Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Twenty-Five”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-24)

 

 

Kelly Strafe had been impatient with the limited capabilities of her Ibid carrier, throughout the return journey to Planet Earth. But she stayed busy with scientific experiments and mapping, as a distraction. The span of four weeks seemed to crawl along at a snail’s pace. Piloting the vessel alone, she mused over details of her suspension, imprisonment, and resignation on a daily basis. Sometimes, she would vocalize her rage out loud. Then, laugh at these displays of uncontrolled emotions. It was not the sort of behavior that reflected having a career in military service.

 

“FUCK YOU, HORNELL BLOCK! FUCK YOU, COREL NAUGA! FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!”

 

Her fists would bounce off of the controls when these episodes occurred. Afterward, the cabin always seemed unusually silent. Except for the humming of Gibidan impeller components, in the craft’s tail section.

 

Upon reaching their ancestral homeworld, she experienced a moment of awe. The massive, blue sphere was lovely when viewed from space. It gave off no vibes of war or conflict, or death. Without the interference of human minds, it was simply a giant rock, traveling around the sun. A part of cosmic machinery, always in motion.

 

She hailed her former cohort on all frequencies used by ships from the Mars colony. But there was no reply. Only static and background noise. When she scanned the area near Lake Erie, where the ruins of Evergreen Estates were located, her search program failed to ping on any results. Other than animal inhabitants, and wild vegetation, the analysis read blank.

 

Her tone softened when repeating the calls for contact.

 

“Juddy! I’m back, you must’ve known I’d get here somehow! What happened to you? What happened to that trailer park in the pines?”

 

Her sensors should have picked up an echo from the Digger shuttle. Yet the presence of such a transport was not indicated. She widened her look incrementally, until it included most of what had been the western side of Pennsylvania. Each query brought back nothing. She had stationed the Ibid in a geosynchronous orbit, directly over the abandoned park. But as hours passed with no yield from her observations, she began to realize that something had gone sour.

 

While fiddling with settings on her control panel, a signal beamed through from across the solar system. Her erstwhile superior had opened a data channel from New Cleveland. He sounded anxious, and exhausted. But hopeful that she would have good news to share.

 

“Lieutenant, this is Commander Block. I calculated your arrival time, and set a reminder for myself, one month ago. How are you finding conditions on our old homeworld?”

 

Strafe wanted to spit at her viewscreen. Still, she appreciated hearing another human voice, however loathsome it might have been to her ears.

 

“My rank is gone, Big H! Remember? I resigned my commission. That also means that I don’t have to address you as sir. I think ‘asshole’ would be more descriptive, and accurate!”

 

He gasped lightly, and rolled his eyes.

 

“Maybe I deserve that...”

 

His departed junior hissed and howled at the communications display.

 

“OF COURSE YOU DESERVE IT! YOU SOLD US OUT, AND NOW MUST BE FEELING GUILTY! DUMPING THE PROFESSOR HERE WAS A MOVE TO SAVE YOUR SKIN! I’D CALL IT A COWARDLY TRICK! BUT I’M GUESSING THAT IT DIDN’T WORK COMPLETELY, RIGHT? NOW YOU FEEL GUILTY. AND THE ADMIRAL DOESN’T TRUST YOU. HOW ABOUT THAT?”

 

Block felt his stomach grumbling. He had been nailed, verbally.

 

“You’re very perceptive, Kells. You always were...”

 

She cackled and raised her hands in the air. Her long ponytail flipped victoriously, as she nodded.

 

“So, you’re calling to do what? Apologize? Kiss my ass for forgiveness? Or to explain what you had intended, originally? I’ll just say it straight, I don’t give a damn! I don’t care about anything you’ve got to offer. It’s done. I lost my place in the force, and you kept yours. Go riding around on the Morningstar, and seek out new vistas among the stars. Feel good about yourself. Be content. And... I hope you gag on your gold medals!”

 

The commander cleared his throat, and scratched through his crew-cut hair, while thinking.

 

“Look, I contacted you because we’ve run the ship’s log through our computers on Mars. It takes time to sort everything. The meteorology of that stone you’re circling has changed greatly from what our forebears knew, a century ago. There are cyclical storms throughout the year. Generally, at least one cataclysmic event each month. From what our analysis indicates, something would have just happened in that part of the North American continent. I can’t predict what conditions that might have created at Evergreen Estates, but you can wager on bad weather returning, very soon. They shot off a lot of munitions in the Great Uprising. With chemicals and radiation and explosives of all sorts. Mankind was just developing some incredible capabilities at that point in our history. But it was squandered on killing neighbors and former allies. I’ve never understood the propensity of sentient beings to attack each other. It's a characteristic I am glad was bred out of our DNA. Imagine that kind of folly in a sealed environment, like the colonies we inhabit, now? There would be no people left to mourn, or hold funerals. We would have extinguished the candles lit by our ancestors. And died alone, in the darkness of outer space...”

 

Strafe snorted at this soliloquy. She had grown tired of listening.

 

“Are you done with your sermon? I think if you want to preach, then do it to a mirror. Ask for healing, ask for comfort, whatever you want. You’re no better than the slugs who ran away after ruining this planet. They fouled the air and water, and land. Then headed off to our red horizon, and a new beginning. Maybe that was a good thing, because it created the gene pool that birthed all of us, okay? But if you won’t stand on principle, then what did it solve? Instead of thinking about your career, why didn’t you ponder all this horseshit we’ve been fed? A hundred years of lies about what really happened. You knew that nerd scholar wanted to dig up evidence, and find the truth. Why didn’t you help him, instead of running like those ancient residents of Ohio?”

 

Commander Block had to hold his gut with one hand. He wanted to vomit.

 

“Damn you, Kelly! I always hated it when your conscience caused dissent. Or when you started asking questions that made me feel uncomfortable. Most of all, I hated it when you were... well, right!”

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Twenty-Four”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-24)

 

 

One of the problems with being a university nerd, professionally, was that Dr. Judson Baines looked upon any unfamiliar situation as a chance to study and learn. He did not have the usual fear of being stranded without allies, or ostracized for being a foreign presence. This mindset made him open to gain new experiences, but also undefended when facing the challenge of opposing entities. His innocence was willful. Part of the natural psychology of someone dedicated to gathering information, and sharing it with his students.

 

After departing Evergreen Estates, he entered a new realm about which explorers from the Mars colonies knew little. There had been only observational contact with civilized districts on the North American continent of Planet Earth. Calimex, at the western edge of that land mass. Atlantia, on the east. Torontara, in what had once been Canada. Other regions held their secrets more tightly. Europe, Africa, and Asia, all had some scattered tribes that flourished despite the global calamity. Yet only Australia seemed to have endured largely intact, due to its geographical isolation.

 

What survived of mankind was primitive, and secular. A complete reversal of the connectivity that had brought citizens of the blue ball together, 100 years before.

 

With a calm period in effect, meteorologically, Baines was free to pilot his Digger shuttle around the area without any hindrance. But curiosity caused him to feel cheated. After observing a single fossil-fuel vehicle in transit, near the supposed spot of Roosevelt Station, he wanted to know more.

 

A short distance away, he noted a clearing in the wild. This naked patch in the green was on the border of an old highway remnant, or perhaps, a state route. Enough of the tarmac remained that he could trace this path back toward a mapmaker’s bullseye, where the radio signals had first appeared. He guessed that it would be a friendly place to land, disembark, and investigate. So, after tracing the arc of another wide circle, he descended carefully.

 

Dust and debris blew sideways, as the shuttle found a rocky ledge on which to perch. From his control console, he scanned around the woodland terrain. There was no evidence of human life, only wandering creatures foraging for food and shelter. When he twisted a handle on the access hatch, and climbed outside, a petrichor of damp leaves met his nostrils. It was the first time he had inhaled such a pungent aroma, other than during a gentle rain as he hiked up Sidley’s Hill from the trailer community in Ohio.

 

A directional tool kept him on track, while monitoring the old-style broadcasts. He was limber and energetic at first, but after crossing the overgrown landscape, with fallen trees and large stones covered by moss, he felt fatigued. Eventually, he reached the origin point, sometime after the hour of noon. His device blipped and registered this accomplishment with an icon glowing on its screen. The transmitter had to be nearby. Yet all he could find was a deserted shack, that appeared to be rotting away, anonymously.

 

When he reached for the door latch, it creaked loudly. Rust made the vintage fixture hesitate to yield. Inside, he discovered a lanky, balding fellow with gray strands flowing from the sides of his skull. He was bent over, and stiff. But nimble enough with large dials on his board. A Shure microphone stood at one side.

 

“HEYY! WHAT THE HELL? I NEVER HEARD YOUR FOOTSTEPS! SHIT, I MUST BE GETTING OLD!”

 

Baines recoiled impulsively. He had not expected to find anyone in the forgotten hut.

 

“This is... Roosevelt Station?”

 

The radio operator flushed with embarrassment. His voice was hoarse, from offering colorful chatter over the airwaves.

 

“Who sent you here? Prime Keeper Gardino? If he did, you can tell him to kiss my ass!”

 

The scholastic steward raised his eyebrows, and took a deep breath.

 

“Who? Gardino? I’ve never heard that name before...”

 

His unexpected contact let the antique turntable play a vinyl platter of hillbilly tunes, on its own.

 

“That bastard rules the coastal kingdom, ultimately. Well, at least he did, about 30 years ago. That was our last episode with his troopers. They wanted to unify the states. Our citizens voted his proposal down. Then, things got a bit nasty. We didn’t part on friendly terms!”

 

Dr. Baines shook his head, and smiled.

 

“I’ve been listening to your records. That’s quite an on-air library you’ve got. Where I live, we’ve only heard tales passed along through the generations, about those kinds of songs. I’m a disciple of Old Earth culture...”

 

The amateur disc jockey peered at his guest with befuddlement. Then, extended his hand in greeting.

 

“I’m a nobody around here, Porthos Q. Pyle. Friends call me Cueball. This is my sanctuary, we don’t have a lot left, to read or hear, you know? These platters and magazines are all mine. I share them on days when I’m in a good mood. Today is one of those days. But be careful that your fingers are clean!”

 

The lifelong geek browsed through back issues of MAD Magazine, Floyd Clymer collections, and J.C. Whitney catalogs. Shelves lined the walls, filled with 78 rpm singles, 10-inch EPs, and full-sized LPs. Everything reeked of must. A familiar characteristic of relics from the 20^th Century.

 

“Umm... I am Dr. Judson Baines, from the university at... well, it might require some explaining for you to understand...”

 

Pyle cocked his head to one side.

 

“The damned university at Toqua Platte, in Calimex? Screw those arrogant pricks! They pretend to know everything!”

 

His visitor flinched slightly, at this candid tone.

 

“No... not Calimex. Trust me, I’m not an invader, not looking to form any political or military allegiance...”

 

The radio operator spat tobacco juice into an empty tin can.

 

“Well then, what? I’ve got a pistol around here somewhere, I should’ve had it on my hip in case of a newbie like you, showing up on the premises. Really though, nobody ever comes around. There are only a few receivers left, from old stock. We don’t have many homes rigged up with electricity, anyway. But dang me, there I go saying too much! I keep the antennas connected, there are three going in different directions. The storms mess up my work. It’s like trying to maintain an amusement park. People are rough with the rides! Mother Nature is brutal!”

 

Baines stroked his prominent chin, which had started to develop beard stubble.

 

“Look, you might say that I’m from the future. Not in chronological terms, but umm... sociology instead. I’m a seedling from the outward migration. A spawn of the Great Uprising. Are you a fan of history? I could chatter your ears off, if given half a chance...”

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Twenty-Three”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

When Dr. Judson Baines exited his Digger shuttle, to make a visual inspection outside, the result was gloomy and severe. The small craft had been damaged underneath, from its impact with thick, Buckeye mud, and an uncontrolled slide across the front field at Evergreen Estates. Yet all of its internal systems still seemed to function properly. The question that lingered in his mind was simple, but daunting. Would his transport retain its structural integrity, if taken beyond the planetary atmosphere? Or collapse like an eggshell, under the pressure of acceleration?

 

No answer could be obtained without a technical analysis. He needed the Morningstar for that kind of check-up, and its flight deck full of instruments.

 

As a half-measure, he decided that taking the ship on a limited excursion would help to build confidence in its abilities. An overland trip eastward, to explore and catalog the natural terrain. He knew that large portions of what had been New York and Pennsylvania were now more like what early settlers first encountered when they arrived from Old Europe. Forests had sprung up again, in place of artificial, population hubs constructed by mankind. Once again, a balance of elements dominated the landscape. Yet he suspected that there must be stragglers left behind by this devolving evolutionary curve. Certainly, it was possible that family tribes had survived, protected in the woods. In Atlantia, some sort of higher-function had been achieved, with a lifestyle more on the level of 20^th Century folk. Less than modern, but specialized enough to exist on a reasonable level. He could not guess if they were in touch with other clusters of humanity, or even curious about their presence.

 

With the C-drive powered, Baines navigated his tiny vessel into the sky, and pointed it toward the east. Acres of green lay ahead, seemingly untouched by sentient inhabitants. He flew along Lake Erie, then soared down, across the Southern Tier of New York. The empty districts looked verdant and glorious, yet sad in such a state of abandonment. All the while, he continued to monitor his rig’s outer hull for fractures or compromise. He could hear the craft creaking slightly, as the Cloitanium cells spewed their reactive stream. This innocent noise caused his pulse to quicken. But in reality, posed no immediate threat.

 

At the Finger Lakes Region, he circled over the familiar ruins of Ithaca. A place often depicted in his archival materials. No life signs were apparent, other than the call of birds, and scratching of wandering rodents in the brush. This pervasive silence made him bow his head, with remorse. He had hoped that some traces of the lost world might have survived here, yet realized that many of those who studied at Cornell University were among the first to join their generational freedom convoy, to Mars.

 

Upon reaching the coast, he retreated slightly. Antiquated radio signals had led him to a point on the map that indicated Roosevelt Station should be directly below. But he could see nothing through the overgrowth of timbers. He circled once, then twice, while listening to the broadcasts. Was the announcer simply on a recording, looped to play endlessly? He had not considered that possibility. Maybe their particular version of society had covered itself on purpose, to remain anonymous? That didn’t jive with sending out signals, over the airwaves. He felt puzzled. Somewhere, an answer to this riddle must have been close at hand. He needed to look hard, and think critically. But no clues appeared.

 

There was a break in the tree line, where ocean waters lapped at the beach. He hovered along this sandy stretch for several miles, going north. Then found a break in the ground cover. A concourse of some kind was situated between flanks of leafy vegetation. He spied a motor vehicle, puttering along with smoky trails of exhaust lingering in its wake. The style and appearance were ancient by design. Yet updated in a sense, as if repaired in a shop or garage by amateur mechanics. That sight buoyed his spirit. It was the evidence he needed, to hypothesize that indeed, mankind had outlived dire consequences related to the Great Uprising.

 

Now, he had to ponder options. Would it be wise to land in a favorable spot, and attempt to make contact with this pocket of civilized people? Or should he remain distant, and disconnected? The choice was not one to be made in haste.

 

Beyond thinking about the potential to observe and study this isolated kingdom, as a professional scholar, he also wondered if they held any sort of defensive assets. Might they launch an attack against his vessel, because it was so far superior to their own technology? Or would they strategically hide in trenches and holes? With suspicion guiding them to take extreme measures, only when an advantage had been gained?

 

The conundrum caused him to suffer a headache.

 

While fine-tuning the receiver in his shuttle dashboard, he realized that indeed, songs heard over the previous days were being repeated. With the same commentary, except for reports and asides about the weather. When he attempted to pinpoint the signal’s origin, it varied as he moved. That factual revelation made him quizzical about his original premise that Atlantia was a humble colony of unsophisticated inhabitants. He surveyed the shore and curled westward, toward the inland. There were no further appearances of living beings. And he saw no signs of construction, or any metropolitan center. Yet the hillbilly music continued to echo.

 

“Here’s a good ol’ tune by the Stanley Brothers, it’ll make you want to get up and do some clog dancing, I swear!”

 

Dr. Baines steered around the neighborhood while observing, and whistling along with this rural classic. He tapped his right foot to the rhythm. The melody brightened his mood.

 

“I got a pig at home in a pen;

Corn to feed ‘Em on

All I need’s a pretty little girl

To feed ‘Em when I’m gone

 

Goin’ on the mountain

To sow a little cane

Raise a barrel of Sorghum

To sweeten ol’ Liza Jane

 

I got a pig at home in a pen;

Corn to feed ‘Em on

All I need is a pretty little girl

To feed ‘Em when I’m gone...”

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Twenty-Two” c. 2024 Rod Ice

 

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Kelly Strafe resigned her commission with the Space Force, joined the team at Cosmo Solartec, and boarded an Ibid craft for her voyage back to Planet Earth, all before nine o’clock in the morning. The rapid pace of this event-chain made her head spin. Yet she was confident in deciding that an escape from the claustrophobic confines of life in her Mars colony made good sense. She had run into headwinds that threw her career as a military officer off course. Now, by exiting the paradigm of service and obedience altogether, she could do things that were truly important and meaningful.

 

No one came to see her off, before departing. She had become an orphan. Yet this new status brought her a sense of hope.

 

The Ibid carrier was more than simply a shuttle for traveling between points in the airless vacuum that surrounded worlds in their solar system. It boasted capabilities that were impressive for a vessel about half the size of a Morningstar-class ship. Though slower overall, it could reach distant planets in a reasonable amount of time. What a Larman transport needed a full year to accomplish, it could do in four weeks. It had the capability to perform defensive maneuvers, and in the skilled hands of an experienced pilot, to survey and study alien environments for observers seeking knowledge. She intended to reach the North American continent, locate Evergreen Estates, and discern whether her erstwhile, university cohort had survived his abandonment. Beyond that, work for the fledgling employer would keep credits in her account. As they prospered, so would she, until a better venue arrived.

 

After powering up the Gibidan impeller, she half expected some kind of raid. Perhaps a strategic interruption of the flight plan she had programmed. The promises of Commander Hornell Block meant little, in view of her new reality. Yet there was no hindrance offered to her launch from the dock. The away signal flashed on her viewscreen, and then, inertia slammed her back in the seat. She had both hands on the joysticks. Background stars twinkled as the ship lunged forward.

 

The station controller’s voice barked from her dashboard, in a synthetic monotone.

 

“Ibid-C, you are cleared to leave the space dock. Good vibes to you. Be well, and safe!”

 

A hum of generators glowing with energy made the metal hull buzz. Strafe checked her course settings, and steered out of orbit. She locked in the coordinates for Planet Earth. Then, let the automated programming take over.

 

“Roger that, home base. Here’s hoping I find things in good shape on the other end of my journey. I’d hate to go all that way just to be disappointed. We’ll see what happens...”

 

The C-drive of larger, newer ships could be tracked across long distances. This made them easy to identify when approaching. But Ibid propulsion did not generate the unique, high-pitched squeal of Cloitanium reactors. So, as Kelly Strafe journeyed toward the origin point for humanity, she was cloaked in a measure of invisibility. Only when in close proximity could her transport be identified with low-tech radar.

 

While under the control of automatic guidance, she busied herself leafing through data sets that had been cataloged from their first mission, on the Morningstar III. There were many pages of scans and photographs. Each one offered evidence of the culture that had birthed their own civilization, on the red globe. She was intrigued by the diversity of Old Earth. Its variations were incredible, considering the unsophisticated nature of their evolutionary curve. They had sired many languages and traditions. Yet still found reasons to fight each other, and spill human blood. This barbaric tendency was one that cursed the blue world.  It made mankind suspect among the stars. A violent, hulking giant, not to be trusted or admired.

 

As she read through entries on the magnetic disc, a chirp of salutation sounded from her com-link. The notification repeated until she answered by clicking on a message icon.

 

“Lieutenant? I regret not being able to address you with that rank, any longer. Please accept my apologies for the discipline which was necessary.  I would have preferred that you offered a confession of liability, and made amends with the leadership on our high council...”

 

Strafe cleared her throat and laughed out loud. She recognized Admiral Corel Nauga from his distinctive brogue. Something picked up from colonies beyond their own homeworld.

 

“FUCK YOU, SIR! I DON’T HOLD ANY MILITARY RANK NOW! SO, YOU CAN POLITELY KISS MY LITTLE, ROUND ASS!”

 

The top-tier commandant was speechless.

 

“I understand that you might feel combative, Kelly. But it would be helpful if you approached this situation with a bit more contrition.”

 

The demoted officer shrieked and cackled like a sorceress.

 

“CONTRITION?  AFTER YOU WRECKED MY CAREER? C’MON, ADMIRAL! YOU KNEW COMMANDER BLOCK WAS INVOLVED. BUT THAT WAS FORGOTTEN. YOU LET HIM SLIDE! AND NAILED ME TO THE CROSS, INSTEAD!”

 

Nauga breathed heavily, and drummed his fingers on the control panel.

 

“An outdated metaphor, to be sure. Block notified us of your intentions with the Morningstar. He was heroic in staying true to his oath of loyalty. You were on the fringe. You deserved to be reprimanded. I just regret that it cost us a prime candidate for promotion...”

 

Strafe was amused to the point of turning red.

 

“PROMOTION? IS THAT A CARROT YOU WANT TO DANGLE IN FRONT OF ME?”

 

The admiral kept his composure.

 

“I mean that sincerely. Your talent is obvious. It always has been.”

 

His deposed warrior shook her head in disbelief.

 

“Well, I’m on the team with Cosmo Solartec now. It doesn’t matter. You both got what you wanted, or maybe you didn’t. If your desire was for kneeling and begging, then sorry, I’m not that kind of woman! This isn’t the puritan era, right? We have liberties in the 22^nd Century. We make our own decisions. Our own choices. Men don’t command us, any longer!”

 

Nauga choked on his own breath. He had run out of words to exclaim.

 

“So be it then, I’ll leave you to your adventure. My regret is sincere. You were an asset to us, I hate to surrender valuable officers to private industry. It makes us all weaker. I wish you goodwill and the protection of a loving creator...”

 

His former lieutenant switched off her com-link. Then roared with defiance.

 

“SHOVE IT, ASSHOLE! SHOVE IT WHERE OLD SOL DOESN’T SHINE!”

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Twenty-One”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

The military brig at New Cleveland was cold and austere. A place intended to humble prisoners, though in a humane fashion that befitted the culture developed on Mars. Each cell had basic amenities, and was equipped with sensors that allowed monitoring from a single station. Live surveillance continued all through the day and night. There was never a time to relax. Though no torture or punishment was allowed, often, those incarcerated at the facility broke down from stress. Being housed in such a sterile and severe environment usually caused even well-trained recruits to sign a pledge of contrition, and make videos for general distribution. These minimalist productions included confessions of guilt, pleas for understanding and forgiveness, and oaths of renewed loyalty for authorities in the planetary colonies. Only one captive seemed strong enough to resist, long-term. She would not murmur with regret, or guilt. Instead, her defiant tone only grew louder while being held behind bars.

 

Lt. Kelly Strafe had been trained for exploring outer worlds in the solar system, under harsh conditions. She did not bend or break, despite being isolated. Instead, each day only served to increase her fortitude.

 

Guards at the facility kept their distance from her cubicle. They interacted only when necessary.

 

Commander Hornell Block arrived at the unit on a Tuesday afternoon. He wore a standard uniform, as if on duty in charge of his spacefaring vessel. But did not try to make a show of his presence, otherwise. After logging in at the security kiosk, he walked through corridors until locating the metal cage of his former junior. He stood silently in front of her cell for a moment, then cleared his throat and offered a greeting.

 

“Kelly, how have you been? I apologize for the way things turned out between us...”

 

His former aide bared her teeth and growled, animalistically.

 

“FUCK YOU, HORNY! YOU’RE A BACKSTABBING SON OF A BITCH! A GAWDAMM BASTARD!”

 

Her commander bowed his head.

 

“I would ask that you show respect to a superior officer!”

 

His erstwhile lieutenant spat through the grid of steel bars.

 

“I don’t have my rank anymore, remember? You took that away, along with my privilege to speak freely! And my career in the force!”

 

Block looked dejected. He closed his eyes and nodded.

 

“Perhaps I deserve that, it wasn’t my intention to blank your commission. I only wanted to protect our way of living. Do you understand? We’ve survived as a race because of our discipline. Because of the strong will exhibited by settlers who came here from Planet Earth. We had to learn to do better. Our rowdy, cowboy habits nearly made us go extinct. Our survival has depended on staying true to principles of honor and loyalty. Straying from the path is suicidal. I had to take action before you went off on a wild goose chase, so to speak...”

 

Strafe bit her lip and cursed.

 

“Make yourself believe whatever you want. You’re a soulless robot now. You’ve been completely converted. I pity you really, it can’t be pleasant to live on your knees. Always clicking your heels like a good tin soldier, and hopping to the crack of a whip.”

 

Her one-time superior clenched both fists while holding his breath.

 

“Okay, are you trying to get under my skin, Kells? That’ll do it for certain. But remember that I’ve been the one team member in your corner. I’ve never given up on your abilities or effort. I know how hard you’ve worked to rise this far on the ladder...”

 

She could barely force out a whimper. Yet had to respond in kind.

 

“I’m not on your damn ladder anymore. You kicked my ass off of that thing! I hope it feels good to have twisted the knife. You didn’t seem to feel any remorse. Just remember that old saying, ‘What goes around comes around.’ Are you safe from the same kind of recriminations? You were the one that let Dr. Baines jump ship, after all. How long will it take them to figure out the mystery? Guilt is a stain that doesn’t just wash out with a trip to the laundromat. You might’ve earned some extra time by selling out a friend, but it won’t last. Trust me. When you’re behind bars like I am, things won’t feel the same!”

 

The Morningstar commander gulped his pride. Her words resonated too powerfully for his liking.

 

“There are a fleet of Ibid carriers at the space dock. Slower, smaller transports, but no less efficient. No less sturdy or reliable. I can make one available for your use. They can travel between here and Terra Firma in about one month. Not a sprint exactly, but quick enough for your purposes...”

 

His demoted junior laughed and cocked her head to one side.

 

“What the hell is this, a bribe? Are you trying to buy me off?”

 

Block looked deadly serious. He did not take any amusement from her accusation.

 

“If you really care about that university geek, then an Ibid craft would be the way to get in touch. They aren’t regulated by the force, or the Martian high council. They are private vessels, moving at their own pace and not under any governmental authority.”

 

Lt. Strafe cackled and looked directly into his face.

 

“So, that’s your deal? A get-out-of-jail card? You let me hop a civilian transport, and be out of your hair? No muss, no fuss?”

 

He groaned from spikes of regret in his belly.

 

“Frame it however you want. I’m not a monster. I cared enough about Baines to let him poke around at that trailer park in the woods. Who knows, he might discover something truly groundbreaking about our ancestry. We’ve all wondered how mankind came to the Red Planet. None of us are old enough to have asked such questions about our heritage. But the puzzlement still echoes in our heads. We are all immigrants to a foreign world. Every one of us, from me to you! We crossed the border unannounced. We invaded this far-flung territory, and made it our own. Now, we wrestle with questions about what got everything started. Is it wrong to open Pandora’s Box? I don’t know. You don’t know. That professor doesn’t know. It’s a chance we’ll have to take...”

 

The deposed officer put her face between the jail bars, and grinned.

 

“Okay, Big H, I accept. Since my tour with the space force has ended, I might as well jump on a swiftboat, and head into the cosmos. Tell me where to sign up! I’m ready for a new adventure!”

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Twenty”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

The glee of Dr. Judson Baines over discovering wild corn growing near Evergreen Estates lasted for only a short time. After a few meals cooked out in the yard, over an open fire, he felt both satisfied and relieved. Yet once again, unpredictable weather patterns were at work, causing the planetary atmosphere to swirl violently and buffet the rural trailer park with threatening winds and hail.

 

A survey conducted with meteorological instruments on his Digger shuttle predicted that this latest session of climate unrest would be more threatening than those that came before. With his on-site research completed for the moment, it seemed to be a fortuitous juncture. A change of plans might let him escape the worst of this rowdy period. So, he made a quick assessment of the power reserves stored in his transport batteries. Then, began to calculate how long it might take to travel between the barren spot in old Ohio, and another population center. Each model had its own advantages. Yet unless he ventured a long distance from what had once been known as Middle America, his plight would be unchanged. The storm system on his radar was huge, and moving slowly. He guessed that the damage done could be far worse by comparison, than any experienced over the past century.

 

Atlantia tempted him with its gentle, anachronistic culture and relaxed social order. But that eastern territory would also soon feel the vehemence of Mother Nature’s wrath. To escape the event and be safe, he needed to chart a course in the opposite direction. One headed south and west, to the district of Calimex. A place that made him slightly anxious, due to its aggressive pursuit of technological sophistication. He knew that civilization on Mars had evolved into a sterile sort of obedience, something necessary because of living on worlds where the conditions were not so friendly to human residents. He feared that similar attitudes might dominate the western commonwealth. And, make him a target of suspicion, as an outsider.

 

These thoughts were loose in his head, as he fell asleep on the couch at Lot 13. After packing up volumes of his great-grandfather’s handwritten journals, and having a final taste of Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey. He had stuffed the interplanetary truckster with every artifact that it could hold. But in the balance, his own stamina was sapped. Restlessly, he turned from side to side, tossing cushions and blankets in the process. He wanted to be sharp when the little craft lifted off, for its next adventure.

 

While dreaming, he flashed on visions of rising floodwaters and floating manufactured homes. One nightmare seamlessly blended into the next. He gasped and coughed and jerked, while unconscious. Then, just before sunrise, he slipped into the blessed embrace of oblivion.

 

A muted glare of overcast skies roused him from this uneasy slumber, around eight o’clock. It had already started to rain, hard enough that the empty driveway trickled streams of wet muck onto the street. When he stumbled out to the porch, sheets of torn skirting danced along the property perimeter. Broken windows howled through cracks and crevices. Tall grasses whipped in the wind. Garbage cans rolled freely. Debris scattered over the tarmac.

 

There was little time to ponder these conditions. He sprinted for the Digger, with limbs aching and his eyes fighting to see through the falling precipitation. Once inside, he keyed in an authorization code, and took the helm. A hard pull on the joysticks caused the tiny vessel to lift itself toward a vertical stance. The engines throttled up, with a roar of Cloitanium crystals glowing white hot. Then, a furious blast of ejecta pummeled his ship. Broken boards and stanchions from an abandoned boxcar flew sideways, uninhibited and angry. The horizon seemed to spin in his windshield. He had to tug against the seatbelts, to avoid being tossed from his seat. Vertigo hit him squarely in the cerebral cortex. He became nauseous and disoriented.

 

“HOLD ON DAMMIT! HOLD ON! HOLD ON!”

 

He could see trailers ripping away from their concrete anchors. One turned on its side and slid along the resident boulevard. Another split in half and spewed its contents across a wide swath of gravel and grass. Wheelbarrows and buckets, and all sorts of yard implements sailed toward the sky. Beer bottles crashed one-by-one, rendering a symphonic song-suite of destruction.

 

The Digger shuddered in this melee. It rose many feet in the air but then curled downward, and streaked through the muddy wasteland of their front field. It came to rest next to a ruined tractor. The din was so loud that Baines held both hands over his ears.

 

“GOD HELP ME, IF THERE IS A GOD! I DON’T WANT TO DIE OUT HERE, ALONE!”

 

The transport rocked upright, on its landing skids. This unhitched his safety restraints, and sent the scientist face-first, into a viewing portal. A concussion resulted that blanked out his ability to perceive and comprehend. He fell on the floor panels, numb and drooling. More than two hours passed before this visitation of natural rage subsided.

 

When his torment abated, a signal from Roosevelt Station, in Atlantia, woke him from the nothingness.

 

“Friends, I hope you’re staying cooped up and dry today. It’s not fit for man or beast out there, please do be careful. Look after your families and friends. Here’s a traditional song that might explain what you need right to do now, during all these storms. Listen to Bascom Lamar Lunceford, and keep your noggins down, and stay alive...”

 

A crackle of vintage shellac yielded to banjo plucking, and a crooning call of folksy musicianship.

 

 “I wish I was a mole in the ground

Yes, I wish I was a mole in the ground

If I’s a mole in the ground I’d root that mountain down

And I wish I was a mole in the ground...”

 

Somehow, despite the assault on its structural integrity, most of Evergreen Estates remained intact. Rivers had formed in between the trailers. Trash was piled in yards and alleyways, and against propane cylinders and storage barns. But the flagpole stood erect, by their front entrance. Stripped of its national colors, and bowed by the velocity of cycling gusts. A symbolic gesture of defiance, to the heavens.

 

Dr. Baines smeared dirt from his cheeks and forehead. He still reeked of whiskey. The stench made him sick.

 

“In the name of Sir Issac Newton, what the hell can I do now?”

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Nineteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

On her way to the space dock concourse, above Mars, Lt. Kelly Strafe paused to look through one of the observation portals. There in all of its glistening, metallic glory, was the Morningstar III. Her destination, and transport for another trip to the inner regions of their solar system. She had heard some visitors observe that its stubby fins and silver sheen made the sleek vessel look like a flying sardine. Yet such remarks did not dim her affection for the ship. She had been proud to serve with other recruits, as the chief assistant. It was a mobile platform where she truly felt at home.

 

A quick check of her com-link indicated that it was six o’clock in the morning, according to universal Mars time. By now, other members of the crew should have already arrived for duty. She was eager to assemble everyone, and offer a quick briefing before her commander arrived. Every step she took invigorated her body. Her pulse raced with excitement. Her blonde ponytail bounced and swung from side to side.

 

At the dispersal hub, she counted hatch doors until finding the proper access point. Then, lugged her nylon tote over one shoulder, and punched in an authorization code.

 

When she entered the craft, it seemed oddly quiet and empty. Her nose began to twitch, sensing that something had gone amiss. She rode an elevator up two decks, to the control center, and waited for a facial scan to recognize her identity. There, she expected to see her navigator and ensign ready for duty. But upon passing through a short corridor that linked the nexus to other sections onboard, she encountered only silence. The primal chamber was vacant. None of the work stations were occupied.

 

Suddenly, a voice intoned from behind. One that filled her heart with dread, and caused her lower lip to tremble.

 

“Lieutenant! Assume the position for discipline! Hands behind your back!”

 

Admiral Corel Nauga stood tall, in the doorway. His rank was signified by vertical stripes of gold, over one shoulder of his uniform tunic. He had an expression of anger and regret.

 

“Kneel on the floor! You are being taken into custody!”

 

Strafe felt her eyes growing wet and blurry. Somehow, she had been betrayed.

 

“I don’t get this sir, what charge do you have? I was only reporting for my assignment...”

 

The longtime veteran huffed and pointed his index finger. His gray brows tightened with serious disdain.

 

“Kelly, I’ve watched you advance as a career officer. I was proud of your courage. And your determination to outperform men who had similar goals in the force. But now, you’ve manifested something ugly. Something dark and counterproductive. You have a rebel streak in your personality. Do you understand why that isn’t embraced here on Mars? It’s the seed that sowed calamities for mankind, across the centuries. It caused wars and famine and the collapse of empires. It humbled the mighty. It drove the human race out of its own cradle of civilization. That’s why we all live in the artificial atmosphere of canisters on the Red Planet, and elsewhere!”

 

His prisoner bowed her head, and wiped away tears.

 

“Admiral, my intentions were pure. All I wanted to do was take the Morningstar back to Planet Earth. There’s unfinished business to address. We abandoned a prime asset for political convenience. I’ve been ashamed ever since...”

 

Commander Hornell Block appeared, from the corridor hatch. For the first time in months, he was back in his military garb. He had returned to the disciplined appearance of a professional voyager.

 

“I’m sorry, Kells. I’m not given to breaking trust, or surrendering secrets. But your plan was out of line. What I would call dangerously impulsive. We all survive by following the chain of command here, without it, everything would collapse.”

 

The female lieutenant glared at her friend and confidante.

 

“YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU GAWDAMM TRAITOROUS SON OF A BITCH!”

 

Admiral Nauga cringed at her bold tone of speaking. He tightened his muscles, reflexively.

 

“Enough! I won’t suffer that kind of behavior on a vessel under my authority! You’ll show respect to a superior officer. And I would suggest some contrition might be in order, since your next stop will be in the brig! Do you understand? You are now under arrest, Ms. Strafe! I am stripping you of your rank and privileges, immediately!”

 

Block felt an obstruction in his chest. He had trouble breathing.

 

“As I said, Kelly, I’m sorry...”

 

She refused to look him in the eyes.

 

“Baines will have run out of protein squares by now. He’s a nerd, great with the schoolbooks, but not one to go hunting for his next meal. Congratulations, sir, you’ve just given him a death sentence. How does that feel? We could’ve at least gotten out of orbit before anyone noticed. I had the jamming software programmed. Everything depended on you!”

 

The admiral coughed at hearing her confession.

 

“Careful Ms. Strafe, be careful! Whatever you say will only enhance your shame! There will be a trial at the court in New Cleveland. A tribunal will be convened. The sensor logs will show that this mutiny was your idea. You were the instigator. The kingpin of a rebellion like we haven’t seen in a hundred years!”

 

The commander was nauseous. His belly gurgled and twisted with guilt.

 

“Keeping order matters, Kelly. It really does. I hope you’ll understand someday. It’s the foundation of everything our race of sentient beings has built, on planets and moons across the solar system. We’re trying to atone for the sins that ruined our ancestral homeworld. You can’t sacrifice that for anything. Not for friendships or loyalties, or philosophies...”

 

Strafe refused to sob openly. Yet a trickle of moisture rolled down her left cheek.

 

“You pulled the trigger, Big H. You put a laser beam through that university geek’s forehead. As a matter of fact, it would’ve been more human to kill him on the spot, before we left! But you don’t have the spine for that kind of honesty. You couldn’t stand there and watch him die!”

 

Commander Block was rattled by her wild accusation. His legs shook until both knees knocked together. For a moment, he wished to have retired altogether, after the disciplinary incident that interrupted his service.

 

Admiral Nauga laughed out loud. He was tired of listening to the protests.

 

“I’d say we have a hero in our midst! A genuine hero! Congratulations, Hornell, I am reinstating your commission as the head of this crew. The ship is yours! Pilot it well! May the stars bless you on your next adventure!”