assessment.

 

“You know better than to think I acted recklessly! It was a smart gamble. With the C-drive capability, we could unite the kingdoms and rebuild our civilization. This continent could flourish, once more!”

 

Kona Slagg burst into a fit of laughter. She was younger than her fellow representatives, but astute in analyzing their position among the distant outposts. Her fuzzy crop of reddish curls bounced and shimmered with each word offered to chasten the council.

 

“Oh, we’ve put up with your aggression over the months and years since our first vote was taken. Will ya tell me I’m crazy now? I guess we all rolled the dice, right? But it’s done, Mistah Prime Keeper! Done, done, done! Y’all are done!”

 

Gardino felt his right hand begin to tremble.

 

“Now look, everyone. We’ve got to stay the course here. I have a vision for us, and it hasn’t gone dark just because of a mix-up in the middle lands. We need another shot at getting that craft, whatever it is, another chance to elevate our level of understanding. Don’t back out of your agreement! Don’t abandon hope when we’re so close to grabbing the prize we seek!”

 

Guaca rubbed his bald head and pondered for a moment. Then, he stood up again.

 

“No, this is the end, dude! We are all done with chasing shadows. Lothi, it’s time for a vote of no confidence. All those who agree, signify your acceptance. Say it out loud!”

 

The chamber echoed with energy and applause.

 

“AYE! AYE! AYE! A VOTE, IT IS! A VOTE IT IS!”

 

Slagg jingled the colorful, handmade bracelets on her wrists.

 

“We gonna do it out in the open, right? Yeah, that’s how things have been for a hundred years. My mama and your daddy, and granddaddy, and everybody said their piece, straight up! Nobody has ta hide, nobody has ta run form the light...”

 

One by one, the governors stated their desire for a new head of the conference table. When the verbal balloting had finished, silence fell upon the room.

 

Gardino was sick at his stomach.

 

“You’re all making a mistake! I warn you, don’t be so stupid and impulsive!”

 

Guaca shook his head in disgust. He had heard enough.

 

“Our window of opportunity just slammed shut, Lothi! The winter season is here for that region. We had a break in the storms, but it didn’t last. It never does! Both factors would doom another run across this continent. Get your shit together, Prime Keeper! You’ve been bounced off that throne. Stand down in accordance with tradition. Do it and humble yourself!”

 

A chant went around the table.

 

“HUMBLE! HUMBLE! HUMBLE!”

 

Their deposed chieftain felt his cheeks burning like hot coals. Defeat weighed heavily on his shoulders.

 

“This is... your choice. So be it. I acquiesce to your citizen will. Remember what you’ve done in future days. Regret will linger, I promise you!”

 

Ms. Slagg grinned widely and gestured with her long fingers.

 

“Y’all don’t need ta cry about this. It’s been time for a change, we just didn’t have the courage. But fate finds a way of making things happen, right? So, it’s happening here and now. We gotta move! Here we go! Here we go!”

 

Guaca rose from his seat for a third opportunity to address the gathering. He held a printed report from one of their engineers at Toqua Platte.

 

“The vessel our drones cornered was a shuttle. We figure something from a Mars colony. They’ve got a good jones going out there, all the brain power went in that direction after life got too hard back here on Planet Earth. Our ancestors effed everything up, you know? They trashed this big rock. It’s a damn good thing our forebears were able to hide out by the ocean. None of us would be here without their sacrifice. What’s left in the middle is a dunghill! Why go digging in shit? What’ll it get us? Listen up, Lothi! I say this is the conclusion of a bad, bad movie! We don’t need a remake!”

 

Again, the governors concurred with a noisy response.

 

“YES INDEED! AYE, AYE, AYE!”

 

Gardino bowed his head, surrendering to the moment. He slouched low in his chair, and went pale.

 

“So be it. So be it...”

 

Their senior sage read another passage from the engineering report he had received. He spoke seriously, as if directing a funeral procession.

 

“Winter is harsh in that region, bruh! More so because of the climate disruption that followed our planetary disaster. We screwed ourselves. Or maybe I ought to say, those old-timers from a century ago screwed us! Whatever your vibe, the transport with that sophisticated motor will be frozen for months. We couldn’t chip it out of the ice if we tried! My heart goes out to whoever was at the controls. That’s a tough place to crash. Better’n drowning in the lake, maybe. But still, not too hospitable. I hope they know how to chop firewood!”

 

The coastal council adjourned without bickering over a formal declaration of purpose. Their intentions were obvious. For Calimex, it was a course change long overdue. And for the abandoned realm of Midwestern North America, this shift was a new beginning. An inheritance formed by the wages of environmental sin. An interlude between ages of arrogance, and consequences that resulted.

 

Mankind as a species had survived this calamity. But dreams of conquest and the grandeur of empires were both dead at last.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Eleven”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

When Dr. Judson Baines powered up the Digger shuttle for its final flight away from Evergreen Estates, a palpable sense of regret tainted the experience. He had become used to living alone in the rural development of mobile homes. A place that offered so many opportunities to study and learn about life in the previous century. Now, he needed to jettison this period of archaeological digging, and begin anew elsewhere. But as the C-drive propulsion of his tiny craft powered up with technological awe, he wondered silently about what course to take.

 

In any direction, the continent was a sprawling, overgrown mess. Not conducive to an explorer visiting from a colony on Mars.

 

He could feel the vessel rattle as it hummed with energy. Something that he attributed to the damage of crashing, many weeks before. This suspicious noise caused him to doubt that an extended voyage at higher altitudes was wise. But with the arrival of land drones and air bots from Calimex, he had few options. The Ithaca shotgun of his great-grandfather would offer little protection against this invading contingent.

 

With the engines throttled, and both hands at the controls, he punched in a code to authorize liftoff from the asphalt pad where his ship had been parked. At first, a gleeful moment of elevation made the view through his dashboard window change for the better. Then, there were more ominous creaks and groans from the hull of his transport. And suddenly, a crackle of blue, electronic fog.

 

The triad of vehicles that surrounded his adopted home were generating a static field, which suppressed the reaction necessary to propel his shuttle. This artificial veil also blocked his ability to send and receive transmissions. Or to use the onboard sensor array for navigational purposes. After a brief instant of being suspended in mid-air, the Digger plopped on its landing skids, with a loud thud of metal on the tarmac.

 

Baines cursed while fiddling with the controls.

 

“What the hell? I don’t get it! Why keep me here? What purpose does that serve to those gawdamm raiders from the west coast?”

 

He could hear an imaginary clock ticking inside of his head, counting down toward a moment of capture and capitulation. But this insistent drumbeat only intensified his desire to flee. With frustration and fear needling his brain cells, he switched the ship’s drive from its Cloitanium generator to a battery reserve. Something that would only last for a matter of minutes, because it had been designed as a taxi mode for moving around on the flight deck of a host vessel. He then activated the low-velocity impeller, which again lifted the Digger from ground level. With his instruments being blinded, and control protocols lagging, he steered up and forward, heading out of the trailer venue in a northern direction. This caused the land drones to circle in a pre-programmed arc, tightening their range. An offensive move that would ultimately doom their mission.

 

The university scholar thought hard about how his Digger craft had been created. He was not a pilot on any level, yet knew enough about the short-range transport to keep it on track across the rural landscape. There were no weapons systems incorporated into its design. So, he could not mount an attack to free himself from the mechanical marauders. But a loophole in the sensor grid would allow for crude broadcasts of malformed data, sent out on a backwards trajectory. Something that might confuse the guidance cores in each of the rovers.

 

He tapped furiously at the control dash. From memory, he wrote out sequences recalled from long days spent at the school laboratory, in New Cleveland. When the file executed, there was an immediate reaction from his pursuers, below.

 

The swarm of air bots began to sputter, and crash. Then, the drones spun their wheels in the mud, and wandered, wildly. It provided enough of a lapse in control that he was able to steer toward Lake Erie. He had one chance to cross this natural obstacle, before the shuttle batteries were fully sapped of energy.

 

Across the frequency spectrum once again received by his radio module, he could hear curses from engineers at Toqua Platte. The endeavor to capture and secure his tiny ship had failed. Now, he could shift toward pondering his own plight. Something that made him pause and reflect on the merciful fortune of the survival he had enjoyed.

 

About halfway across the water, his Digger beast started to manifest signs of structural failure. He could hear the hull protesting each maneuver. This dreadful climax made him realize that the limited store of battery power was less of a concern that making it to dry land, on the far side of his target. He knew little about the isolated state of Torontara, a territory never contacted or explored by anyone from his homeworld.

 

Landing in the midst of that land mass was a gamble he would have preferred to avoid. Yet with his work at Evergreen Estates complete, and the Calimex invaders forcing him to exit, there were no other options.

 

Over what was once the southern tier of Canada, he felt the impeller drive lose its thrust capacity. The shuttle descended in response, with no aerodynamic qualities to keep it aloft without being boosted. He jacked the motors to their full output, but could not sustain any useful amount of motion. With a mood of surrender taking hold, he braced for impact, while surveying the geographical horizon through a forward hatch. His windshield had been covered to prevent breaking glass from scattering.

 

Instruments on the console began to blink with warnings and messages. He crossed his arms while strapped into the pilot seat, and whispered an impulsive prayer.

 

“If there’s a God, some kind of cosmic creator, I could use a bit of your grace right now. My friend Kelly believed in your existence. I’m not sure what I believe, right now. My God is science. But if I’m wrong, if I’m wrong, then please forgive me...”

 

The impact made him tightly close his eyes. He could hear metal panels shearing away as the ship slammed into a sand bank along the lakeshore. This ring of granular material helped to lessen the force of deceleration, and soften the blow of an uncontrolled landing. When his head snapped forward, he took a virtual boxer’s punch to the face. This knocked him across the sentient divide, into unconsciousness, and oblivion.

 

Dr. Judson Baines would sleep for several hours. When he awakened, a new life on Planet Earth would begin.

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Ten”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

Dr. Judson Baines had prepared himself for the approach of winter, while scrounging through the ruins of Evergreen Estates for artifacts and cultural information. But after a week of night frost and cool, rainy days, the pattern shifted unexpectedly. In defiance of meteorological traditions long set in stone, the weather cleared and sunshine streamed through cloudy skies.

 

After their ominous Great Uprising, Planet Earth was no longer the predictable orb that it had been in yonder times.

 

While scanning documents into the data store onboard his Digger shuttle, the university professor noted that a triad of land vehicles had appeared on his sensor registry. Remnants of the teeming herd that first left Calimex. They were stationed at points distant enough to be visually shielded, yet on patches of high ground that gave them observational superiority. He detected no offensive capabilities, but instead, a combined communications network. The three electronic mules were in sync with each other, and a command outpost located many miles away. A scan of radio frequencies revealed that the roving team was being controlled by technicians at the Toqua Platte Center.

 

For the first time since coming to the abandoned development in what had once been called Ohio, he felt like a wild animal being stalked.

 

Months at the former community of mobile homes had allowed him to search every dwelling on-site, and to catalog details that would be useful when creating a historical timeline for his students. His work was now nearly complete. So, he did not need to linger if his presence posed some sort of danger. Yet the vessel he had was only capable of achieving an orbital altitude for brief periods. Long enough to enter the deck of a carrier such as his departed host, the Morningstar III. He could not jump from one rock to the other. Not even the cratered disc that still circled as a lone companion, which humans had named the Moon.

 

After assessing risk factors and probabilities, he decided that the wheeled drones were simply active to watch and report on his position. There were no more rockets or missiles cresting the horizon. No signs of an arsenal being brandished in a show of force. He guessed that Prime Keeper Gardino must have adopted a new strategy for conquering the North American continent. One that he might have used himself, if given more resources. To look and learn, with the patient resolve of a librarian thumbing through yellowed pages from antiquity.

 

While taking a break on the porch at Lot 13, where his great-grandfather had lived, he sipped a homemade concoction of berries gathered from the field, collected rainwater, and aged whiskey pilfered from the household stash. This crude beverage made him feel mellow. Yet the upturn in temperatures had revived insects that might otherwise have been dormant for the season. He rummaged through closets in the manufactured hovel, until a flyswatter appeared. Then, defended himself while sitting outside.  At first, there was a buzzing of bees and wasps that fascinated him slightly, having been raised in a sealed environment on Mars. But when he crushed one of the aggressive creatures with a direct hit from his tool, the sound that resulted rang with a metallic edge. He sat up straight on the wooden bench, and beamed with puzzlement while investigating the debris scattered at his feet. There were miniscule components, like those from a hearing aid or listening device.

 

Suddenly, shock swelled the cerebral synapses in his head. The pests nagging him were not organic, but instead, products of a faraway laboratory. What he had mistaken for being strays venturing from a nest of yellow jackets, was actually a swarm of sophisticated, robotic invaders. Shrunken and probing with purpose.

 

He vocalized receiving this epiphany with a bellow of drunken fervor.

 

“DAMN THOSE PEOPLE ON THE COAST! THEY’VE MANAGED TO THINK UP MORE TRICKS TO PLAY THAN I EVER IMAGINED! WHAT A FASCINATING DISCOVERY! WE WERE WRONG ABOUT THEIR EVOLUTIONARY CURVE! I WISH WE COULD FIND SOME WAY TO COOPERATE INSTEAD OF COMPETING FOR AUTHORITY!”

 

The tattletale swarm could be seen hovering around every boxcar home on his street. When he returned to the shuttle, and its bank of receivers, chatter between the individual probes filled his ears with synthetic noises. The group was linked in real-time, allowing it to act in concert as a larger, more nimble totality. Though he could not guess what cause propelled their efforts, it seemed clear that there would be a crescendo of activity. The momentary lull in storm cycles offered him a chance to escape. Yet as he loaded the Digger transport for liftoff, a mood of gloomy realization dampened his spirit. Where could he go to be safe? To Torontara, or Atlantia? Or some undiscovered kingdom hidden in the wreckage of this forgotten world?

 

Baines wrestled with this perplexing dilemma, while strapping himself into the pilot seat.

 

At Toqua Platte, Arbiter Goland Pick had been yawning for a half-hour, or more. He was fatigued from a long duty shift at the control panel in their primal nexus. But when the array of monitors began to flash a red-level warning, it heightened his awareness.

 

Engineer Jordan N’Falah cheered loudly upon hearing this squawk of electronic zeal. His eyes widened, with excitement. A contrast to the glistening, dark hue of his skin.

 

“It’s the C-drive signature again! Finally, we’ve been waiting an eternity! Our mass of air bots successfully detected it at the source! The surviving drones have it triangulated! This is the payoff, sir! The Prime Keeper will reward us for our diligence!”

 

Pick rubbed his bald head, nervously. He did not want to let eagerness spoil the search for clues.

 

“You’re certain about this? We haven’t made a mistake by reading energy levels from such a distance?”

 

The young recruit shook his head and laughed with confidence.

 

“The input from our swarm is 100% accurate, I calibrated those machines myself. They’ve surrounded the area mapped out by our traveling drones. Whoever is at the helm of that craft must have been hiding in the brush for weeks and months. We’ve had no signs of any other inhabitants. And no indication of any ships in orbit or on the planetary surface...”

 

The lead technician waved his withered palm over illuminated tiles on the control board.

 

“Very well then, hail the high council. Gardino will be pleased, as you say. We’ll all have extra credits in our accounts this month. Good work, team! What comes next is up to those in charge. I hope they make prudent decisions about our future!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Nine”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

Chief Medical Officer Dr. Becka Stoudt had been waiting in the Morningstar III conference room for about 30 minutes. She felt slightly cold, and irritated, despite being dressed in a traditional uniform and lab coat. A wireless tablet sat on the table in front of her, with evidence files retrieved from the ship’s main computer. Sounds of normal operation provided familiar background noises, from the hallway outside. There was no explanation offered for being delayed. No excuse delivered as a diplomatic gesture.

 

She was simply not a priority on the interplanetary transport.

 

Commander Hornell Block arrived after another quarter hour, with a note of disinterest lingering in the air. He had been on a conference call with leaders from the Space Force, who were stationed at the dock which orbited their Red Planet. He appeared tired and chastened. And unshaven, which was a surprising breach of protocol.

 

“I’ve been getting my rump chewed all morning! So, what’s on your mind, Madam Sawbones? More of the same?”

 

Dr. Stoudt brushed the longish, gray hair away from her eyes.

 

“You’ve got a knack for reading the room. That’s a valuable skill, friend. I want to talk about the condition of Lt. Kelly Strafe. What happened to her before she rejoined the fleet?”

 

Block scratched his chin, which was rough like a square of sandpaper.

 

“Doctor, I don’t know what you mean...”

 

His physician-in-charge exhaled violently and sputtered saliva.

 

“Hornell, you’re a bad liar! You always were!”

 

Her superior flushed from hearing this tone of defiance. He could not hide being embarrassed.

 

“The lieutenant is a valuable asset. But she’s always had a rowdy streak. I figured that in olden days on our original homeworld, she might’ve been a cowgirl. But we do things differently in the 22^nd Century. Keeping order matters more than ever before. We’re all living in sealed environments. Poke a hole in the wall, and we’re all finished! That’s how the system operates. We can’t afford the kind of conflagration that torched that big, blue ball where mankind used to live!”

 

Stoudt nodded and then folded her arms. A chill ran over her skin.

 

“Thanks for the lecture, Hornell. But you sidestepped my question...”

 

The military commander bristled at her casual approach.

 

“THAT’S COMMANDER BLOCK TO YOU, MA’AM!”

 

The medical chief laughed and gestured with her right hand.

 

“I’m not a conscript, or a grunt. Not a soldier, okay? You can’t bully me with your rank. I serve the cause of science, not conquest among the outer worlds. Kelly Strafe shows signs of an electronic deprogramming. I’ve tried to look up information in our data stores, and via the university link with Mars. But nearly nothing pops up on my screen. Did you belt her into one of those zapper chairs? Is that why she came back to this vessel looking like someone who was drugged and zoned out?”

 

Block tightened his lips, as if suppressing a true confession.

 

“I didn’t do anything. I don’t have the authority! You know that very well. Whatever happened was the result of orders given by Admiral Corel Nauga, and his civilian partners on the high council.”

 

The lead physician tilted her head backward, and cursed in a whisper.

 

“There’s damn little literature on that thing, even for a professional like myself. What are your combat cohorts hiding? She shows possible signs of a brain injury, I can’t make a diagnosis without further study. And I can’t study while being kept in the dark. All I’ve got to go on are rumors and gossip. Some of my colleagues think that the seeds were planted with project MK-Ultra, around 150 years ago...”

 

The commander smiled with both corners of his mouth curling upward, in a betrayal of hidden prevarication.

 

“Doctor, I have no idea what you are referencing. I’m not a student of history, to be honest. I care about the here and now...”

 

Stoudt smoothed her white jacket, and toyed with the Velcro closure.

 

“I can’t authorize a return to duty for the lieutenant. She’ll need rest and evaluation. I’ve got to do more research before passing judgment. That’s where we stand, Hornell!”

 

Her onboard superior was livid over this proclamation.

 

“I NEED HER BACK IN SERVICE! SHE’S A HANDY TOOL IN THE KIT, A VALUED MEMBER OF THE CREW! QUIT DRAGGING YOUR FEET! THERE’S NO REASON TO KEEP HER IN A BED LIKE SOMEBODY’S GRANDMOTHER AT A NURSING FACILITY!”

 

The seasoned physician pointed her index finger with indignation. She did not attempt to placate her opponent.

 

“Commander, I make those calls. Look it up in your rulebook if you like. My role is specified in black-and-white. If I have doubts about anyone on the team that runs this craft, even you sir, then my judgment stands. If I sign off, it’ll be because I am convinced that Kelly has recovered fully. That’s how the chain-of-custody works for a patient. Any patient! There are no exceptions...”

 

Block had almost begun to foam at the mouth. He pounded the conference table with his fists.

 

“Don’t threaten me, Becka! My position in the force is very secure. You wouldn’t be pleased with the outcome!”

 

Dr. Stoudt snorted at the open threat. But she showed no sign of being afraid.

 

“I’m the top dog here on our ship, Hornell. If you suspect that my analysis is compromised, a petition can be filed. But it’ll be another doctor that gives an official ruling on your case. I am devoted to patient care and nothing else. I don’t give a damn about flying between the planets, or chasing down political enemies...”

 

Her crew leader had turned a bright shade of crimson. He did not enjoy being accused, explicitly, or otherwise.

 

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN, DOCTOR? WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?”

 

Stoudt pulled the lab coat tighter around her neck, while hoping to stay warm. This move caused her medical badge to sparkle in the artificial glow of ceiling lights, overhead.

 

“It’s no secret that you’ve been ordered to chase down that professor from the university. I get it, the brass on Mars must be nervous about cinching up details before things come untied. They are always nervous about sedition. Maybe you are too? Either way, I don’t have a horse in the race. I’ll stick to providing care. That’s my field of expertise. When the lieutenant is competent to resume her duties, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, it’s hands off of the sick bay, and my practice as a physician. Stay in your lane, soldier!”

Nothing To See Here – “Going Postal”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

“The way of sinners is made plain with stones, but at the end thereof is the pit of hell.” – Ecclesiasticus 21:10 (KJV)

 

While writing for the Geauga County Maple Leaf newspaper, I used to observe that the best columns often created themselves. Situations that occurred in real-time were almost always certain to inspire prose projects that entertained readers and satisfied my editor. Quite often I would approach my weekly deadline with no material at the ready, only to find that a happenstance fluke of random occurences filled the page and kept my creative streak alive.

 

Recently, this paradigm once again made itself apparent, as I posted in a local Thompson Township Facebook group. With the plight of patrons at our local post office in mind, I commented about difficulties encountered when mailing out copies of books that I had authored. A pursuit that has kept me busy in retirement. Through the publishing superpower of KDP/Amazon, I have been able to sell numerous volumes in America and beyond. Even in the foreign stronghold of Japan, for example. This activity makes me feel invigorated as a wordsmith. But I stay focused on local needs, and responsibilities. Therefore, whenever possible, I like to fling these items into the continuum, from a launchpad right here at home.

 

Our USPS depot is located in a building which apparently dates back to 1914. The front steps are made from wide and flat slabs of concrete, stacked one upon the other. Single, tubular railings are attached to this crumbling structure. It is the sort of entryway that might amuse tourists and visitors with old-timey charm. But presents a real hardship for those in the disabled community. In personal terms, I have hobbled up and down this archaic holdover many times. Every occasion has meant concentrating carefully on my plodding progress, and vertical stance. Yet inside, the reception has always been warm and friendly. So, I feel that the sacrifice is worthy.

 

While having a brew on the front porch, after a session at my home-office desk, I pondered this dilemma in more detail. As a handicapped individual, I knew that there was a measure of importance paid to my specific needs, by our federal partners in Washington. So, with a reserve of courage building up, I commented about the situation via our portal on social media.

 

Like many decisions made while relaxing with an adult beverage, it was one I would later regret.

 

At first, the responses I received were civil and sane. Owners of the structure offered thanks for my participation, and assured community residents that solutions were being considered in the context of dealing with a restricted footprint. The location is situated literally on a corner of our township square. With little room or leeway for any kind of improvement. I felt confident in the wisdom of free-market ideas being able to resolve the issue in a way that would benefit everyone involved. Yet what followed dimmed my faith just a bit, in the goodness of human psychology.

 

Personal jabs began to prosper that were both puzzling and inappropriate.

 

“Why don’t you just go to the Madison Post Office? It isn’t that far away! There are plenty of other choices!”

 

This recommendation was true to be sure, but would have short-circuited my own desire to support our local point-of-access. I knew that officials with the USPS were keenly aware of traffic figures for each of their service areas. Because they had been suffering from a budget crisis for years, watching these numbers fall due to a lack of free entry would be devastating. When I commented this obvious truism, the negative flood became more intense.

 

“Go to Chardon, or Geneva! Have someone pick up your mail! They’ll just close the thing if you keep complaining!”

 

The final offering was candid, and decidedly surreal. I could not help but smile over getting such a sharp-tongued hit on the page.

 

“Oh my God! Oh my God! If they build a ramp for you, then there’ll have to be a plaque with your name and picture, inside!”

 

When I confessed to seeking legal counsel, to gain insight into the level of government responsibility that might be involved, the tide turned into a storm swath. I thought that perhaps some kind of funding might be available, to defray costs here at home. Yet this action was taken as a sort of self-interested move to gain a political advantage.

 

“Geez dude, get a life! Get a life!”

 

Around two o’clock in the morning, I crawled out of bed, after restlessly tossing from one side to the other. With bleary eyes, I found my cell phone, brought up the timeline of this extended conversation, and deleted my original posts. A sense of relief cooled my reddened cheeks. I fell back in the chair, perched in a dark corner of my living room, and went back to sleep.

 

The friend and lawyer who I had tapped for informational purposes provided a contact person in the Post Office hierarchy. Someone in Greensboro, North Carolina. I learned that comments regarding on-site conditions could be sent to this individual. As a friendly gesture, I thought that passing along my own concerns was prudent and proper.

 

But having survived a virtual flogging for speaking out, I wondered if the benefit would outweigh more public scorn? In yonder days, as a newsprint scribe, I had gotten used to such criticisms. And even taken a few judgments, face-to-face, from irritated subscribers. Yet now, with the clock ticking away, and my bones aching arthritically, a different approach seemed right. So, I clicked on the YouTube channel, and hunted for a video clip that referenced childhood memories from the venerable, Hee Haw television show. In short order, I had forgotten about being shamed and instead, basked in a glow of cornpone humor.

 

“Gloom despair, and agony on me

Deep, dark depression, excessive misery

If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all

Gloom, despair and agony on me...”