by Hyde, Ed
“Follow me, those who want to see first the test, then the deployment.”
Mark stops near Table Rock, waits for those who have followed, and then, when he has everyone’s attention, points to a structure high up on a nearby peak.
“There are three of those,” he says. “They are on precision gimbals. Now, take a look at Porter up there.” He points and we see Porter high up in the sky in the solo flyer. He appears motionless. “I’m going to enable the three units and have each of them lock onto Porter. His flyer has been equipped not for acceleration, but for detecting and returning a beam normally used by each of the ground units for adaptive optics correction. Don’t worry about what that is; it’s just a way to cancel out atmospheric turbulence or non-uniformity so we get a steady and true beam. In our case, for this demo, the adaptive signal will be redirected to the exact middle of the three gimbaled units, which, by the way, is where we are standing right now.”
Mark fiddles with a comms unit which I recognize as not one of our standard-issue genie models.
“Listen up. Do not, repeat, do not look up at Porter again until I tell you it’s OK to do so. Alain, what did I say?”
Alain stops talking to Tracy and pays attention to Mark.
“The return beam won’t kill you but you will need someone to lead you around after if you look directly at it. Now, everyone watch the sender near the top of that peak.”
I look but for a few seconds nothing happens. Then the unit moves. And it moves quickly, pivoting gracefully, and then remains motionless.
“If you can all see these…” and Mark holds up two flat white sheets, blank. “Here Carol, push that button when I tell you.”
Mark hands the comms unit over and moves to a spot next to Table Rock whereon he puts one of the sheets.
“OK, now, Carol.” We watch the sheet and there appears a bluish-white nearly circular patch of light no bigger than the palm of a man’s hand, sparkling with a large number of tiny speckles. It reminds me of effects I have seen with lasers.
“This beam is coming from Porter up there, see?” And Mark passes the other sheet back and forth between Porter’s flyer and the first sheet a few times so we can see the spot disappear and reappear. “Carol, press that button again.”
She does but nothing happens to the image on the sheet.
“Now, we know the beam is over here,” Mark says, indicating the sheet on the rock, “so it’s safe to look up. First look at that sender on the peak.”
We do.
“Now look at Porter, and then back at the image down here.”
We see the unit near the mountain peak is moving—not as quickly as before, but it’s moving. Porter is moving too, executing rather large moves in three dimensions. Yet the image on the sheet is completely stable except for slight changes in its outline and the ever-present sparkling scintillation.
“It’s tracking him. Nearly perfectly. OK, third time for the button please, and then I will take that, Carol. Thanks.” He fiddles some more with the comms unit. “Watch up at the peak again.” We do and see the sender swivel again, this time pointing almost straight up.
“Demo over. The capsule David mentioned is in geosynchronous orbit right now and all three double L sender units are locked on it. When I give the go signal it will trigger its launch phase back towards home. These accel units will act in concert to give it a boost beyond what its own engine provides, the same as they will for us when it’s our turn. Questions?”
“The light’s gone—the beam we were watching.”
“Yes, right. That was for demo only. A test of tracking and stability. Think of that same beam, but now split into three, one sent to each of the ground units up on the mountains. And instead of coming from Porter in the solo flyer, it’s from the return capsule. In actual fact, there is nothing else for us to see here now. It’s happening, and it’s automatic, and we may as well head back. The senders are moving, tracking the capsule, but their movement is so slight that we can’t see it. Anything else?”
“Wait, so the capsule is on its way? You said it was in orbit, but now it’s heading straight home?” asks one of the assembled team.
“Straight home.”
“Hold on, chief,” interjects Grigor, “that’s not right. Not straight.”
“Alright, alright. Grigor is correct. Straight, as in ‘no stops before it’s picked up at the receiving end.’ The capsule started off in orbit before it received the initial thrust to get it headed on its way. The entire return path is a complex curve if you want to nitpick and as the capsule picks up speed it does become closer to a straight line.”
“But the gimbals here have a limit to how far they can rotate, so how…”
“Good one. Good question,” Mark interrupts. “You are correct, the three units will follow the target, but eventually the rotation of the planet puts them out of line-of-sight to it. They then wait until the line-of-sight is restored, re-lock, and continue to boost the ship, or capsule in this case. Most amazing to me, the impulses they provide do not decrease in power with distance; the beams they send remain compact and collimated to a fantastic degree. That’s the beauty of the system really.”
Carol asks, “Are we really going to leave these complex units here when we leave? Isn’t that a violation of mission policy?”
“As far as exact policy, you need to get with David. But I do know our safe and speedy return trumps almost anything else. As far as equipment, well, look around. I picked this area for our camp for a couple reasons. It’s isolated, inaccessible without pretty advanced technology and determination, and uninhabitable to a large degree. The units on the peaks up there have a life span of, say, a thousand of these years and when that’s over, they will tumble down in pieces. Now yes maybe someone will find pieces at the bottom of a ravine someday, but they won’t know what to make of it.”
I keep hearing talk of home, of going home. So far, homesickness has not infected me. At the capsule launch lunch meeting, David cautioned that we are here for quite some time yet and all need to stay safe and focused. He did, however, make one or two changes in responsibility, from ground-based tasks to departure-related tasks. More activity specifically related to departure will help placate those itching to go.
Carol remarked on David’s mood. She thinks it’s a good sign and we are both relieved to see the change. After seeing and hearing of Brachus’ and Lester’s latest hands-on manipulation, it would be a good thing if he got more involved.
Carol thinks I should say something to David— again—and that now may be the right time. Master Brachus has little to no regard for the native population, the human population, here and it’s time to do something about it, she says. I say not again; give me a break. I don’t want to be the Whistle Blower of Amara. She wonders if I could get Mark or Dylan to join me to form a broader front. I say no, no, no. First, I think David would balk at something like that. It would seem like we are ganging up on him, and that would be a correct interpretation. Second, if anything is said to David, I think it should be done only after he has seen some of the goings-on personally. He may not need me or anyone to prompt him after that. It would take me out of having to say anything.
Our visits to the field are fascinating. These are real people, primitive culturally, having little or no technology, but real people nonethe-less. Their primitive condition suffers from nothing that time won’t solve. Some of the things we have seen are heartbreaking: the sicknesses for which there is not even a glimmer of a cure; the crippling injuries with no hope of restoration; the high mortality rate, short life spans, senseless slaughter—all of the trials and tribulations that primitive societies must endure. We see tragedies such as these, knowing that even if we have solutions for them, which we do—most of them anyway—it is not feasible to apply these solutions on a societal or global scale. There is simply no infrastructure to support it. None.
On the other hand, the various populations with which we have mingled are very interesting
. What captures my imagination most is how they are dealing with their ability to think and explore and discover. The results of the recent, relatively speaking, expansion of their memory and cognitive abilities are visible everywhere: Language, written and oral, is ubiquitous and increasingly complex; tool making is exploding, including the making of jewelry and other adornment; the use and expansion of agriculture supports an ever more rapidly increasing population.
Social, governmental, and moral aspects of their development are weak however and I don’t know why. Reading of the history of similar missions, I find that this scenario has been discovered before in populations similar to ours here. I can only guess that the raw nature of their existence up until now has instilled a sense of survival that is brutal first, and incorporates other niceties second. If there was some way to jump start them onto a more civilized path—now that would be a feather in our cap, like David said he wanted early on. Maybe this idea could be used when approaching him…
In the Forest
“No. Absolutely not.”
“But, we need you. Where do you want this?” I ask, holding up some scrap wiring I think Mark can use.
“In the bin there. No, and that’s it. I would be as guilty as Wes in David’s eyes. Not gonna do it. Forget it. Besides, you’ve got enough without me adding anything. Here, toss this too,” Mark answers, handing me a dirty cloth.
“Toss it? In the same…?”
“Yeah, in the bin, in the bin.”
“I don’t think we do have enough. It’s all verbal. Unless… Look, can you arrange to have David see some of the things that we’ve seen? Get him out into the field? If he could witness some of the carnage…”
“No. And just so you know, I’ve solved my problem with that government job I may have mentioned earlier.
“How…?”
“Easy.” Mark grabs out a clean rag and putters while continuing to talk; mostly to himself, it seems. “Unless he knows how to work it without me, it’s over. And he doesn’t. Should be enough to set him up and payoff whoever got him this gig.”
“What? What did you say? You’re mumbling again.”
“Nothing. Never mind. I say too much. I’m old; I babble. Besides, I’m guessing at things.” Mark rubs his eyes, looks to his left at the patient golden girl assistant that he’s assembled. “What do you think, young lady?” he asks it, or her.
She brightens and flashes her ‘eyes’ but does not respond otherwise.
“One of her best features—she doesn’t talk,” he says to me with a grin. “Look, you don’t need me. Get David to go out with you to the field. Take him around. There’s plenty you could show him. If you explain it the right way, make it all touchy-feely, he will suggest going out himself. ‘See the results of his hard work’ and all that bull. You know how to do it.”
“Mark, listen. Think about it. If you know of something happening out there that would open his eyes, like you did for Carol and me, let me know.”
As I pass out of Mark’s work area, Porter is coming in holding a small box of what looks to me like used metal brackets and pieces of plastic.
“In the bin,” I say. “It all goes in the bin.”
______
We camp out in a remote area with Dylan. It’s a pleasant area, wooded but not densely so. The overhead canopy inhibits growth at the ground level. Evening has fallen and we have made a fire. In between conversation, the sound of the fire is all I can hear.
“I’ve got to say, I haven’t done this in forever,” I say, staring into the flickering flames. Their constant motion, changing shape and colors is mesmerizing. We three don’t say much for a long while. My focus is now on the surfaces of the logs at the base of the fire. These surfaces are checked with red lines against black and gray. Gray ash, I can understand, but it changes to black and back again to gray quickly in what must be waves of heat. The red lines glow brighter, with occasional sparks, as the fire crackles and sputters. In some areas the glowing orange-red of hot burning wood dominates, in others the glow is a deep, deep crimson. Dylan tends the fire and drops another log in, and a huge burst of sparks, yellow, orange, red, fly up in twisting patterns. “You’ve got the proximity alarm on, right?”
“No. Do you really need it?” Dylan asks, looking at me. He looks back to the fire. “Ok, I’ll set it, but I’m telling you we are in no danger here.”
“This planet is wide open isn’t it? I mean the human population density is incredibly low compared to the available area isn’t it?” Carol asks, looking at the fire.
“And the animals—they don’t know what to think about fire. Curious, but more afraid. They won’t approach.”
The wood in the fire settles, crackling and sparking itself into a new configuration of temporary stability. I like how the fire is self-feeding up to a point. Unburnt pieces fall through gravity closer to the heart of the fire. It’s a skill for the fire-builder: how to place the logs to maximize this effect?
“I don’t mean to break the spell, but what can you tell us about the latest happenings? Are you able to keep up with the tracking?” I ask, looking not at the fire, but at Dylan.
“Yes, for the most part, with the help from you guys. And thanks for that. I also get a ton of info from Wesley’s group, believe it or not. From Rick Groth, Lester, and the others too. I think Wes wants to be visible doing something that he thinks David will have to approve of— the end result I mean.”
“You mean, he is tracking the line—oh, yes, of course he is. But what about details—do you get that too?” Carol asks.
“I took a page out of Jason’s book and started keeping a log. But the gist is this: Wesley is tracking the prime descendants, as it were, and takes care to see that they survive even if he has to intervene blatantly. Do I have to mention that he is ruthless with any natives that get in the way of his plans?”
The light evening wind is in our favor; smoke from the fire rises above us before drifting away. Dylan pauses to rearrange and stoke the fire. He seems at home as he moves around from light to shadow and back. He hands Carol and I something after which we see him take a bite and start chewing.
Without thinking, I start to take a bite. “What…what is this?”
“Good, huh?” Dylan asks with a smile. “That, sir, is real meat. Salted, smoked, shredded, dried, and compressed. What do you think?”
Too late to turn back now, I think, and cautiously bite off a small piece and chew.
“Well?”
I look and see that Carol has already had some and is looking at me smiling while chewing, with eyebrows raised.
“It’s… delicious. The taste is strong, but good. Are you sure…?”
“Don’t worry, it’s safe. Carol?”
“Yum. Tasty! You made this yourself?”
“In the village. With help. If this is your first, we’ll stop with that piece. Your system is used to our rations and may find this a shock.”
We chew in silence, watching the fire burn down, until our samples are gone. It really is good. I could get used to it. Dylan carefully places another log. The shock initiates the necessary swirl of sparks.
“But, as I was saying… He follows them. He rescues them, he talks to them, and he scares them.”
“Scares?”
“You know, like at the entrance to bio camp valley? Lights and speakers on the ground, or with drones. Flames even. He will startle them; give them messages or instructions to help them out of a jam or to find sustenance—whatever. It’s a game to him.”
“We saw a bloody large scale version of that with Mark. Major influence during a big battle. It went on for half a day. Gruesome, but he knew ‘our guys’ would win in the end.”
“If you call that winning,” says Carol.
“I worry about the frequent and obvious interaction. The people know they’re dealing with something way beyond their ken. Wesley’s developing some sort of a hero worship or cult mentality out there. Jason, Carol, it scares me. Ok, they are multiplyi
ng, yes, but they are also becoming dependent on outside help, on being given tips, instructions, advice.”
“I see what you mean.”
“Yes, I know you do, but there’s another side. Wesley likes it too much, in my opinion. Even when he’s not playing army with them, he’s enjoying the rest of it. The controlling, the threatening, the fear. Once Chris, that is, Chris Seaborn, talking to me and Lester, let something drop, accidentally I think. He said that Wesley had sent a large group to the mountains, our mountains mind you,” and he looks at both of us before continuing saying, “and they became lost, desperate and dying. Well, he stepped in with water and food. Our food.”
“Really?”
“That’s what he said. Apparently this was the prime line of descendants, or one of the prime, I don’t know, and couldn’t afford to be lost. They said Wesley took their leader aside, personally, up in our mountains to try to act as a mentor or something. They were laughing about the show he set up with fireworks and whatnot.”
“Our mountains? Not at base camp?”
“No, no, but in our mountains near base camp for sure. I don’t have the coordinates or anything.”
The flickering flames lend an eerie and intimate cast to our small gathering on this distant planet, one that has become a home away from home. Deep red dominates the fire now, with small blue and yellow flames licking first at one spot and then another. I see the occasional green colored flame appear and disappear. Must be a trace of copper in there somewhere.
Dylan makes ready a place near the fire, sits and lays back, and doesn’t say more. Carol and I both look up and see stars in the black sky through and beyond the dense forest canopy. The breeze must be stronger up higher as the treetops sway majestically against the starry background.
Carol still says David must be confronted and I am beginning to agree. Why does it always have to be me? I think Mark will help if we really need him, no matter what he says now. Dylan has already helped by sharing what he has seen and heard. I knew from the start that he is not convinced that our collective actions are for the best anyway, even without a loose cannon like Brachus around. I think he can be counted upon should we need him for support.