by SK Benton
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 37 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.
As Max slowly walked up the stairs he relied on a head's up display, or HUD, which was imagery painted onto his eye by a laser, basically giving him the illusion of having a semi-transparent, one-meter display in front of his face, up high and to the left. This was facilitated by his helmet's connection with the Machu Picchu, and it showed him everything from temperature to wind direction, to bacterial, viral and pollen counts, among many, many other details. As he neared 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, "Computer, 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 2014 CE."
He waited for a moment and suddenly a torrent of information flooded his HUD. He instantly regretted not having done a detailed search while still in the ship, as this way the information was basically 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 2014, 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 ago.
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 smelled scents of the most delicious cuisines, saw performers on sidewalks and vendors selling trinkets from large portable booths.
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 the dead world, he entered the HaRo 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.
Max found a few bottles in a cupboard 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 mused.
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 long decade. As he put the bottle in his backpack, he determined that there was nothing more to see inside, so he released three more small drones from his pack that promptly zipped off to scan the perimeter.
Max 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 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.
As he walked back out onto 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, 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 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 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 he named his ship. He was certain that Federation forces would arrive within a day or two, perhaps a little longer, as 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. He was well aware that it would only slow them down as 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, 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. 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, he made a slow ascent to 1000 meters, then 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 withstood the elements so well over the centuries, even though it was 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. Max needed a place to land and to hide his ship, fearing that the Federation could arrive any day. He started scanning for any type of cave or natural entrance underneath the jungle canopy and soon 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, not wanting to disturb the flora, and slid his ship into a naturally-occurring tunnel of trees and plants. He was not concerned about being discovered once he was well-hidden, as all locator beacons on the Machu Picchu were 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 found this to be a fun and relaxing activity.
Max finished his campsite by the time dusk had arrived and had the ship's computer set to detect anything entering the atmosphere so there would be ample time to extinguish the campfire and get ready to flee. No one had yet developed a way to track a craft in side space, so he basically could have gone anywhere, and still had that option in case of being pursued by the Federation - pick a current and go. Manually set sensors formed a perimeter around the campsite, all the way back to the ship. They would sound a warning upon detecting any intrusion, such as a carnivorous animal, and give it a healthy electrical shock and grav-push away from the area, effectively keeping him safe from any natural dangers.
After taking a quick shower in the ship and changing his clothing, he went outside and was finally able to relax in the near silence. He leaned up against a fallen log and enjoyed the crackling fire while he looked up at millions of stars. As 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 to be 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.
The 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. 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. As he brought the bottle to his lips he hesitated momentarily, wondering 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.
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.
"I am certain that your whisky is quite fine for consumption! It was bottled some time before the invasion, my boy."
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 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 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 grain gently wavering in the wind. His elder, speaking from afar, told his him (as in his dream he perceived himself as a youth; usually the case for anyone's subconscious self-image) to open his mind, and to expect the unexpected - 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 appeared as a giant who dissolved 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, and without the ability to see where they 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 resided - and that said a lot, as Earth's orbit around Sol was 94 million kilometers - a huge distance to cover on fusion-ion propulsion, with so little time 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 leadership denied his request, as this needed 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 they had brought. 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 behind no technology.
Bagatelle put on his uniform and left his quarters, taking the elevator down to the flight deck, where all the pilots and techs kept 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 would be found. Some wondered if they would be able to see the cities where their ancestors had 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 stole 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 headed to the ops station where he found Lt. Ryder Johnson.
Johnson was an aggressive and intelligent junior officer who had moved up the ranks in the military faster than most and had disconcerting connections to the political power structure on Azul. His father was one of the few permanent members of the Security Council, which functioned in a similar fashion to the Supreme Court of 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 out stare 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 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 added to the Draeders' computer systems. They wanted no mistakes, nor any lost pilots under any circumstances. The ship left with all hands, and they were to return with the same 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 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. But that was not his concern. He had orders and 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 scientific knowledge, preparations became more intense. Ba
gatelle gained little sleep, choosing instead to go over nav charts and reports in exhaustive fashion.
When close to 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 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 like her. Her descendants were of Earth's 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 about a… personal matter?"
Escalante found this a bit out of order, but it was not the first time Bagatelle 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 due to her work ethic. Little did she realize there was a much deeper meaning to his interest in her, but that was not the case at the moment.
"Yes, of course Sir. You know 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 you've been spending time with Lt. Ryder Johnson. While it's 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 the tequila he smuggled onboard. As your commanding officer I also trust you will not share my concerns with him."
