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?
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