by S. K. Benton
Ah, so this is what Earth was like here, he thought to himself. Not so different from Azul, and I actually like the style of clothing, he thought further as he chuckled out loud, being especially fond of the various women in bikini-style swimwear.
Desiring some sort of real connection with this past, dead world, he entered the Ha Ro k C fé, which the HUD showed correctly as Hard Rock Café. Walking through the dust-covered seating areas, he sauntered up to the bar area and tested a stool, just to make sure it wouldn’t disintegrate on him.
The bar stool held fast, so he sat at the counter, watching the endless imagery of servants, guests, and food going in different directions. For the most part the restaurant was intact. There were dust-covered display cases on the walls and even bottles of spirits behind the bar. That’s when he got an idea. He got up, turned off his video review function on the HUD and went behind the bar.
Finding a few bottles in a cupboard that still had seals, he selected one - a bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch whisky, 18 years old.
Much, much older than that, I would assume, he thought comically.
He knew that Scotch whisky was aged in the barrel, not the bottle, so this particular distilling had rested in a barrel for 18 years, and then sat on a shelf for decade after lonely decade. Putting the bottle in his backpack, he determined that there was nothing more to see, so he released three more small drones from his pack that promptly zipped off to scan the area.
He pulled a small computer out of his backpack, set it on the bar top, and touched a button, making a holographic display rise up in the place of where the screen of a 21st century earth laptop’s would have been. He tapped at the keyboard and checked on his drones. All reported no human life, and no unusually high levels of radioactivity. However, there was a red marker on a biological reading - a fossilized form of an unknown type of amoeba, and it had permeated everything, including the water supply. He instructed a drone to gather samples of the amoeba and to contain them in a hydrostatic field, for return to the ship and further analysis. He called all other drones back to the ship, and set off to return to The Machu Picchu.
Walking back out onto the promenade, he came up to the entrance of a clothing shop. He turned his HUD video feed back on. It showed attractive signage and brilliantly colored clothing and fabrics on the walls, but in reality there were only smatterings of dust on the ground below where the clothing used to hang so many centuries ago. His HUD showed glass doors and windows everywhere, but these buildings were so old that the glass had basically been eliminated via the sun, rain and wind - cruel companions for the duration of history, to say the least. He reckoned being right on the coastline would have also made it exceptionally difficult for man-made materials to remain over the centuries.
Again, turning off the video overlay on his HUD, Max made his way back to the quad, taking care to not fall into any deep potholes, and then jumped into the vehicle and darted over to his ship.
Back in the cockpit, while eating a roast beef sandwich he had retrieved from the galley, he let the computer do a detailed molecular analysis on the amoeba fossils discovered by the drones.
Then, flipping a few switches, he powered on all systems and prepared for takeoff to his target location, minutes away on the other side of the Andes – the mythical Machu Picchu, after which his ship had been named. He was relatively certain that Federation forces would arrive within a day or two, perhaps a little longer, as he had purposefully left out small details of SSCC hook drive installation protocols, hopeful that they would hit a couple of roadblocks in retrofitting a craft. He was well aware that it would only slow them down, as there were plenty of scientists at the Military Complex who were as intelligent as he was - well, almost as intelligent.
He started the atmospheric drive and lifted up and over the commercial area, then out to the nearby ocean and back down to sea level, where a keyboard command dropped two long lengths of tubing into the ocean, enabling him to add to his already ample supply of deuterium fuel, upon which his ship’s fusion-ion drive relied. Minutes later, after having extracted sufficient fuel, he made a slow ascent to 1000 meters, then gradually gained speed southeast-bound at an upward angle of 35 degrees. In minutes he was over the Urubamba River and Machu Picchu. Scanning the view with his cameras, he found it incredible that Machu Picchu had withstood the elements so effectively over the centuries, even though it was simply made of eloquently stacked stones. Of course, it looked quite different from the imagery in historical documentation, as it was now completely covered in lush vegetation.
Lidar scans took care of that and returned pictures of the tiny dwelling units sans plant life. Needing a place to land and to hide his ship, as he feared that the Federation could arrive any day, he started scanning for any sort of cave or natural entrance underneath the jungle canopy. Max found a perfect hiding place for his ship. There was a natural cave entrance alongside the river, surrounded by overgrown vegetation, and it was just big enough to fit his craft. He brought The Machu Picchu down on the lowest booster setting he could, so as to not sufficiently disturb the flora, and gingerly slid his ship into a naturally-occurring tunnel of trees and plants. He was not concerned about being discovered once he had hidden himself, as all locator beacons on The Machu Picchu had been disabled once he purchased it. There were minimal tracking abilities on the ship anyway, as it had been sometimes used for smuggling contraband around Azul.
He shut off critical systems and only left on basic life support – air filtration, computer systems and emergency lighting at night, so there was no way he would be discovered. What he really wanted to do was to camp outside, under a different set of stars; alien in configuration to the stars he had seen his entire life. He grabbed his gear and opened the rear hatch of the ship, setting off for the edge of the entrance to his tunnel, where he set up a tent and built a fire pit the old fashioned way – with a shovel. He had camped out on Azul many times as a youth, and he simply found this to be a fun and relaxing activity.
Finishing his campsite by the time dusk had arrived, he had the ship’s computer set to detect anything entering the atmosphere so he would have ample time to extinguish his campfire and get ready to flee. They had yet to develop a way to actually track a craft in side space, so he basically could have gone anywhere, and he still had that option in case of being pursued by the Federation – pick a current and go. Manually set sensors formed a perimeter around his campsite, all the way back to the ship. They would not only warn him of any sort of intruder, such as a carnivorous animal, but also give it a healthy electrical shock and gav-push away from the area, effectively keeping him safe from any natural dangers.
After taking a quick shower in his ship and changing his clothing, he went outside and was finally able to relax in the near silence. Leaning against a fallen log and enjoying the crackling fire, he looked up at millions of stars. Being that Earth no longer had any artificially created light, there was little reflection off the atmosphere, making for a near-perfect, unobstructed view of the sky as he sat close to the edge of the natural canopy. He found the stars immensely beautiful, and squinted his eyes, trying to pinpoint the location of Azul, which, although in a binary system would be a singular point of light in a vast field of hot plasma balls held together by intense magnetic fields. However, he couldn’t see any indication of his home world.
His computer showed no signs of emerging ships or even large life forms, so he pulled the bottle of Glenfiddich out of his backpack and admired it. Breaking the seal, he dropped a probe into the bottle, just to make sure that there was nothing in it that would make him ill. This bottle had a scent, and it was definitely Scotch whisky. Bringing the bottle to his lips, he hesitated momentarily, wondering if he should actually drink it.
Chemical analysis says that it’s whisky, he thought, So, it should be fine, I hope.
However, before he could pour some of the amber liquid into his mouth, he heard a deep and slightly accented voice next to his location.
Max almost dropped the bottle out of surprise and sheer terror. Jump-rolling over the fallen log that had provided his back rest, he un-holstered his side arm and trained it on the intruder, staying where he was, practically paralyzed, looking wide-eyed at a leather-clad, smiling older man who was also apparently enjoying the campfire.
“Hello my son!” the man exclaimed, with no small amount of excitement. “I have been watching you with great interest”.
He took out a slender, wooden pipe and lit it, looking at Max with a kind grin and absolutely no fear whatsoever.
Chapter 4 – Bagatelle on Watch
Rear Admiral Bagatelle had odd dream as he slept. He was sitting with his grandfather in a field of tall, yellow wheat, the wind gently causing the grain to waver slowly. His elder was speaking in a far, and told his him (as in his dream he saw himself as a youth, which was usually the case for anyone’s residual self-image) to open his mind, and to expect the unexpected, as that was the path to truth. Raising his hand, the elder caused the sky to transform from blue to a black canvas of brilliant stars and gorgeous, multicolored nebulas or varying sizes and configurations.
His grandfather (who had, in real life, long since passed from the world of the living) then stood up, and appeared to grow until he was a giant who gradually faded into the night sky.
Bagatelle awoke to an alarm beeping from his personal console, the dream fading into the depths of his subconscious as his head cleared and he fully regained his senses. The console readout determined that they were three standard days from Sol System, but still had no way to determine Gunnarsson’s target vector.
Without any real knowledge of Earth’s existence, as there was no ability to really see where one was going inside side space, for all he knew they would find a field of planetary debris in the place where the world of his ancestors once was - and this was saying a lot, as Earth’s orbit around Sol was 94 million kilometers. That was a huge distance to cover on fusion-ion propulsion and so little time in order to capture the fugitive, even if he was anywhere in the vicinity of Sol.
He checked attack craft inventories and concluded that all 100 Draeders were fueled, armed, charged and nearly ready for departure on command. He wanted to bring a total of 300 Draeders, but was denied by leadership, as this was to be a reconnaissance mission only – get Gunnarsson and get the Hell back home. Report any and all findings, and if possible, leave some modified drone probes with side space radio capability that they had brought along. Under no circumstances were they to engage any native hostiles, if indeed they existed. If there was still an advanced civilization on Earth he was to leave no technology behind.
Bagatelle put on his uniform and left his quarters, taking the elevator down to the flight deck, where all of the pilots and techs were keeping themselves busy by preparing every detail down to the minutiae. Due to the nature of the mission, there was an incredible buzz around the ship, as this was the first ever trip back to Earth and no one was sure about what was to be found. Some wondered if they would be able to see the cities where their ancestors had previously lived in centuries long passed. One thing was certain to all, as there were no secrets about the mission - they were going to capture or kill a military scientist who had stolen Azul technology and who also posed a serious threat to the planet.
“Attention on deck!” screamed a command as everyone present popped to attention. Bagatelle walked down a pathway, waving off everyone with a mild “As you were,” and heading to the ops station where he found Lt. Ryder Johnson.
Lt. Johnson was an aggressive and intelligent junior officer who had quickly moved up the ranks in the military, but had disconcerting connections to the political power structure on Azul; his father being one of the very few permanent members of the Security Council, which functioned in a similar fashion to the Supreme Court of Old-Earth’s United States of America.
“Lieutenant - I wish to have a full status report on attack force readiness in two hours. Have it delivered on a secure console to my quarters”.
The handsome, angular-faced and white-haired lieutenant gave Bagatelle a steely-eyed stare of confidence.
“Aye-aye, Sir. Consider it done”.
Bagatelle didn’t care much for Johnson, partially due to the lieutenant’s family political connections, but also because the man always tried to outstare him. It was an ancient pecking order game - he who looked away first was the psychological subordinate, and Bagatelle didn’t appreciate the challenge.
He had already made a mental note to keep a very close eye on Johnson, especially when the attack craft were in atmo, if indeed they found a planet at all. Johnson was to lead a flight group – Deca Squadron, and Bagatelle needed to make sure everything stayed on mission.
Bagatelle left the flight deck and went up to the command bridge, where his second in command, Lt. Commander Vasquez was overseeing preparations of navigational maps to be input into the Draeders’ computer systems. They wanted no mistakes, nor any lost pilots under any circumstances. They left with all hands, and they were to return with the same exact head count, except perhaps with the addition of the decapitated head of the fugitive traitor Maximilianus Gunnarsson.
He found it curious that someone with such a promising future would throw it all away simply for a trip to prove that his theories and engineering were correct. Had he desired, he could have led the entire Military Scientific Complex in just a few years.
Such a waste, he thought to himself. There must be a deeper reason for what Gunnarsson has done. However, that was not his concern. He had orders, and he was required to follow them.
As the massive juggernaut class craft screamed closer to Earth’s last known location, breaking all rules of physics and previous scientific knowledge, preparations became more intense. Bagatelle gained little sleep, choosing instead to go over nav charts and reports in exhaustive fashion.
When nearly at their destination, he called Lieutenant Jennifer Escalante to his quarters for a private meeting. Bagatelle knew everything that went on inside his ship. He also had suspicions about Lt. Johnson’s reasons for being there, and it was common knowledge that Johnson and Lt. Escalante spent a lot of time together in the mess hall, and perhaps elsewhere. There was a lot to like about Escalante - and women who were like her. Her descendants were of Old-Earth South Americans, with their Mediterranean complexions, dark eyes and hair, and full lips. Nearly every beauty queen on Azul was dega, as they were called.
“Lt. Escalante,” began the commanding officer, “could I speak with you regarding a… personal matter?”
The lieutenant found this a bit out of order, but it was not the first time that Bagatelle had asked about her personal affairs. He had always taken an interest in her since she was assigned to his command years prior. She assumed it was because she was such a hard worker. Little did she realize there was a much deeper meaning to his interest in her, but that was not the case at hand.
“Yes, of course Sir. You know that I always welcome your questions. Am I somehow disobeying regulations or-“
“No, Lieutenant,” interrupting her so he could get straight to the point, “I understand that you have been spending time with Lt. Ryder Johnson. While that is not against regulations, I would like for you to confide in me if you find he is participating in any unusual activities – and I don’t mean drinking that tequila he smuggled onboard. As your commanding officer I also trust that you will not share my concerns with him.”
Escalante looked at her commanding officer’s stern gaze and knew he meant business. She really liked her time with Lt. Johnson, as he was handsome and very well connected, but her first allegiance was to the military – and specifically, to Rear Admiral Bagatelle. Serving under someone’s command for her entire military career to date can help to build trust, and she intended to always maintain his.
“Sir, I wi
ll certainly let you know if I notice anything out of order. Is there anything I should be aware of?”
“Nothing that I can relay to you, Lieutenant. I simply need to make sure that this mission goes off without a hitch, and I have reason to be alert at all times, as do you. We can’t let our personal relationships get in the way of duty, and as you have been around him so much I felt it necessary to remind you that anyone – including me – could do something to cause this mission fail. The Security Council was against returning to Earth in the first place, but as Gunnarsson went rogue they had no choice but to let us pursue.”
“Yes sir, I understand completely and I will keep an eye on everyone, sir.”
Lt. Escalante then stood at attention and saluted her commanding officer. “Permission to be dismissed, Sir.”
Bagatelle nodded warmly and put a hand on her shoulder. “Gracias, mijita. Tu abuela habría estado muy orgullosa de vos (Thank you, my child. Your grandmother would have been very proud of you).”
Then Bagatelle gave her a sharp return salute, which was her cue to depart.
Jennie, I hope for all our sake that I am wrong about this, he thought to himself as he prepared to go back to the command bridge.
Jennie left Bagatelle’s cabin and set off for her quarters. She was going to meet with Ryder as soon as his shift was over, one hour later than hers, and she was excited as she enjoyed their time together. Sometimes she dreamed about marrying someone like him, with a powerful, politically connected family, which seemed much more romantic than her own childhood which was actually quite sad and uneventful.
She was an orphan, adopted by an elderly couple that constantly fretted over her safety. She was hardly ever allowed to do anything, including participation in school activities. They forbade her from dating boys and even joining athletic teams, which was a shame because she was naturally gifted at football.