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Chapter Four
Earth
After calming his nerves somewhat, Max had set all flight controls to automatic and was resting in his sleeping quarters. The good thing about Side Space was that, as far as anyone knew, there were no dangerous objects floating around. He could relax and enjoy the ride. The navigation was automated via the hook drive and on-board computer systems. Once certain coordinates were reached, the drive would disengage and the ship would drop into normal space at the velocity the craft was at when it had initially entered into the rift.
Going to the ship's small galley, Max pushed a button on the food dispenser, causing a warm cup of coffee to appear in the receiver tray. He grabbed the coffee and took a long sip, feeling the warm liquid course down into his empty stomach, half settling it and half upsetting it with the beverage's acidic constitution. He sat back on a crash couch, designed for poor-to-tragic landings that could also be used as a comfortable place to relax. Having seven days to wait, he looked over the nav charts he had printed out and brought along on the journey. They were the last known land and water configurations from Earth and had layouts of the entire planet.
Max had so many options, but he knew where to go. In fact, his destination was more than obvious.
###
The Machu Picchu dropped out of Side Space after seven standard days in transit, halfway between the orbits of Earth and Mars, the third and fourth planets in Sol system, respectively. Max engaged the ship's fusion-ion drive for some serious velocity, and started chugging towards Earth. His ship had been going a paltry forward velocity of Mach 7 when it entered into Side Space, and he needed to arrive within hours, not months. With the fusion-ion drive at full burn he would arrive at his destination in one standard day—much faster than it took Earth's first explorers to Mars, who spent three months on a cramped vessel, only to tragically never make the return trip home due to an unexplained accident that resulted in a total loss of life.
As the hours passed he occasionally went to the galley. He got snacks and was diligent about hydrating, not knowing what the water situation would be like on Earth. For all he knew, the planet would be a dustbowl or an apocalyptic death ball. Conversely, it could be a highly-advanced society that would pummel him to dust upon first visual.
When the Machu Picchu reached Earth's moon he jumped into the pilot's chair and started preparing for atmospheric entry, analyzing his readouts on weather patterns and other assorted critical data. All reports came back positive—it appeared that Earth had a stable weather system, and it was winter in the southern hemisphere where he was targeted to touch down, so pollen levels would be low.
Half-way between the Moon and Earth he programmed his atmospheric entry angle vector, and paid careful attention to his early warning systems for any sort of defensive satellites and ground-based systems. Systems detected none. In fact, there were no radio signals at all—just silence on all frequencies. That told him one of two things: either humanity was extinct, or they had completely lost all technological capabilities. He took no chances and prepared for both scenarios, even though he had earlier hypothesized the prior. Azulian colonists had stopped receiving radio communications from Earth some 500 years earlier, and it was popular belief that the planet no longer harbored human life; most assuming a massive nuclear war had destroyed the world.
Aside from the radio silence, another oddity he noticed was that there were incredible amounts of space junk forming a sparse, inconsistent ring around the plant.
"A.I., track this crap floating around in space."
"Commander, I detect no human or animal waste in our immediate vicinity."
Max groaned. "I didn't mean that. I'm talking about all this stuff floating around. It looks non-organic."
"Please stand by, Commander." The A.I. paused for a moment, and then said, "Commander, I detect the remains of satellites and space craft, although the majority of the materials are of an unknown origin."
"Unknown origin? What do you mean?"
"Just as I said, Commander. I do not know. I have nothing correlative in my database."
"Weird. Okay, A.I.—let's bring her down, and keep an eye out for any analog ground defenses."
The Machu Picchu screamed into Earth's upper atmosphere at a faster rate than any previously-known vessel ever had before, simply due to the fact that technology had advanced so much throughout the centuries. Once in the lower atmosphere Max made an effort to slow down as much as possible, remembering that there were untold numbers of flying species on Earth, and he had no desire to massacre scores of innocent, airborne animals on re-entry.
He slowed the Machu Picchu down to a respectable Mach 1.5 over the Pacific Ocean, and set his cruise altitude at about 1,000 meters above sea level. As he was coming in at a fairly low altitude, he turned on his ground cams and recorded while he approached the Peruvian coast, specifically over what was the capital city, Lima. Curious, he slowed his ship down, as the computers had not detected any form of aerial defense, and lowered to only seventy-five meters above sea level on the coast.
Approaching the foggy shoreline, he saw the ruins of what appeared to have been a large commercial center, built on a cliff overlooking the ocean. He magnified in and saw there was still lettering on buildings, although quite faded. The largest lettering said Larco Mar, and showed well only because it was constructed out of what appeared to be concrete or stone, but some of the smaller buildings had signage, like Ha Ro k C fé, with some letters missing.
Aside from some birds and a group of humpback whales, Lidar (laser radar) systems detected no significant animal life in the area, so Max dropped his landing gear and set down on a street outside of the commercial area. The atmospheric drive's concussion waves buffeted the street and blew out chunks of pavement as the ship touched down, the landing pads sinking a few centimeters into the ground.
Max was astonished (and gladly so) that the street had even held together on landing, figuring it was most probably not designed to withstand so many metric tons of weight in such a small area. Shutting down engines, but leaving primers on in case of a needed urgent departure, he unstrapped from his chair and did a final readout of air conditions outside. He was surprised that they were fine, with just a touch more pollen in the air than he would have expected given it was winter, but then again, what was to expect? He was from Azul, not Earth.
He then pressed a button on the control panel in front of his seat, causing five small drones to shoot out of an access tube on the starboard side of the ship and split off at high speed in different directions. These were to scan the area and send findings back to the Machu Picchu's computer systems, warning him of any organic, technological or biological dangers that existed.
The rear cargo doors opened. The loading ramp slowly lowered to the ground, holding firm onto the street as it made contact with a loud thud. Max took a supplemental oxygen supply, water and some nourishment snacks, along with a charged side arm in a backpack. He slid down the stairs from the cockpit to the cargo bay and jumped into the quad runner, putting on his helmet and hitting the energy switch.
Max blew out of the back of the Machu Picchu, the landing ramp and cargo doors closing once he had left the ship. He headed down into what appeared to have been a parking structure for land vehicles. Once he entered the lower sections of the parking structure he started to see more signs of a former civilization—dust-covered, rusted-out hunks of land-based vehicles were in apparent parking spaces, denoted by faded lines in the pavement, and had obviously not moved for centuries.
What happened here?
He drove up and out of the parking structure, stopping his quad at a stairway, which led up to the buildings of Larco Mar. Exiting his quad, he drew his side arm, a military standard issue Stinger rapid fire charge pistol capable of expelling thirty-seven charged rounds per second with little recoil nor bloom, from a charge pod that contained the equivalent of 37,000 rounds. Technology had also improved firearms in the future, and this weapon was not to be trifled with.
Max easily walked up the stairs, and instantly noticed the difference in gravity. He had learned in college that Azul had slightly higher gravity than Earth, which had, over the centuries, caused humans to evolve into slightly shorter, stronger people. Max himself was one of the taller men wherever he went, but simply figured it was his Nordic heritage that gave him his height advantage.
At first he relied on a head's up display, or HUD, which was imagery painted onto his eye by a laser. This gave him the illusion of having a semi-transparent, one meter-wide display in front of his face, up high and to the left, all facilitated by his helmet's connection with the Machu Picchu. It showed him everything from temperature to wind direction, to bacterial, viral and pollen counts, as well as many, many other details, such as heat signatures, of which there were none.
He was most definitely alone.
Approaching the top of the stairs, he surmised that it used to be an area of commerce, so, wanting a bit more information, he consulted the computer on the Machu Picchu.
Using his verbal interface with the ship, he said, "A.I., please do a historical analysis of the local area based on my precise coordinates, with a one kilometer radius. This month and day, for the year 2037 C.E., please."
"Data feed to initiate momentarily, Commander," responded the ship's computer.
Seconds later, a torrent of information flooded his HUD. He instantly regretted not having done a detailed search while still in the ship. This way the information was being pushed into his brain in a most uncomfortable fashion. However, once the upload was complete, the HUD overlaid video footage of what Larco Mar looked like in the year 2037, matching every step he took. The video overlay was a compilation of triangulated satellite surveillance and street camera archives, taken to Azul with the Exodus fleet centuries prior.
People were walking—families, couples, teenage kids on skateboards and kites fluttering in the gentle breezes off the coast. It was a lively scene, with the sun shining and sparkling off the surface of the Pacific Ocean. Music played in restaurants. He saw performers on sidewalks and vendors selling trinkets from large portable booths.
Ah, so this is what Earth was like here. Not so different from Azul, and I actually like the style of clothing.
Desiring some sort of real connection with the dead world, he entered the Ha Ro k C fé, which the HUD showed correctly as Hard Rock Café. He walked through the dust-covered seating areas, and sauntered up to the bar. He tested a stool before he sat down, just to make sure it wouldn't disintegrate on him. The metal bar stool held fast, so he sat at the counter, watching the endless imagery of the ghosts 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.
Opening a cupboard, Max found a few bottles that still had seals, so he selected one—a bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch whisky, 18 years old.
Much, much older than that, I would assume.
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 century after lonely century. He put the bottle in his backpack, and then determined there was nothing more to see inside.
Max released three more small drones from his pack, watching as they promptly zipped off to scan the perimeter. Then, he pulled a small computer out of his backpack, set it on the bar top and touched a button, which made 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 normal levels of radioactivity and no human life. In fact, they reported no terrestrial animal life at all, aside from birds, which were technically arboreal. 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. Max 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.
On his way back to the promenade he came up to the entrance of a clothing shop and again turned on his HUD video feed. It showed attractive signage and brilliantly colored clothing and fabrics on the walls. His display showed glass doors and windows everywhere, but these buildings were so old that the glass had 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 difficult for man-made materials to remain intact 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 of the Machu Picchu, Max ate a roast beef sandwich he had retrieved from the galley, as 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. He was certain that Federation forces would arrive within a day or two, perhaps a little longer; if he were lucky, more than a few days. While working in the military labs, he left out small details of SSCC hook drive installation protocols on purpose, hopeful that they would hit a couple of roadblocks in retrofitting a craft. Max was well aware that it would only slow them down. There were plenty of scientists at the Military Complex who were almost as intelligent as him.
He started the atmospheric drive and lifted up and over the commercial area, out to the nearby ocean and then back down to sea level, where a keyboard command dropped two long lengths of tubing into the ocean. This enabled him to add to his already ample stash of deuterium fuel, upon which his ship's fusion-ion drive relied. Minutes later, after having extracted enough fuel from the seawater, he made a slow ascent to 1000 meters, then gained speed southeast-bound at an upward angle of thirty-five degrees. In minutes, he was over the Urubamba River and Machu Picchu.
"A.I., do you have coordinates for our potential landing sites?" Max asked.
"Certainly Commander. Might I also say it is a pleasure working with you, although I had hoped for more conversation during the voyage?"
"Umm, yeah, cool. Well, maybe later, ok?"
"I will hold you to that promise, my dear."
"Your… what?"
"Apologies, Commander. I look forward to further, stimulating conversation with you."
Max fought off an awkward expression and concentrated on the task at hand. Scanning the view with his cameras, he found it incredible that Machu Picchu withstood the elements so well over the centuries, even though it was only made of eloquently stacked stones. Of course, it looked quite different from the imagery in historical documentation. It was now completely covered in lush vegetation, thanks to centuries of neglect.
Lidar scans took care of that and returned pictures of the tiny dwelling units, sans plant life. But there was no place where he could hide his ship up in the ruins. With luck, he found a natural cave entrance alongside the river below, surrounded by overgrown vegetation, just big enough to fit his craft. He brought the shuttle down on the lowest booster setting he could, not wanting to disturb the flora, and glided in for a soft landing.
After shutting off critical systems, Max went back into the cargo hold and retrieved some equipment he had hoped he would have the opportunity to put to use. He 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 found this to be a fun and relaxing activity, and now he was the first Azulian ever to camp on Earth.
Max finished his campsite by the time dusk arrived, and he had the ship's computer set to detect anything entering the atmosphere, giving him ample time to extinguish the campfire and flee in the case he received some unwanted visitors. Further, manually-set sensors formed a perimeter surrounding the campsite and the ship. They would sound a warning upon detecting any intrusion, such as a carnivorous animal (if any had escaped his drone scans), and give it a healthy electrical shock and grav-push away from the area. This at least kept him safe from any natural dangers.
After taking a quick shower in the ship and changing his clothing, he went outside, finally able to relax in the near silence. Leaning up against a fallen log, he enjoyed the crackling fire while he looked up at millions of stars.
But he wasn’t alone. At least by 29th century standards:
"Commander, may I ask a question?"
"Sure, A.I. What is it?"
"Are you going to do what is called camping?"
"In fact, I am camping right now. Why do you ask?"
"I think that if you were to take my remote out with you, we could enjoy a view of the stars together. As there is no pollution in the atmosphere, the vista should be spectacular."
"Um, let’s just take it a step at a time, ok?" said Max.
"You got it... honey," the ship responded in its sultry, synthesized voice.
Wow, that’s creepy as hell. But at least someone likes me…
The hand-held computer at his side showed no signs of emerging ships or even large life forms, so Max pulled the bottle of Glenfiddich out of his backpack and briefly admired it. He broke the seal and 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. He brought the bottle to his lips, hesitating momentarily. He wondered if he should attempt to drink any of the amber substance.
Chemical analysis says that this is whisky; so, it should be fine… I hope.
He tipped the bottle back. Some of the amber liquid had almost reached his tongue, when he hesitated for a moment. Preferring safety over haste, he pushed the cork back into the bottle and set it on the ground.
And that was the moment that his life changed.
Max heard a deep and slightly accented human voice next to his location.
"I am certain that your whisky is quite fine for consumption. It was bottled some time before the invasion, my boy."
Jump-rolling over the fallen log that had provided his back rest, Max 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 had come out of nowhere and appeared to be enjoying the campfire.
"Hello, my son," the man exclaimed, with no small amount of excitement. "I have been watching you with great interest."
The stranger then took out a slender, wooden pipe and lit it, looking at Max with a kind grin and no fear at all.
About the Creator
Steve Benton
Based in Southern California, Steve is the author of The Prīmulī Prophecies series, which so far includes Lives of Future-Past, Lives of Lost Angels and Lives of the Provectus.
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