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!”
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