c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-26)
Judson Baines had been busy throughout the morning, sorting notebooks and artifacts in the trailer home of his great-grandfather, T. C. Lincoln. This ongoing task had kept him distracted from worry over the condition of his partner, who still languished in a coma. And it also prevented him from paying too much attention, when an apparent meteorite strike boomed from the hilltop field, above Evergreen Estates. Such natural incidents were rare enough that in a different time, he might have been motivated to investigate, and catalog details, or hunt for fragments. But with a new life-path taking him far away from Mars, and deep into the history of his own family, it did not register as being important enough to analyze.
The handwritten records stored at Lot 13 were numerous. His progenitor had been prolific in updating a personal journal, which he kept from the point of his arrival, until just before passing away after the Great Uprising had wrecked their society. Though it seemed doubtful that he would ever write a dissertation on this treasure trove of documents, it still seemed useful to archive every tidbit of truth, in case that store of information might someday be discovered by another traveler, hopping from planet to planet within their solar system.
With fatigue setting in, and a welcome visitation of sunshine lighting up the outdoors environment, he decided to take a momentary break. A short respite from reading and organizing his files. His intention was to walk around the neighborhood for a breath of fresh air, and mental relaxation. But as he slid down a long access ramp by the singlewide abode, and reached street level, there was a flash of movement by the Digger shuttle. He reacted impulsively, scanning yards left and right, for any sign of wandering animals or collapsing structures. Then, heard a noise echoing that mimicked the sound of footsteps falling lightly, on the pavement. He stood still while listening intently, for this odd coincidence to repeat itself. And finally, came face to face with a stranger dressed in the garb of some unfamiliar military discipline.
Serge Tarka appeared from behind the shuttle, bearing no weapons. His uniform tunic was styled in pale colors that reflected the golden warmth of days in his coastal republic. Unlike the red-bearded professor, he cut a figure that was functional and minimalist, in serving the cause of science. But both men shared an unspoken allegiance to exploration, and gaining knowledge about things as yet unseen. They were uniquely curious and persistent about pursuing the fine art of learning. Though raised in vastly different venues, where that process was able to occur.
The professional scholar was first to speak. He still carried some loose, notebook pages, folded under one arm.
“Hello, sir! Have you been living here, undercover? I must say that it felt like this property had been abandoned for years. I can’t imagine surviving with no amenities, or a reliable source of food. But maybe you keep a garden growing?”
The Calimex engineer gestured with a non-verbal greeting. His eyes were wide open.
“I had formed the same opinion. But what about you? Is this abandoned development your home? Or did you come here in that sleek vessel, sitting out on the street?”
Baines smiled and nodded, while extending his hand for a fist bump.
“You might say that this is a vacation jaunt. Though I have no plans to go anywhere else at the moment. I like to rummage around in dumpsters and archaeological digs, for fun...”
Tarka folded his arms, and exhaled loudly. Then pointed west, toward the hilltop.
“That craft is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Certainly, much more advanced than my own vessel, which is crumpled and stuck in the mud over there at the crest. I was part of a three-man team, headed to our lunar companion, in orbit. Sadly, our uncontrolled descent claimed their lives. Both of them appeared to have died on impact. Perhaps I was spared in a cosmic act of mercy? That is a fortunate reality I will never comprehend.”
The university researcher stroked his facial hair, reflectively.
“I offer you condolences then, so sorry to hear of your tragedy, neighbor. My situation is less complicated, but still challenging. I have a partner in the small ship you discovered. She had some sort of slip-and-fall accident when exploring our wilderness environment. I haven’t been able to wake her from a sort of comatose state. She’s been on a bed-board in the shuttle for a week or more. I have some useful skills from my time at the Percival Lowell Institute. But medicine isn’t one of my specialties...”
Tarka was intrigued by the mention of that famous astronomer.
“Lowell? The notable fellow who once thought there were canals on Mars?”
Judson Baines was amused by his excitement over the historical reference.
“Umm, right. I taught at a school named in his honor...”
The mission commander scoffed at this claim, as if it were a fabrication of imaginary excess.
“A school? Right, I get it! On Mars?”
His studious counterpart shrugged and shook his head as if to affirm the declaration.
“Yes, that’s right. There are branches in New Cleveland, and Texas City. The institution was founded a century ago, by teachers who had migrated from the old world...”
The Frigoris lead turned pale with shock, and began feel a tremor in his hands.
“I’ve heard stories about such things, as a child, and in grade school. But never as part of a first-person account! This is unbelievable, like something out of a fairy tale. So, you came here in that thing, from the Red Planet? How could it be possible, that red rock is an incredible distance from here!”
Baines sighed heavily, and pondered for a moment.
“The story is more complex than that. What you found in the road is a shuttle, intended for short-distance jaunts from a larger craft. We were allowed to hop down to the surface, for work at this site. I usually study ancient cultures of all kinds, in a variety of settings. But this has a special connection to me, as someone in my bloodline lived here, during the previous century...”
Tarka was puzzled by this explanation, yet accepted it as genuine, for the moment.
“Okay, you’ve made my head spin with that report. But what about your friend in a coma? Have you tried any therapies to revive her? There are treatments for restoring consciousness in a patient with that kind of issue. All of us on the Frigoris-Farragut team received training in providing emergency aid. It’s a necessary part of leaving the friendly confines of this big stone, for exploring outer space.”
The archival steward was embarrassed to admit his failing as an amateur physician.
“No, as I said, it isn’t my area of expertise. I don’t have a clue about concussions or cranial injuries, or whatever must have happened to her. I’ve just been waiting it out, so to speak...”
The Calimex engineer snorted defiantly. His old routines kicked into gear automatically, with the discipline of a non-combatant soldier.
“I don’t have anything so sophisticated as your people must possess, to be honest. But there’s a medic kit in my lander. Let me retrieve it, and I’ll do my best to help!”
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