c. 2026 Rod Ice
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(4-26)
Upon regaining consciousness in the lander section of his craft, Serge Tarka drifted from a netherworld of obliteration, back into the realm of humanity. A pervasive silence seemed to smother him with negation. Yet he was very much alive and aware. There were no alarms going off in his module, to indicate what had transpired. No chatter of communications traffic sounded from the dashboard console. There was only a light rush of wind seeping through cracks in the outer hull of his half-vessel.
He thumbed a com button on the tiller guide, and rasped hoarsely for attention.
“Farragut? We have made landfall. How do you stand over there?”
A burst of static followed this plea for information, but nothing else. So, he repeated the call with more vocal intensity.
“Farragut Capsule! This is Mission Lead Tarka! I say again, how do you stand over there? We had a rough landing, but these old buckets seemed to stay in one piece! Are you able to respond?”
More of the electronic din ebbed from his dashboard speaker. But a formal reply did not occur.
Tarka unstrapped himself from the safety harness, and exited his web seat. The hatch wheel for their connecting dock was balky and hard to rotate. It took some effort to spin the assembly in a counter-clockwise direction. But upon loosening its junction plate, he was able to open the portal and peer across that short span, into the other half of their symbiotic transport.
Hayden Riley and Chester Volk were both still in place, at their own control displays. Both men appeared to have been killed on impact. The sight was excruciating to behold. It caused tears to well up in the eyes of their team commander.
“GAWDAMN IT! WE NEVER SHOULD HAVE PUSHED THE ENVELOPE JUST TO PLEASE THAT PRICK, GARDINO! IT WASN’T WORTH RISKING OUR LIVES JUST TO LOOK TOUGH FOR OUR COUNTERPARTS IN THE OTHER ENCLAVES! THIS IS DISGUSTING, I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE ONE TO PERISH! I’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO FACE THEIR FAMILIES! THE PRIME KEEPER CAN BURN IN HELL! HOPEFULLY, I WON’T BE THERE AT HIS SIDE!”
None of the navigational instruments were functioning, and their sensors had been knocked offline by the crash. But the mission chief had a crude locator included with his toolkit. More of a charm for good luck than a functional device. Yet calibrated to read off ancient GPS satellites that were still orbiting the planet, despite being decommissioned. He had to perform math calculations in his head, when reading numbers on the digital display. Eventually, this slow process yielded a fix on his current position, within a range of estimated distance.
The Frigoris-Farragut duo had come down somewhere near Lake Erie, in what had once been the State of Ohio. That spot was so far removed from the Calimex confederation, that it would be impossible to mount a rescue run. Moreover, he wondered if Gardino might simply want to scrub the memory of their launch, and erase details of the adventure. A move that would conceal their failure, at least temporarily.
Spring was well underway as he climbed out of the lander, and stood on a grassy hilltop near their point of impact. From outside, he could see that the capsule had been compromised by the violent reentry, and descent through atmospheric conditions. Upon impact, its protective skin had split into jagged pieces of metal. There was a wide area of burned foliage, from the impeller force used to slow their downward velocity. If not for that cushion of artificial levitation, he also might have died when they abruptly met the surface. Being wedged in between supply crates carried by the lander had helped to insulate him from the G-forces.
With futility in mind, he reached for the transmitter brick on his duty belt. It was still fully charged, and active. He raised the device to his mouth, and hailed the research facility at Toqua Platte.
“Arbiter Pick? This is the Mare Frigoris team. We have made landfall south of the Torontara enclave, by a body of water known as Lake Erie. Do you read me, sir?”
A crackle of distortion echoed, sounding much like a feedback loop. But there was no response.
Tarka shielded his eyes from the sun, while gazing across a long slope that lay before him and the twin vessels. To the east, he saw nothing but an overgrowth of wilderness and forestation. Perhaps he and his men had already been forgotten in their coastal republic? It seemed possible that their names would be scratched off lists in the census. As servants of the Calimex hierarchy, they were fully expendable. Their value depended on mission success, and nothing else. Otherwise, they were chattel. Components of the machinery. Requisitioned pieces in a parts bin somewhere, now miles away from home.
Tarka raised the transmitter again, and repeated his call to be heard.
“Toqua Platte, this is the Mare Frigoris team. I have two men down, and am the only survivor. Somehow, I need to bury our compatriots. But haven’t figured that detail out, just yet. I also need to find shelter and food. The lander is scrap now, I can’t do much with what is left of that half-ship. Do you read me, Arbiter Pick? I say again, do you read me?”
More static followed this desperate plea. He was likely out of range for those in control at the coastal facility.
A hike down the weed-covered hillside put him far enough from the lander and capsule to view the wreckage in its totality. He was dubious about how anyone could have survived the brutal impact of his twin-ships on that crest of earth. But each breath in his lungs confirmed what was so impossible to believe. He was alert, alive, and for the moment, safe in his unfamiliar surroundings. Fate, or perhaps a cosmic deity of some sort, had chosen him to persevere.
There was a hand shovel included, among their ration of implements for the lunar adventure. It would be his only aid in providing a fitting end for the crewmates who had perished. He did not welcome the chore that awaited. But knew that once two graves had been dug, and markers placed on the site, he would be free to pursue a happier goal.
Namely, beginning a new existence far from the influence of Lotharian Gardino, and his enablers in the western federation.
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