“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Twenty”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

Arbiter Goland Pick had been observing the Morningstar III carefully, from his console at the Toqua Platte Center, in Calimex. The foreign vessel had orbited Planet Earth for several days. A period long enough to make him believe that some sort of mission had been planned. This second appearance of the craft had him anxious about the possibility that superior forces from Mars might invade his coastal territory. Though the commander onboard had always described their colonies as being dedicated to non-violence, he did not believe such rhetoric. It was deeply imbedded in human DNA to seek dominance, and conquest, whenever possible. Any notion that a species of high-functioning apes could will themselves to be peaceful and content, seemed ridiculous. So, when the ship suddenly slipped out of its orbital circle, and turned back toward the Martian homeworld, there was a measure of disbelief hanging in its wake.

 

A cheer went up from the team on duty. But for the seasoned technician, there was only a sense that more questions had been aroused. Riddles that neither he, nor his officers, could answer.

 

As the sleek, silver transport faded from view, he turned toward his lead engineer, and called for a magnification of their search parameters.

 

“Increase our sensor range! Let’s follow that intruder until his drive signature has completely disappeared!”

 

Jordan N’Falah nodded in response, and tapped at his control panel. He had just begun his shift, after working twelve hours during the previous day.

 

“Aye sir, we can track them for maybe another 30 minutes. The C-drive gives them a capability to achieve stunning velocities. We don’t have anything so quick in our own fleet...”

 

Pick nearly roared at this comment. He flushed red, with irritation.

 

“OF COURSE WE DON’T! ESPECIALLY WITH OUR FAILURE TO CAPTURE THAT SHUTTLE VISITING THE RUINS OF OHIO!”

 

The assistant cringed slightly, and averted his eyes.

 

“I didn’t mean to rehash a bad memory, sir. It was simply a statement of fact.”

 

His superior at the center shook in his seat. Droplets of sweat trickled from his bald skull.

 

“The facts say that they came back here for some reason. Was it just to retrieve their wounded mule? I doubt it, but maybe. It seems like a huge effort just to rescue a lost pilot. We wouldn’t stoop to that level! Sacrifices have to be made! Yet I am just speculating. You don’t know, and I don’t know...”

 

N’Falah still felt groggy from having worked so many days in succession. His youthful constitution made it possible to survive such an ordeal. But his eyes struggled to focus.

 

“Their radio chatter is encoded, sir. I couldn’t pick up anything intelligible. They were in contact with a Mars base of some kind. Not a surprise, as that is their origin point. Still, I’d like to know what was said between here and there!”

 

Arbiter Pick groaned and clenched his right fist.

 

“OF COURSE YOU WOULD! I’LL BE QUIZZED BY LOTHARIAN GARDINO ABOUT THIS, UNDOUBTEDLY. HE WILL WANT ANSWERS, AND WE HAVE NOTHING TO GIVE. NOTHING, NOTHING, NOTHING!”

 

The junior engineer ducked his head as if avoiding shrapnel.

 

“Their course is steady now, sir. A short trip to the Red Planet, at cruising speed. It would take us a year to get that far.”

 

His top-ranked technician sputtered and spit saliva, as if he were having a seizure.

 

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I KNOW DAMNED WELL HOW LONG IT WOULD TAKE US! WE’RE STUCK LIVING LIKE CAVE CREATURES HERE! CAPTURING A C-DRIVE UNIT WOULD HAVE GIVEN US A CHANCE TO MAKE A QUANTUM LEAP OVER EVERYBODY ELSE ON THIS BIG PIECE OF ROCK!”

 

N’Falah nearly laid flat on his duty panel. He trembled while fiddling with the instruments.

 

“Aye sir! Aye, aye!”

 

Shortly after their verbal spat, the Morningstar III vanished from surveillance protocols. It had traveled far enough to turn invisible to the Pacific sensor array. Silence descended on the hub at Toqua Platte. Then, a rocket blaze curled over the horizon.

 

Goland Pick teetered forward in his swivel chair. A white-hot streak of energy crossed the viewscreen as he stiffened with uncertainty.

 

“Mr. N’Falah, what the hell was that? Did the Martian craft eject something on their way out of orbit?”

 

His technical subordinate battled a momentary rush of confusion.

 

“Our tracking devices show it came from the southern hemisphere, sir. A probe of some kind, sent from the region of... from the region of... Australia.”

 

The arbiter-in-command gasped and swooned in place.

 

“From where? C’mon now, you’ve got to have a better read on the situation! Recheck your displays! We haven’t seen or heard anything from that quadrant for decades. There can’t be much left down under, except for a few lizards, kangaroos, and stray Aboriginals...”

 

The junior technician shrugged and rubbed his eyes.

 

“It looks like a test firing of some sort, sir. Aimed toward the lunar disc. Our moon is at a convenient spot for study at this moment. Maybe they are curious, like us?”

 

Pick waved his palm across the control surface. A series of lighted tiles blinked in succession.

 

“We’ve been blind here for so long, how could they just appear out of the fog? We thought that isolated continent was dead...”

 

N’Falah brushed the dark skin on his forearms, while pondering. Then turned the sensor array to pick up any transmissions from the Australian land mass.

 

“I’m going to guess that this has no correlation to the Morningstar being in orbit, sir. It’s an odd coincidence, though. Things have been different since we realized that the Mars colonies survived and prospered, after the calamity of a century ago.”

 

The arbiter slouched in his seat, and huffed over this predicament.

 

“Prime Keeper Gardino won’t take any of this as happening by chance. He’s a suspicious wonk, always scheming for an advantage over his opponents. I doubt that he has any genuine friends, or allies. It’s a game of darts to that hard-nosed fellow. A matter of hitting targets and reaping the rewards...”

 

Sparkles of spent fuel trailed from the unmanned probe, as it streaked into the vacuum of outer space. No more activity registered on the Calimex monitors. Yet enough damage had been done to their confidence to last for weeks and months to come.

 

Jordan N’Falah began to fall asleep as the crew continued its work. He had pushed hard against his own limits of endurance. Now, it was time to surrender.

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Nineteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

After her unexpected confrontation with Admiral Corel Nauga, Dr. Becka Stoudt had more questions remaining than answers. The surprising candor of her military opponent was informative, and helped to explain why those in the hierarchy on Mars were insistent upon keeping Professor Baines sidelined. Yet she was still puzzled about how he knew so much of what the university scholar had discovered at Evergreen Estates.

 

For clues, she began to research the origin of Tonka Hidecki’s most infamous creation.

 

Library entries that were accessible through a remote connection had been blacked out, officially. There was no explanation of this action, anywhere. But since the Morningstar III was still in orbit around Planet Earth, she decided to pursue a different and more secretive strategy. One that required using security overrides that were only available to a handful of personnel on the vessel.

 

As they circled the giant, blue orb from above, she began to send lines of code to a central hub used for communication between the Martian colonies, at Hellas Basin. Specifically, she referenced data stores with a connection to the isolated, Terran continent of Australia. This land mass had been virtually invisible during conflicts that erupted after the Great Uprising, a century before. Civilized groups still dotted the landscape, in remnant form, from Perth to Brisbane. Yet they held no interest in being paired with any fractured nation-state on the globe. Their distance from other populated areas had been an asset. One which they declined to surrender, in the modern world.

 

With a bit of computer trickery, Stoudt was able to make a connection through the main access point. She mimicked the username of a DNA match, someone mentioned in historical files submitted by patients at a clinic on the Red Planet. Then employed a fishing strategy to gain entry. Finally, background records began to appear on her monitor in the sick bay nexus. She scrolled through family reports about Hidecki’s bloodline, including the arrival of his grandparents from Japan on the northern coast of Aussie territory. After many pages, she found a description of his treatment device in a journal published by doctors that were part of the national health system. There, was the golden nugget she had been seeking. A sidebar column about the chair, its effects, and capabilities.

 

“Dr. Hidecki learned through months and years of clinical trials that his device could not only offer relief for those suffering from brain maladies, but also, retrieve memories through a backwards process of scanning brain matter and creating a map profile. Certain electronic signals were found to be associated with various reactive episodes in the cranium. Much like tapping a knee to measure the reflex, he was able coax patients into retelling embarrassing, childhood memories, as an example of extrasensory suggestion. Once this capability had been documented, however, he grew anxious about how the technology might be used outside of his laboratory. There was much interest among government agencies throughout the allied nations, about adapting it for their own purposes. His program of research ended at that point...”

 

Stoudt held her breath while reading through the last paragraph. Each word was a struggle to digest, intellectually.

 

“Physicians in Europe had been busy attempting to reproduce Hidecki’s experiments. Their peers in the United States experienced better luck working with what he had already created. But the timeline was interrupted by global war. Rumors of a prototype chair being taken to colonies on Mars persisted for the past 100 years, but remain unconfirmed. After the blockade of Australia, and an eventual depletion of inhabitants across the world, this story was left to languish in obscurity. The doctor’s fantastic creation is now a footnote for those who rummage through the legacy of lost civilizations...”

 

A rebellious mood welled up in her chest. She howled vocally, for no one to hear.

 

“YOU STOLE HIS MACHINE! YOU BASTARDS STOLE HIS MACHINE AND TURNED IT FROM A SCALPEL INTO A SCIMITAR!”

 

Her skin had turned pale and cold. But before she could exit her medical department, Hornell Block appeared in the doorway. His gruff demeanor indicated that some sort of update had been issued about their plans, from authorities in the continuum.

 

Dramatically, he covered the golden military badge on his chest.

 

“Becka, I’m here in a private, unofficial capacity. I hope you will respect that I came to you as a comrade from the crew, not a ranked superior...”

 

The doctor lifted her right eyebrow in an arc of puzzlement.

 

“Unofficial? I don’t get it. What’s disturbed your calm about following the chain-of-command?”

 

The top-level officer had to exhale forcefully, before offering an explanation.

 

“I received a surveillance report from my security agent, earlier this morning. It documents unusual, backchannel activity on the streaming network, from this vessel. That is something our benefactors at home might easily notice, should they be paying attention...”

 

Stoudt pursed her lips, and whistled innocently.

 

“Yes, so, did you locate an origin point?”

 

Her military counterpart lowered his eyes and nodded.

 

“Becka, you’re smarter than this! No one on this craft has clearance to poke around in classified material. Not even a lead physician like yourself. We all operate under guidelines set by the high council and its servants...”

 

The doctor laughed and gestured as if submitting to an arrest.

 

“So, what’s the punishment? You want to lock me up in our brig? That’d go over well with all the patients on this ward. Not to mention my own supervisors in the care network. But, do whatever you think is right!”

 

Commander Block tightened his muscles, and growled like a Martian dust storm.

 

“Gawdamm it, take me seriously, will you? I had the feed masked, that makes me an accomplice! Not to mention implicating our surveillance head. I wanted time to find out what you were doing. This morning, Admiral Nauga formally ordered the Morningstar to stand down from our primary mission, and jet back to the dock for a transfer of Kelly Strafe and Judson Baines to his custody. If his peers saw your clandestine research being conducted, there might be armed officers waiting when we arrive. Think of that if you don’t care about anything else. I can’t drag my feet, the orders have been given!”

 

Stoudt was emotionally rattled, yet stood firm on her conviction to do no harm.

 

“I can’t hand them over. They’re not well, neither of them are fit for incarceration or a trial, or whatever the hell they are planning! It’s my career to heal the sick. If I give that up, then my position here has no value. And I will have no soul! So, you’ve got two options, friend. Lock me up, or let me get back to work!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Eighteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

Dr. Becka Stoudt stayed busy throughout her week of duty shifts, as lead physician on the Morningstar III. But once this supervisory routine had been completed, she was grateful to enjoy a day off in between blocks on the calendar. While lounging with a glass of Venusian extract, a crude wine made by explorers who first circled the inner planets in vessels powered by versions of the Gibidan impeller. She had focused on her two most notable patients to the point of feeling exhausted. Now, at least for a brief moment, she could relax and recharge. But before the potent beverage was half ingested, a notification chirp sounded from her com-link. The color indicated was bright red, which signified a priority call. Something that made her sit up straight and press the device firmly to her ear.

 

Admiral Corel Nauga was on the other end of this virtual connection.

 

“Doctor! I’m pleased to hear that you’ve got Judson Baines in your care. I expect that he will be fit for travel, very soon.”

 

Stoudt frowned at the rough tone of his voice. But she maintained a sense of decorum. Her casual dress betrayed being momentarily out-of-the-loop.

 

“He’s dehydrated and bruised. The landing on our flight deck was not exactly a textbook exercise. The Digger shuttle had reached its limit of endurance, I was told...”

 

The top-level officer snorted at her candid assessment.

 

“We’ll take good care of him here at the space dock. You need not worry about that. I’ve assigned our best emergency team to be ready for his arrival...”

 

The medical pro tugged at her synthetic-wool sweatshirt collar.

 

“I am not ready to release him to your custody, sir. He needs a few days to recover from being exposed to extreme weather, and the bumpy ride back to our home base...”

 

Nauga brought his right fist down on the primal console at Texas City.

 

“NONSENSE! YOU’LL RELEASE HIM IMMEDIATELY, PER MY ORDERS! ANYTHING HE NEEDS CAN BE TAKEN CARE OF HERE ON MARS!”

 

Dr. Stoudt put aside the half-glass of alcohol. Suddenly, her taste for refreshment had vanished.

 

“Admiral, I make the decisions about patients on this ward. That’s written into your procedures. Look it up if you doubt my opinion. I’m not a soldier, and I don’t answer to anyone in the chain of command, regardless of their rank...”

 

Her superior was fuming, and nearly cross-eyed with rage.

 

“IS THAT HOW YOU WANT TO DO THIS, BECKA? SHOULD I GO TO THE HIGH COUNCIL? IT’S AN OPTION I WOULD PREFER TO AVOID!”

 

The professional healer sighed loudly. She had grown tired of such petty battles over metaphorical acres of turf.

 

“Corel, we’ve both been in the service for many years. You’ve earned your stripes and stars, and I’ve earned respect from my peers. We know our responsibilities. I have to protect every individual that enters the sick bay, here. It’s my creed, my oath, and also, the charge given to me by our governing bodies. Anything less would sacrifice my ethics. And scuttle my career...”

 

Admiral Nauga laughed nervously. He smoothed the fabric of his minimalist uniform.

 

“I’d never question your faith, doctor. I know how seriously you take your role. But I need you to allow Kelly Strafe and Judson Baines to be transported home. We will see that they receive the attention that they urgently need. There will be no excuses!”

 

Stoudt reached for her glass once again. She needed a sip of wine before concluding her thoughts.

 

“The Hidecki Wellness Chair, that’s it, right? You’ll give them both a run-through and hope for the best...”

 

Her philosophical opponent nodded and whispered while smiling.

 

“Duty makes it easy, or difficult. The choice is yours. Either way, those two will come back to us, and be restored. The plan has already been set in motion. Heads that tower above mine made the call. For you and me, it’s simply a matter of following our directives.”

 

His medical contact nearly hissed through her teeth.

 

“You’ve already damaged the lieutenant, intellectually. I’ve prescribed sedatives to ease the confusion in her brain. She will need rest and therapy, things that will take weeks or months. As for the university scholar, there is nothing wrong with his mind. But a session of shock treatments will tip the scales. Is that what you want?”

 

Nauga was frustrated and out of patience. So, he decided to speak plainly.

 

“Becka, when our forebears came to the Red Planet, it was on a mission to escape the wreckage mankind had made. Our species knew how to travel between worlds in the solar system, and gaze into the heavens. But we couldn’t outgrow our lust for power and conquest. The Great Uprising was an act of suicide. Those who got out before that calamity came to fruition provided the seeds for a new civilization. Our civilization! They made it possible for future generations to do better. Our stability, our continuity, our discipline, all come from that sacrifice. Your wounded seeker-of-truth doesn’t understand how fragile our ecosystem is, even today. If he comes here to preach his gospel of absolutes, to raise questions about who and what and where things occurred as we rose from the ashes, then it might put all of this into peril. We don’t need people to ask questions. We need them to accept the answers already given...”

 

Dr. Stoudt crossed her legs, and cradled the wine glass in one hand.

 

“Admiral, you’ve lost me with your cryptic word-salad. What is it that you’re trying so hard not to say?”

 

The military officer closed his eyes and bowed gracefully, over the control panel.

 

“Baines wanted to be an archaeologist for long enough to dig up the bones of his great-grandfather. But he managed to uncover much more than just the skeleton of an old drunk. Those journals provide a handwritten account of our darkest hour as human beings. A time when the MAGA defense set our world on fire. Their rebellion unleased a kind of evil we’d not faced in generations. The response from national leaders was quick, and decisive. And maybe, inexcusably brutal. Even overblown and unnecessary. Those facts could be debated for centuries to come...”

 

The veteran doctor stroked her cheek while pondering. She had reddened with surprise.

 

“Inexcusably brutal? Overblown and unnecessary? What the hell, man! What did he dredge up in those notebooks from the trailer park in old Ohio?”

 

Nauga leaned forward until his face filled the viewscreen completely. He spoke as if trying not to be heard by anyone outside of their cramped cubicles.

 

“Those who cooperated took Larman transports to our Martian colonies. They built what we have today. Those who didn’t accept the plan went to detention camps throughout the middle of North America. They disappeared, visually and politically. And in terms of history. If you open their tombs, and let their ghosts wail for a redress of grievances, then you might finally bring down everything that our ancestors built. Think of that cost, Becka! Is it worth being right, in the end? Is it worth telling truths that were better left buried and dead with forgotten sins of antiquity? Is it worth knowing that you just lit the fuse of a political powder-keg?”

 

For the first time, both participants in the long-distance conversation fell silent. There was nothing more to say.

 

Guilt and consequence had proved to be eternal.