Trailer Park Vignettes - “Return Mission, Part Eleven”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

As Dr. Judson Baines approached the planetary surface in his misappropriated Digger shuttle, a sense of loneliness began to take hold. Unlike his previous visit, this landing was more somber and solitary. He would be working by himself with no contact from anyone. The Morningstar III had already left orbit, and turned toward its home base circling Mars. Below, at the abandoned site of Evergreen Estates, little remained of the trailer community. A storm pattern had wrecked visual targets he documented previously, to make any return trip easier. But at least the cycle of meteorological vengeance had finished.

 

He hovered over acres of wild, woodland growth until the property outline came into focus. The old Pine Trail Road traced a border’s edge, on its flank. After shedding altitude, he could recognize the maintenance garage, and postal barn. There was a main access boulevard, with two streets to the left, and a long connector to the third, that ran behind everything else. This meandering trail seemed to have been added later in the park’s history.

 

Baines was no pilot. He did not have the skill of a trained, Space Force professional. Yet onboard programming let him steer the small craft efficiently. He touched down by Lot 13, where the mobile dwelling of his great-grandfather still sat in humble silence.

 

Debris was scattered along the driveway. Weeds and clinging vines had grown up and over every vertical surface. Trees were busy reclaiming the soil. Many of the boxcar homes had collapsed on their concrete foundations. But a few, like the one he wanted to investigate, still retained their structural integrity.

 

After shutting down his transport, and putting its Cloitanium cells on standby, to conserve power, he crept toward the front entrance. A long access ramp, fashioned from wood planks, had disintegrated where it stood. So, he had to leverage himself up to a viable level by grabbing onto a post that used to secure one end of the railing.

 

Feral cats scattered as he brushed aside pine boughs and loose rubbish, before prying the front entrance open. In the living room there were more handwritten journals, items he could not carry before. With reverence, he found a place to sit, and started reading. The ink had faded a bit, from a century of neglect. Yet he had no trouble deciphering the scribbled text.

 

He read each line aloud, for no one but himself to hear.

 

“The neighborhood has been restless all day. Lots of trucks rolling around our dingy park. Drivers seething with rage. I don’t have to see or hear anyone though, it permeates the air. It crackles on my skin like static electricity. There was a protest march on the township square, earlier. With dozens of Confederate flags and cursing, and rifles discharging rounds toward the sky. What good will that do, I wondered? I can’t think that the National Guard troops will be impressed, though the boisterous mood here seemed to make them feel anxious. I’m sure they would rather have stayed in their barracks. There was a tense stand-off between Reverend Cabe Forester, and one of our representatives from the state legislature in Columbus. Everyone at our Church of the Lord Jesus in Heaven knelt together, and prayed. Many of the parishioners had brought their Bibles. They formed a human chain around the sanctuary. Inside, members of the local militia were holed up, and armed heavily. I hoped that no one would get killed. The weather made me want to go for a ride on my motorcycle. But gas rationing forced me to drain the fuel for my mower. It probably doesn’t matter though, if I have my nephew cut the lawn, anymore. Our park manager disappeared weeks ago. The ownership in California hasn’t been in touch since riots hit all their major, west coast cities. I used to think that we were secure in Ohio. But now, who knows? Maybe none of us are actually safe...”

 

Baines had to pause once he finished going through the first notebook. His eyes were tired. He took off his thick, composite-rimmed spectacles, and cleaned them with a shirttail corner.

 

A pungent odor of must and mold became overpowering as he sorted through plastic totes stacked by the entertainment center. He had to go outside for relief. But upon reaching the tilted porch, sun glare filled his field of vision. The cloudy, overcast conditions had given way to a raw blast of solar intensity. Depleted ozone left their bygone homeworld naked before the golden orb, spitting fire. He puzzled over details referenced at his university, about the environmental wreckage on their beloved Terra Firma.

 

He vocalized this foreboding reality, while filling his lungs with fresh air.

 

“In this barren remnant of Ohio, how could anyone or anything live here now?”

 

 He dropped back down to ground level, then paced along the concrete driveway. It helped to stretch his legs and think while in motion. Electronic beeps and blips sounded from the Digger shuttle, which sat in the street. He barely paid attention, until a human voice registered from the radio receiver in its control board.

 

“This is Roosevelt Station, in the Free Territory of Atlantia. Our programming has been expanded to eight hours a day, seven days per week. We hope to lighten your burden by offering some classic tunes from American history. Today, we revisit the age of Country & Western, a cultural phenomenon that made our ancestors tap their toes while living in olden days! Here’s a slice of vinyl from the Willis Brothers!”

 

Strains of banjo and thumping bass echoed from the transport vessel. Then, music warbled out a funny tale of blue-collar adventure.

 

“He was headin’ into Boston in a big, long diesel truck

It was his first trip to Boston, he was having lots of luck

He was going the wrong direction down a one-way street in town

And this is what he said when the police chased him down

 

Give me forty acres and I’ll turn this rig around

It’s the easiest way that I’ve found

Some guys can turn it on a dime or turn it right downtown

But I need forty acres to turn this rig around!”

 

Dr. Baines stood still for a moment, like a statue from yonder days. He gasped and coughed and then shouted with exasperation.

 

“Radio? What the hell? There really are people living on this big chunk of rock, after all!”

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Ten”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Commander Hornell Block sat silently on the Morningstar III, as he watched a viewscreen that wrapped around an entire wall of the vessel’s bridge. A lone Digger shuttle exited from their flight deck, and made a slingshot move that aimed its trajectory downward and into the planetary atmosphere, below. Earth was blue and inviting and calm, just as old books from the library in Texas City had described it from a century ago. Yet it seemed a bit forlorn, and overlooked by humanity in modern terms.

 

Lt. Kelly Strafe closed her eyes, and said a prayer. Something that was very uncommon for a member of the Space Force, on active duty.

 

“God, go with my friend. Guide him and keep him safe...”

 

Navigator Alden Gale winced at this open display of faith. He muttered under his breath about superstitions and sorcery. As a volunteer in the service, he had little time for anything theological in nature. Science was his deity.

 

“Didn’t we leave all those silly notions about holy ghosts and the afterlife behind, on that big piece of rock, down there?”

 

The ship commander avoided offering any opinion of his own.

 

“Bring us about, Mr. Gale! Set a course for the space dock, at Mars colony!”

 

The subordinate officer snapped to attention, immediately. His fingers flew over virtual keys on the console.

 

“Aye, sir! Plotted and laid in, we will be at the Red Planet in about an hour...”

 

Strafe did not protest the remark of her fellow crew member. Instead, she candidly wondered about what kind of reception they would face upon reaching their home base.

 

“Commander, what do you expect when they find out that Dr. Baines returned to the site of Evergreen Estates? Will there be an inquiry?”

 

Block squared his shoulders and frowned while thinking.

 

“Maybe? Who knows. I might get a slap on the wrist, or strikes with a laser whip. They could even relieve me of duty here, I have no idea what to expect. But it’ll be better than listening to your egghead pal ramble on about his great-granddad. The past is dead and buried. We don’t need to dredge up skeletons in the 22^nd Century. It’s enough that we’ve figured out how to live in peace on worlds where human beings never set foot, before...”

 

The navigator avoided looking right or left, in an effort to stay focused on his task. Yet he could not pretend to be deaf. Notes of uncertainty about what would transpire when they returned made him nervous.

 

“Sir, I want to be on record as having nothing to do with the escape of that university professor. None of us deserve any discipline. It wasn’t our call!”

 

Commander Block nodded in agreement. He took no offense from the young recruit’s blunt honesty.

 

“Noted, Mr. Gale! No one on this craft bears any responsibility. I’ll take the blame. We are better off with him out in the brush of Ohio, exploring. He was a loose wheel on this ship. Not one of us, not a member of the force. Individualism gets left at the door, when you join our ranks. Everything we do onboard is for the greater good. Scholars can spend their days leafing through dusty old volumes, or snooping around in tombs and empty buildings. We have a mission to fulfill. Our work is to better the lives of all mankind, wherever they have ended up, throughout the solar system...”

 

Strafe took a deep breath, and smoothed her uniform tunic.

 

“Are you going to lobby for a follow-up, to check on Dr. Baines?”

 

Her superior chortled audibly. His disposition was strained and severe, after months without a break in the action.

 

“I’M NOT GOING TO LOBBY FOR ANYTHING! I’LL TAKE MY LUMPS AND STAND ASIDE! HOPEFULLY, THEY DON’T FROG-MARCH ME TO THE BRIG!”

 

The lieutenant and navigator both crouched lower in their seats. Neither made any response to this outburst.

 

From the communications array, static began to squawk and sputter. Then, a familiar voice intoned an official greeting.

 

“Morningstar? This is Technician Rand Farcourt, at the New Cleveland metropolitan center. I show you on a heading for Mars. Was there any trouble with the planetary storms currently happening on Earth?”

 

Block chewed his bottom lip and huffed.

 

“No trouble. We were protected, being in orbit...”

 

The distant engineer fiddled with virtual dials and icons on his console.

 

“No issue with bringing your team back from the surface? That meteorological melee looked really bad. Weather patterns have changed a lot since we used to live in the neighborhood.”

 

The vessel chief sighed loudly. He answered carefully, while dodging the query.

 

“I’ll upload my report at the space dock. Paperwork isn’t something I enjoy doing...”

 

Farcourt smiled knowingly. He had spent a lifetime under the thumb of regulatory agencies on their new homeworld.

 

“I understand, sir. We live in an age of watchers watching. Every move, every step, every word. I trust that you know the drill. We’ve both been on duty for a long time.”

 

Hornell Block agreed, feeling fatigued.

 

“Yes, a very long time...”

 

A red indicator blipped on the display panel, in New Cleveland. This flash could be seen even from a great distance, over their channel of communication. The warning caused a sense of alarm. Other technicians spang into action, as the strobe light continued to shine.

 

“Commander, we have picked up a small craft over Planet Earth. Do you have any other members of the fleet in your area? Anyone at all?”

 

His counterpart on the Morningstar reddened with guilt.

 

“NC center? You’re going fuzzy, it must be from the lightning and thunder below. Those storms send out shock waves of disturbance, we don’t fully understand yet what changed in the terrestrial atmosphere. It’s a mystery we’ve got to work out. Let me focus on getting us home in one piece. I’ll wrangle with the details once we’re docked...”

 

Technician Farcourt scratched his head and cursed in a whisper. The blaze of red light from his console continued.

 

“Dammit Hornell, what kind of game are you playing this time? Don’t lie to me, it isn’t worth the effort. Save your doublespeak for the high council!”

 

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Nine”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

The Morningstar III had security protocols in place that were sophisticated and yet simplistic. They depended on the presence of an obedient and well-trained crew. No one considered the fact that an intruder from outside of their military ecosystem, one used to problem-solving with skills rooted in science and mathematics, could decode a plethora of measures incorporated into the vessel’s design.

 

Dr. Judson Baines was entertained by the thought of outwitting onboard computers used by the ship. He realized that a basic tool, such as his com-link, could function as a virtual point-of-entry. By using the device to strategically stream misinformation, he could divert attention from himself, and nefarious actions being taken. The result would be a hole in the surveillance grid. A blank spot in which he could hide.

 

Pondering the likely rage of authorities that awaited his return to their home base on Mars, he started to concoct a plan for surreptitiously entering the flight deck, for a Digger. He only needed a minute of invisibility to pilfer one of the shuttles for his own use. A tote made of synthetic canvas could carry all of his belongings. He figured that the downscale craft could be reprogrammed to make an exit launch, in another sixty seconds. Everything depended on his speed and stealthy movements through the lower corridors.

 

With the main crew on standby, during night hours designated by an artificial regulator, he dressed in a stolen engineering suit, and began to creep toward his target. They were in travel mode, nominally running on an autopilot program. Command officers that were in need of relaxation had assembled at a makeshift pub, created in a space that once housed dignitaries from the high council. Now, with the Space Force having become commonplace in their social order, such political accommodations were unnecessary.  

 

The university professor tapped out an override code upon reaching a portal in the shuttle bay. Then, strode across the platform floor, boldly. Cameras and sensors stationed above were blind and deaf. He located a Digger that had been charged and inspected for immediate use. His chest heaved with a deep breath, before opening the access hatch.

 

At the control panel, he scanned a key from the display on his wireless cube. Then belted himself into place. The twin engines glowed and hummed with tapped energy from a receptacle in the tail, where Cloitanium was stored in a sealed chamber.

 

Baines vocalized his emotions for no one to hear.

 

“Goodbye Kelly, I wish we could’ve gotten to spend more time together. Goodbye Hornell, you grumpy bastard! Goodbye, Morningstar! Hello Planet Earth! Hello Ohio! Hello Evergreen Estates! Hello to the memory of T.C. Lincoln!”

 

When he engaged the drive program, everything suddenly went dark. A velocity indicator showed zero. His restraints popped open as if the tiny craft had landed.

 

Commander Block appeared outside, in front of the windshield.

 

“Nice try, Doctor! You’re a brilliant thief, maybe you should’ve chosen a different career path. I’ll bet you could have robbed a fortune in Martian elements. But, that’s over now. Please disembark. I want to talk about your intentions...”

 

From behind, Lt. Strafe stepped from the shadow of stacked shipping containers. She was in full-dress garb, as if greeting a member of the interplanetary alliance.

 

“Sorry, Juddy. I had to sell you out. Your electronic signature came up on my network. I’ll give you credit for staying cloaked. But that gap in the grid caused a negative sum to pop up. You should’ve covered it with something, like a screensaver on an ancient PC desktop...”

 

Her friend cursed and kicked a support runner under his console. His language turned seedy and harsh.

 

“GAWDAMM! ALL THIS BECAUSE I DIDN’T THINK TO COVER MY ASS?”

 

Block grinned and laughed with satisfaction. He relished the temporary moment of superiority.

 

“Look, I’m not here to stop your escape. I actually appreciate how you tried to cover your tracks. It’ll make things easier when you’ve finally departed.”

 

The rambunctious scientist was confused.

 

“Departed? Umm... you’re going to let me go?”

 

Strafe nodded her head, and smiled.

 

“I managed to convince the commander that seeing you get arrested wouldn’t be a good thing for either of us...”

 

Hornell Block clenched his fist, reflexively.

 

“I couldn’t care less about you going to the brig. But that would mean a full investigation of our procedures, here on the Morningstar. There should have been a search team sent to that blasted trailer park, before I let you go running around in the weeds. That was my first mistake. The second was to neglect securing any artifacts retrieved from that site. I let you take control. That might be viewed as an abdication of authority. Almost like leaving my post. I’ve worked for years to build a good reptation with the brass on Mars, and outer worlds. They don’t hand out my rank to just anyone. It’s not like getting cotton candy at the galactic fair!”

 

Dr. Baines snorted with amusement.

 

“SO THAT’S IT? YOU WANT TO SAVE YOUR OWN HIDE?”

 

The lieutenant flipped her ponytail back and forth.

 

“You’ve got good intentions, Juddy. But there’s an old saying about those, that they pave the road to damnation...”

 

Her superior officer continued that line of reasoning.

 

“One century removed from the Great Uprising isn’t really enough. We’re still too close to the conflagration, in historical terms. Maybe your research will edify the human race, eventually. I’m willing to give you benefit of the doubt. Right now though, the people who run our society have their laces tied too tightly. They couldn’t accept any revision about how we all became wards of the solar system. You want to clear your great-grandfather’s name. What I want is peace and continuity. Mankind is alive, but living in genie bottles on planets and moons where sentient beings never walked before. At least not the kind we would recognize. I want our grand experiment to continue. And I don’t want the human race to remember that it sprang from contentious apes, who battled each other for resources, with sticks and stones.”

 

Strafe pointed to the Digger and offered advice on how to survive in the rubble of Evergreen Estates. Her concern sounded genuine.

 

“You can use this shuttle as a base, until getting acclimated to the new environment. It’ll supply power and shelter. You’ll be camping in the woods, not quite so comfy as living on our ship. But I think it’ll work out well. Search and learn, and study what remains of the park. Figure out what actually caused the mass migration to Mars. Point a finger of blame at whoever deserves it...”

 

The professional scholar shrugged and rolled his eyes.

 

“Humanity is to blame, because of our nature as a species. When one side goes off the rails, sometimes, the other can overreact. That kept wars going on our old homeworld for thousands of years. Everybody claimed victimhood. But what really lit the fires was our inability to function as an intelligent form of life. We sank into a morass of bigotry, prejudice, and conflict. Even today, what keeps us from killing each other is a strict code of ethics. Everyone in the colonies knows that a little prick in our armor will let the artificial atmosphere escape. Everyone will die. So, we all live like canned sardines. Hermetically sealed in a world cut off from the outer limits.”

 

Commander Block saluted, and then turned toward the exit door.

 

“Good fortune to you, Doctor. I hope you find peace in your work. Maybe someday, we’ll see you again. I promise a check-in, if the fleet sends us back into this neighborhood! Meanwhile, I’ll take a few lumps for your supposed escape. I can handle that level of reprimand. Your genius qualities will give me cover. I’ll plead ignorance and go forward...”

 

Strafe broke their military code of conduct, and kissed her longtime friend on the mouth. The sweet taste of her lips made him flush with a mixture of arousal and regret.

 

“We will see you again, Juddy! I promise. You’ll always be in my heart, no matter how crazy I think you are!”

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Eight”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Dr. Judson Baines had fallen asleep in an oversized lounge chair, after hours of reading through journals written by his great-grandfather, at Evergreen Estates. His eyes burned from overuse and fatigue. Yet he felt content to have retrieved the valued, historical documents from their mission to Planet Earth. Regret tempered his scholarly joy as he realized that another visit might never be permitted. But he persisted in analyzing the treasure trove of notebooks, until exhaustion finally eclipsed his stamina. He snored loudly in his quarters on the Morningstar III. Electronic beeps and blips and other extraneous noises of the spacefaring vessel did not interrupt his slumber. But then, there was a chirp from his com-link.

 

Lt. Kelly Strafe stood outside of his door. She had dressed down, to appear anonymous. No one in the corridor leading to the remote cubicle had recognized her as she passed.

 

“Juddy? We need to talk. Open up, I’ve got news from Texas City...”

 

The academic steward restlessly rolled out of his plush furnishing. He could barely focus on anything in the small room.

 

“Kells? What the heck, woman? It must be after midnight, according to the ship’s clock. What’s the matter? Did they decide to let us stay in orbit?”

 

When the sliding panel yielded to a button-push, the lieutenant appeared, looking somewhat like a college student after a gym workout. She had donned a sweatsuit and headband, all colored purple. Her blonde hair spilled over the top.

 

“We’re on our way back to Mars, there wasn’t a change of heart about ending this voyage. But I needed to let you know that I got a back-channel blast from a friend at the TC command center. There’s been chatter about your discovery at the ruins of that trailer park we encountered. An order was given to take you into custody, on sight. The Mars high council got nervous after hearing that you might challenge their official timeline about what led to the Great Uprising...”

 

Baines had to catch his breath once the officer had finished speaking. Her frantic report made him both stunned and confused.

 

“CUSTODY? LIKE UMM, BEING ARRESTED?”

 

The lieutenant nodded, smartly.

 

“Keeping things in order is a big deal, Juddy. The outworld colonies only survive because we’ve all learned to get along. Dissenters mess up the machinery. I’ve tried to warn you before!”

 

The university professor wallowed in disbelief. His thick glasses dripped droplets of sweat.

 

“C’mon, Kells, that is completely ridiculous! They’re afraid of a new wrinkle to our history? We all came from Earther stock, the mass migration brought our DNA to new worlds. None of us are better or worse than the others. That’s the change that made mankind into a homogenous group of survivors, instead of a contentious rabble...”

 

His cohort flipped her head defiantly. She narrowed her gaze and pointed a finger.

 

“See, the thing that really changed was that nobody stirs the pot anymore. Except for lone wolves and newbie nerds. You’ve had your nose in the books for so long that you missed the point of your own lessons! Don’t you get it? Living in sealed chambers and hopping from planet to planet, to asteroids or whatever, that’s a tough trick to execute. It’s like being an acrobat. The only thing keeping us alive is discipline. For me, the kind of discipline I got by joining the Space Force. But you want to be a cowboy. That’s hilarious! We don’t have those kinds of individuals anymore. We’re better than that now! It’s all for one and one for all...”

 

Baines coughed phlegm and sputtered.

 

“You think we’re better as a species? Okay, I used to feel that vibe, myself. Yet right here and right now, I think one thing never changed. We’re still motivated by fear. They’re afraid of learning things about themselves, and about our history. They don’t want to open Pandora’s Box. It might inspire genuine discussion and debate. I’ve been teaching those concepts at school for a dozen years. But people like you, leaders and soldiers, stamp out the seed. You won’t let it grow! Think about it though, what you are crushing is our humanity. We were never meant to be robots in service to a grand matrix!”

 

Lt. Strafe shivered with shock. The words she heard tingled in her ears.

 

“Judson Rawlings Baines! My god, you sound like an instigator! Don’t paint me with your broad brush, I’m just one single woman, doing her best to get along in the 22^nd Century...”

 

Her educator friend bowed his head with a twitch of remorse.

 

“I didn’t mean to pass judgment. Look, we’re all part of this scheme. It’s how we were raised, while the new cities went up on Mars and other chunks of rock in our solar system. There are still wrecked lifeboats out there in the cosmos, full of dead adventurers who never made it to a new home among the stars. What our human race accomplished is remarkable. We’re resilient by nature. That’s why I think that our social order will survive. If I dole out a little bit of truth, and ruffle some feathers, so be it! Our colony won’t vanish. Maybe, just maybe, it will be better in the balance. More free and wise and just, in making decisions. That could spread around the universe, given enough time!”

 

His military counterpart stiffened and narrowed her eyes.

 

“THAT’S WHAT THEY’RE AFRAID OF, JUDDY! THAT’S WHY THEY’LL BE WAITING WHEN YOU ARRIVE AT TEXAS CITY! THIS ISN’T A JOKE! YOU DON’T WANT TO BE A PRISONER IN THE COLONIAL CORRECTIONAL SYSTEM! IT’S UGLY AND DARK ON THAT SIDE OF THE FENCE!”

 

Dr. Baines fell backward into his lounger. He had run into an intellectual wall.

 

“So, if they plan to slap me in irons, then there’s only one choice to make. I can’t go back, Kells. Maybe it’s destiny at work? Convince Commander Block to turn this craft around. Drop me off where all of this started. Earth needs an awakening. I’ll volunteer. Let me be the first inhabitant to repopulate that patch of Ohio. I can study and learn, and eventually, reverse the trend that made our civilization abandon its birthplace!”

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Seven”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Commander Hornell Block was fully at attention in the conference room, on a middle deck of the Morningstar III. He sat upright and wide-eyed, with his shoulders squared. As if expecting to greet a superior officer from the Space Force. But instead, the hour had been reserved for something else, a verbal confrontation in which his rank on the ship meant nothing. An encounter, one-on-one, with the lone passenger on their vessel who was not a conscripted member of the military.

 

Dr. Judson Baines was their guest wholly because of his position as a scion of the educational establishment on Mars. He owed no loyalty to the force, or any governmental agency. Only the ongoing search for scientific revelations, and historical perspectives, held him in thrall.

 

Anticipating a frank discussion, Block had scheduled their meeting in private. There were no other members of the crew present, or any recording devices activated. He had even turned off his own com-link. Something that rarely ever happened, except in emergency situations.

 

When the professor arrived, he was dressed casually in a sweatshirt and khaki trousers. He had a pipe and pouch of tobacco in his hands.

 

“Do you mind if I smoke during our conversation, sir? It helps me to relax, something people did a century ago on Planet Earth, before strict health mandates went into effect.”

 

The commander raised an eyebrow and snorted.

 

“YOU KNOW THAT ISN’T PERMITTED ON ANY VESSEL IN THE FLEET!”

 

Baines smiled with amusement.

 

“I’ll repeat my query with more specificity. Do you yourself mind if I smoke, sir?”

 

Block felt his face flushing red.

 

“No, I don’t actually. Do what you want. I deactivated all of the surveillance sensors and spy programs. You are free to do and say whatever comes to mind...”

 

The professional egghead put a lighter to his bowl of aged tobacco.

 

“We’re headed back to our home base. Is that right, sir? I’m guessing you’ll eject me at the space dock, for a return to Texas City?”

 

The commander huffed slightly and rubbed his hands together.

 

“Those were my instructions. I don’t have free will like you, I follow orders according to the chain of command. But Lt. Strafe is very fond of you personally, she asked me to speak confidentially about your findings at the site of Evergreen Estates. She believes that if you publish those journals in academic circles, there could outrage among political wonks around the colony. Even retribution from authorities that govern Mars. Have you given that any thought?”

 

Dr. Baines laughed so forcefully that pipe smoke puffed toward the ceiling.

 

“Retribution? Really? I wouldn’t expect that kind of pressure for someone like me. I’m a history buff, an overgrown kid teaching classes and writing papers, virtually. Nothing I do or say matters like the efforts of diplomats or soldiers...”

 

Block stiffened in his seat. Both fists were clenched. He had the severe expression of someone about to launch a tactical strike.

 

“Doctor, I know you’ve sat through plenty of history classes in school. And taught more than a few, after getting your position at the university. We’ve all had our heads stuffed with facts, legends, and apocryphal tales from the Great Uprising. Questions about what spurred the mass migration to Mars have simmered quietly for years in the outer planets. But our leaders feel that keeping a lid on the data-stream is important. They don’t want faith in this human experiment to go sour. Our survival as a species has depended on cooperation and shared sacrifice. We had to jettison old habits like suspicion, partisanship, and making war. Do you understand?”

 

The scientist and truth-seeker nodded his head. His thick spectacles had begun to cloud up with a fog of sweat.

 

“Of course. Our society is different, but deep down, our hearts and minds still reverberate with animalistic fervor...”

 

The commander pounded his fist on the conference table.

 

“Early voyagers had a long journey to reach the Red Planet. There wasn’t much in place, a few installations from the pioneer settlers. They used Larman transports in those days, very slow and balky at the helm. It took about a year of traveling to get from Earth to Mars. That meant those who arrived were tired of living in cramped conditions, and surly over eating processed mush. Life at places like New Cleveland or Texas City wasn’t much better. But at least they were able to socialize. It’s natural to want companionship with your own kind! They made it work by redefining the parameters of liberty. Old concepts like free speech and individual responsibility went by the wayside. Those things don’t function well in a closed environment that depends on uniformity and meeting goals for the greater good...”

 

Baines frowned and shrugged. His pipe had gone cold.

 

“Was there a point you intended to make out of this, sir? I’ve lost track along the way.”

 

Block put both hands flat on the table. His eyes glowed like active lasers.

 

“There are many names for what we’ve become. Socialists? Serfs? Useful idiots? Call it what you want. It works! Every citizen of the colonies, on whatever world, has had to endure this kind of intellectual evolution. There’s no room for cowboy logic in outer space. Now do you get my point?”

 

The scientist had to bite his tongue, gently.

 

“Am I a cowboy then? That’s an intriguing thought, actually. But don’t misunderstand my purpose. I want to dig through my ancestor’s journals, and if possible, go back for more...”

 

The commander spit saliva while trying to control his mouth.

 

“GO BACK FOR MORE? ARE YOU SERIOUS? THE HIGH COUNCIL WON’T LET ME OUT OF THAT SHIPYARD AGAIN, WITH YOU ON BOARD! YOU’RE MARKED, ALREADY! THERE HAVE BEEN RUMORS BUBBLING UP ACROSS THE INTERPLANETARY NETWORKS. SOME THINK YOU WANT TO REVIVE THE MAGA DEFENSE! DOES THAT STING? IT’S A STEEP PRICE TO PAY FOR GOING TO VISIT A GRAVEYARD IN WHAT USED TO BE CALLED OHIO!”

 

Dr. Baines slouched in his chair. Its composite material had become damp with perspiration.

 

“I’ve heard for decades that my great-grandfather was complicit in sowing seeds of the uprising. But writings in his own hand prove that to be untrue. He was an outcast, apparently. A hermit and an alcoholic, in a neighborhood of rubes who believed in the rebellion. It ruined everything, the state, the nation, and eventually, most of the known world. Yet his guilt was exaggerated. Let me show you what I’ve found. My discovery is quite fascinating to behold...”

 

Commander Block flinched at this impulsive invitation. He recoiled like someone who had seen a spider or a snake.

 

“SHOW ME? HELL NO, YOU WON’T SHOW ME ANYTHING! KEEP POKING THE BEAR, AND I’LL SHOW YOU TO THE BRIG! I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF OUR CHAT FOR ONE DAY. YOU ARE DISMISSED, PROFESSOR BAINES! THANK YOU FOR BEING HONEST AND CANDID!”

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Six”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Lead Technician Rand Farcourt stood stiffly before his console at the Mars colony in New Cleveland. He had been monitoring the Morningstar III since its departure from their space dock, on a research mission to Planet Earth. The time for their return had come and gone with no communications between the vessel and his operational center. So, he felt a measure of unease when reaching out, on a predetermined emergency channel.

 

His voice cracked with emotion while hailing the tardy ship.

 

“Commander Block, this is NC Center. You were scheduled to arrive here at 1600 hours local time. Is there an issue with your craft? Please respond! This is a Code One request. I say again, please respond! Are you in distress? We need to know your status so a proper aid mission can be sent, if necessary...”

 

Static filled his wireless earpiece. He repeated the call over and over, until his throat went dry.

 

Engineer Nyugen-Ron Hideki fiddled with virtual dials, at a pop-up display behind the main panelboard. He wore thick spectacles held in a composite frame, with a zebra pattern. This gave him the appearance of a college nerd, revisiting New Wave trends from ancient history. A vibe that he liked to project.

 

“Sir, there’s a clear shot for our signal. Conditions in the solar system are quite good right now. I can’t see any reason why they won’t answer. Should I magnify our volume level? Maybe there is interference due to solar flares, or some kind of spatial distortion caused by asteroids that are crossing the plane of our alignment with their current position!”

 

His superior officer sighed with frustration.

 

“No, there’s no point in wasting the energy for a bigger radio boom. I know their team, Hornell Block and I both went to the academy at Texas City. If he’s running behind schedule, there’s a good reason. He will explain later, I am sure, not that it matters to you or me. The high council will have more to say about this, going forward. He will offer some rationale for dragging his feet, I just can’t guess what that might be...”

 

The engineer tapped at lighted squares on his panel.

 

“Sir, I show the commander’s vessel still in Earth orbit. They haven’t embarked on a return vector, just yet. That’s really odd, it takes some time to get from there to here, even with a full charge of the crystal inverters. They’ve been circling the old homeworld for plenty of time to do a phased restore. I don’t get it!”

 

There was a squawk of electronic anguish from the contact array, which formed a ring around the room. Then, a familiar bellow of contrition echoed from the speakers.

 

“NC Center! This is the Morningstar. Sorry, I let the crew sleep in today, bad on me for giving them too much slack. We’ll be departing planetary orbit in fifteen minutes...”

 

Technician Farcourt slapped his palm on the console. He was wet from perspiring.

 

“Commander, you’ve been giving us fits out here at the Mars colony. What the hell is going on?”

 

There was a brief pause, followed by more static. Then, the Space Force veteran offered an unconvincing string of excuses.

 

“Rand, don’t get your shorts in a bunch! We had a problem with the Cloitanium reserve. It wasn’t responding to wave stimulation at normal levels. I connected with someone from a station in the Calimex district. That’s the most sophisticated region left from what used to be America. They’ve attempted to follow our pace of technological advances over the past hundred years. Not quite there yet, but working on it...”

 

His counterpart in New Cleveland sputtered and groaned. Something did not sound plausible in the timeline. He could smell a pungent aroma of agricultural manure in his nostrils.

 

“If you ran the reserve down, it would take weeks to correct. You can’t just throw a switch and juice up those crystals! I know the deal with 22^nd century propulsion! What’s the game you’re trying to run on me, Hornell?”

 

Block reddened with embarrassment, but maintained composure.

 

“Look, I can show you the ship logs when we get home. Right now, just trust me when I say that our delay wasn’t intentional. A massive storm fouled things up on the planet below, that caused a rough ride for Lt. Strafe and Dr. Baines, as they returned in the Digger shuttle. The magnetic disruption hit us hard. There were streams of energy sparked by lightning on the planet surface. Things have gotten spooky since the Great Uprising. That conflict upset the equilibrium of nature. I don’t know how anything can live here in current terms. The seasonal patterns are wild...”

 

Farcourt scratched his head and peered at readings on the flat display. He was tired of debating over details.

 

“I show you powered-up now, and ready. Godspeed, Morningstar! See you soon!”

 

The commander gestured to his crew, feeling confident that the disingenuous ruse had worked. At least for the moment.

 

“Engage the drive, bring the Cloitanium reserves online, lieutenant! Full ahead, toward Mars! Let’s get out of this neighborhood while the going is clear!”

 

In his quarters below, Dr. Judson Baines sat with a container of freeze-dried coffee, and a stack of notebooks taken from Evergreen Estates. The isolated community of mobile homes had been surprisingly well-preserved for having survived a century of unpredictable weather. He flipped through the handwritten pages carefully, reading and taking notes on his wireless device. There were entries that described wanton acts of violence and political resistance. A kind of civil unrest not seen in old America for generations. He noted that bloodstains had splattered some of the covers. And gunpowder burns left their imprint. Those telltale signs of woe made him shudder. They had seen a makeshift graveyard in a field next to the maintenance garage, where an on-site manager once supervised the working-class development. He wondered how many residents of the park had been buried there, in the midst of their rebellion.

 

“Talk to me, Great Granddad Link. Tell me what you know. Tell me what really happened with the uprising and the MAGA Defense. I’m listening! Tell me all of your secrets!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Fisticuffs”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Bronson Breeley was a big, burly fellow by any measure of manhood. Covered with military tattoos and battle scars. He walked the streets at Evergreen Estates with a reputation for misbehaving and carrying a surly disposition. No one wanted to cross his path, particularly after a DUI arrest caused him to lapse into unemployment and isolation. Something that didn’t keep him from driving, until a second encounter with the police made local authorities decide to impound his ratty, Chevrolet truck. He did odd jobs around the trailer enclave to keep himself able to pay the monthly lot rent, and afford bottom-shelf bourbon, while this order was in effect.

 

Residents called him BB when he was not around to protest. A nickname that some said was intended to stand for Big Bastard.

 

But on Saturday afternoon, a skinny, reclusive neighbor who lived directly behind Breeley’s singlewide abode was cutting the grass with a push-mower. Innocently, he made a turn around a propane tank that separated their yards. This maneuver caught the corner of a concrete block that supported the reservoir. A chunk went airborne after striking the motorized blade, and flew into a window which faced the back of his own, humble dwelling. He immediately began to tremble, as broken glass scattered on the ground.

 

Sloan Peck knew that he would be marked for retribution. But he tried valiantly to explain the error, as his pursuer appeared with a baseball bat, stripped to the waist like a pro wrestler. A fearsome character, about to dispense judgment in front of a live audience.

 

“GAWDAMM IT MODAFACKA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YA DOING OUT HERE? THAT DAMN NEAR TOOK MY HEAD OFF!”

 

Sloan neatly curled into a fetal position, though he was still standing. The youngish boy weighed no more than 100 pounds, even wearing cowboy boots and a hunting vest.

 

“Mr. Bee, just calm down for a minute, ‘kay? I didn’t mean to harm your trailer. Believe me, nobody wants to get on your bad side around here. I apologize...”

 

Bronson dropped the bat and jabbed with a clenched fist. His target’s head snapped backward violently. Spit and blood squirted from his mouth. He went limp and collapsed against the outside wall of his manufactured shack. Unfortunately, the sight of crimson trickling from his stubbly face did not satisfy the angry lug. He wanted more vengeance.

 

“DON’T YA PAY ATTENTION TA SHIT? JEEZAS! WHAT THE FRIG? I WAS TAKING A NAP BEFORE IT GOT TOO HOT IN MY HOUSE! THE A-CEE IS TOAST, I GOT NO MONEY TA FIX IT! THOSE DICKHEADS FINED ME A THOUSAND BUCKS FER DRIVING WITH NO LICENSE. THERE’S METHHEADS ‘ROUND HERE, KOOKY FREAKS DOIN’ ALL KINDS OF CRAP, AND THEY PICK ON MY ASS! IT DON’T MAKE NO SENSE! NONE AT ALL!”

 

He punched harder this time, while shifting his body weight into the hit. This sent his opponent crashing into a flower garden bordered with ornamental bricks.

 

Sloan lost consciousness as he rolled in the dirt.

 

“I apologize, Mr. Bee! I apologize...”

 

Noise from their confrontation echoed freely across the park, to the manager’s office, because they were not far from the maintenance garage where her command center was stationed. Fearing that a crime had been committed, she phoned the Sheriff’s Department.

 

“This is Dana Alvarez, 4133 Pine Trail Road, you guys gotta come quick! I think our Big Bastard just killed a dude! He’s el monstruo around here, a freaking beast! All I got to defend myself is a little pistola with one shot! That ain’t mierda for such a big bruto! I’m gonna hide in the bathroom!”  

 

The wail of sirens approaching sent Bronson over an emotional cliff. It was late enough in the afternoon that he wanted to start drinking. Yet now, circumstances had interrupted his natural routine.

 

Before he could retreat inside, a bullhorn’s bark filled his ears.

 

“CITIZEN! DROP ON THE GROUND AND SPREAD YOUR ARMS AND LEGS! DO IT NOW!”

 

Bronson felt his stomach twist into a knot. Reflexively, he reached for the baseball bat.

 

“This jackass broke my gawdamm window! I was just gettin’ a little payback, okay? Simmer down, brudders!”

 

One of the deputies kicked at his leg, while another grabbed the crude weapon.

 

“ON THE GROUND! I WON’T SAY IT AGAIN! GET YOURSELF ON THE DAMN GROUND!”

 

Sloan had begun to regain consciousness, as the officers did their work. He sat upright in the bed of floral greenery, and coughed phlegm from his battered lungs.

 

“Mr. Bee is right, I messed up. It’s all my fault, ‘kay? Don’t put him in handcuffs. He was just reacting to my mistake...”

 

Deputy Krajik stood taller than his partner from the department. He was clean-cut and sharp in his uniform and duty belt.

 

“You’re a mess, kid! Don’t let this ape slide, he doesn’t deserve a break. How many times did he bust you in the chops?”

 

The scrawny resident rubbed his aching cheeks.

 

“It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t!”

 

Bronson grinned widely at his hapless victim. He had not expected a tone of forgiveness.

 

“Listen ta the boy, he’s right ‘bout what happened! See my back window? It’s all broke! That coulda been my skull! Ya can’t blame me fer gettin’ riled up!”

 

Krajik pointed to the wooden bat as evidence.

 

“You were about to take a swing at me with this, just now. What was that game, citizen? Should I be vengeful with you, like you were with this poor soul?”

 

The beefy vigilante snorted and snickered. He pinched the fold of his square jaw.

 

“Okay sure, ya want ta throw hands? Fisticuffs, that’s it! Give me a flipping love tap, right on the chin, if that’s what yer jonesing fer! Do it hard, constable! Do it hard!”

 

The deputy spun on his heel like a major league pitcher, tossing a strike. He landed a blow with such force, that the arrogant provocateur bounced off his propane tank, and wobbled into a stand of sapling trees. He hung there with a glazed expression of surrender in his eyes.

 

Sloan could barely catch his breath. He turned red with embarrassment.

 

“Looks like the score is settled, ‘kay? Thank you, officers! Thank you so much!”

 

The lawman radioed back to headquarters with a report that amused his dispatcher.

 

“Looks like a false alarm. Nothing to see here, just a little bit of cleaning up some trash. I always seem to get the dirty work, it’s a curse! We’ll be returning to base now. Roger that! Over and out!”