Popsicle

POPSICLE

JOURNAL ENTRY

The State Department is Washington’s most beautiful landmark. Often ocean blue in the morning with cirrus clouds near the pole of the low spherical dome, it is inviting and welcoming. Other “moods” include a reddish sunset and an official silver hue throughout. That one is reserved for official visits of foreign dignitaries above a certain rank. Inside, tourists walk through the beautiful cultural displays, exhibitions, and performances. In my day, the building was a 1950’s era box. Ugly! The only remaining artifact from the late 20th Century is the plaque at the entrance. The plaque lists the Foreign Service Officers, American diplomats, who died in the line of duty. My name is on the plaque.

Nicholas “Nick” Anthony Easton. There are many more names – three were classmates, two good friends.

EASTON INSTITUTE – THE DOUGLAS COMMONWEALTH

“Easton’s journal entries are clear, coherent, and responsible. I see no reason to refuse him this assign…” Marty Zensa, first rate scientist, long distance cyclist, and Historio-Anthropologist was clearly irritated that her boss was continually interrupting.

“No reason!” bellowed Herman Gullman, the Easton Institute Director, “other than drinking, frequenting sex malls, and displaying an amazing disregard for that life that has been restored to him at enormous expense. He is hardly a credit to the Institute that bears his name, does not lecture, or discuss the 20th Century, other than through a “journal” of dubious utility, and I see no reason to let him loose to the ends of the Earth, embarrassing us and probably killing himself. No doubt he would drop into a tar pit to be found 300 years hence… Ha! The irony never ends!”

Gullman’s light blue eyes clearly showed victory. Marty hadn’t planned to go into the office to work, she had just come on her bike to pick up Nick’s journal and meet him outside the Institute. She was still in riding gear. Not the right uniform to take on the powers that be. Marty was on the verge of crying and that irritated her too. She rarely lost control.

She collected herself and said slowly, “Yes, Nick is difficult. Obstinate. Given to walking into the woods on Friday and reappearing on Tuesday as if back from a stroll. But this assignment from the State Department could help restore him. He is proud of being a Foreign Service Officer, has a gift for exploring and reporting on the natural world, and speaks fluent Russian.

The Boss eyed Marty. Marty continued, “I have been on long treks with him, and he identifies every living thing. He explained the difference between a downy, pileated and snowy woodpecker just this morning by the sound of their pecking!”

“Oh, well,” Gullman laughed.

“This assignment will credit you, the Institute, and damn it Herman, it could do some good.” Gullman took off his glasses and polished them with his tie. All trace of humor from him was gone.

Marty scanned another journal entry while Gullman considered.

I remember being underwater. The C-130 hit the water 5 miles west of Greenland in Labrador Bay. The “memory” may be no more real than the memories that a childhood photograph prompt, part real, part what I’ve been told, but I had the sense of cold, clear water. Cold on my face. No sense of panic. That was my last memory from my first life.

Gullman finally looked up. “I am not ready to sanction this. However, if you can induce him to behave, keep him out of the news for a few weeks, and arrange transport quietly, I will consider it. No press, no fanfare.”

Marty smiled and offered her hand. She left the office relieved. After a year, she knew Nick well enough to know that he could be discreet if it suited him. She would miss Nick, but they would talk, not holographically of course, since Nick refused to learn the protocol, but they would talk.

She found Nick as expected not on the Institute steps but in a stream nearby.

“Looking for frogs? May I kiss one and get a prince?”

“Would you like a prince?”

“I suppose I’d find some use for one. Listen, Nick.” Marty crouched down on the stream bank. “I think it’s a go.” She looked at him to see whether she used the vernacular correctly. She prided herself on 20th Century slang and hers was much better than Nick’s.

“Well,” Nick said, straightening up, “next stop Moscow. Will you come with me? Princess.”

“To Moscow, shopping capitol of the world, of course!” She explained Gullman’s caveats. “Nick, are you sure you understand the danger?”

“My mission, should I choose to accept… that’s an allusion Marty to a TV show, three points for the right answer.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea.”

“Me either. Well, my mission: to travel on foot along the edge of Russia’s abiotic Zone. It begins in the Kola Peninsula, sweeps through Komi south to the traditional treeline and extends East to the Arctic City of Norilsk, where it again dives south. The Zone is fairly stable, contains little macrobiotic life, and unknown microzoology. Primary causes: radioactive waste from the Ob and Yenesey rivers, nickel and sulphur emissions from Kola, aluminum from Norilsk, and generalized pesticide contamination. My job is to find out what survives and how to bring in more life and prepare to restore the area. My superpower is being built mostly from spare robot parts that includes all kinds of filters and pumps that allow me into more toxic areas than real… that is to say, normal humans. And apparently the robots are otherwise engaged.”

“Very good. Yes, that is the job. The danger is weather, brigands, perhaps the odd wild animal, loneliness, lightning, raging rivers, radioactive sickness, and poisoning from a toxic environment, even given your enhanced state.” Marty cocked her head to see if any of that registered with Nick.

“Marty, I’m kind of in extra innings as it is. Everything from here on is extra. I don’t know how much of what’s left of me is real, but from what I’ve seen so far, I don’t really experience cold, I don’t get sick. I don’t need much sustenance, and I have no family. What’s to lose.”

“Good. Glad you are up for the challenge!” Marty rose and walked towards her bike. Nick followed.

“Well, it’s important.” Nick said. “I remember from the briefing that there are seven other Zones, the worst, heartbreaking to me, is the nuclear accident on Oahu. That Zone extends to all the major islands and even my plumbing can’t withstand that level of radiation. But, even the Marshall Islands bounced back from 67 Cold War nuclear tests with sharks now thriving in Bikini, so nature can do wonders. I will stay in the Russian Zone, on the edge of the living world, and support drops will happen whenever I desire within two meters of where I stand. Meanwhile, I’ll be on the lookout for bugs, frogs….

“Don’t kiss them…”

“Birds, plants, snakes… to determine what life is making inroads into the Zone and hopefully shrink the Zone. I secretly hope to see an Arctic fox or wolf again. A polar bear? That would be something. In any case, I’ll do my best and if I’m lost in the mission, well, Nicheevo as the Russians say, it’s nothing!”

Marty marveled in Nick’s grasp of the cursory State Department briefing a week ago. She was confident he would do well in the mission. She put on her bike helmet. “Let’s meet here on Monday. I’ll arrange logistics for Moscow, assuming we get the final green light. I can stay for two days. Hey, maybe you can bring the PS up.”

“The PS?”

“Oh, you didn’t have that, did you? The Planet Score. We’re at 69 right now. It was in the 30’s when the formula was first described but I think it was down to the teens in the really dark times. With any luck, you’ll be the Scout that sets up the robots and Rewilders to follow you and the raise the Planet Score. It’s a pretty important biosphere.”

“I’ll do my best.”

THE DOUGLAS COMMONWEALTH

The Coast Guard found my body. Severely drained of blood after the accident, but strong in other areas, doctors determined my only hope of survival was cryogenics. So, 280 years later, thanks to my mother, the city of Baltimore, and Johns Hopkins University my shattered body and somewhat more intact brain were preserved, then repaired. Hopkins donated medical staff, Baltimore residents donated millions, and in the end, I was successfully frozen. Donations established the Easton Institute for Medical Science and the Easton Environmental Research Lab. My mother explained in an interview with WBAL that I had a lifelong fascination with the future, science, and adventure. Apparently, she was quite the television star. She said the Odyssey was my favorite book and the citizens of Baltimore agreed that there could be no better odyssey than to be unfrozen at some future date when medical science could put back together such a disaggregated body.

So, with a lot of new parts I am functional, but wonder if I am really human or more machine. I think I’m human. I hope I am anyway.

My wife knew that I was gone from her life, and she did her best to keep the family equilibrium without me and with three children. I have her letters. Probably as much therapy for her as this journal for me. I haven’t read them all. What’s the rush? I can’t write back, and I treasure them too much to read in one evening.

I’ll have a lot of time on my hands in Russia.

June 8 – Moscow

Nick and Marty stroll Gorky Park. Incredibly still in business after centuries. Right on the Moscow River it is a haven for skaters in the winter, lovers in summer, and children in all seasons. Moscow glittered.

As a vibrant democracy it was also such a cultural crossroads of East and West that the food, the clothes, the dance, ballet, and theatre were all world class. Nick promised himself to fully enjoy it if the journey was successful. With no more than 60 million people left in the world though it was a race against time to put the planet back on sustainable footing. Celebrating would have to wait.

“I used to love to skate these paths,” Nick said. Then a piroshki from one of the babushkas and a hot tea and ice cream. Heaven.”

Marty studied Nick. Looked for any apprehension about his departure the next day to the north and his long field mission. He looked fine. She relaxed.

“Do you skate?”

They skated side by side, going single file when approached by a pedestrian, then joining hands for longer, wide straightaways. They finally had enough and it was time to walk back to the hotel.

“Good night, Nick. I’ll see you off in the morning.”

MOSCOW

The pod was waiting outside the hotel. Nick embraced Marty. She had somehow acquired a beautiful white fur coat and looked like a Russian beauty herself.

“Real?” Nick asked.

“No, of course not, but very close to fox. Feel it.”

“Delightful.”

“Well, I don’t know the right phrase from your time. Bon voyage? Keep on truckin’?”

“Just adios amigo, will do,” Nick said. “I’ll call you when you get back to Washing… to the Douglas Commonwealth. I forget DC is a state. Travel safe, Marty. Thanks for everything.”

Marty kissed Nick, smiled, turned and went back into the hotel.

Nick went on to his meeting with the Ambassador, Stelana Force, at Spaso House, the Ambassador’s residence. Lunch was served on elegant China with gold embossed United States seals.

“Well, my favorites are the Siberian Rubythroat, Stellar’s Sea Eagle, and Eurisian Sisken.” The Ambassador peered at Nick like an owl herself.

“I would agree with you and add the Yellow-Throated Bunting,” Nick said. Very beautiful with its vivid yellow wings and distinctive too, given its sing song call. I love them.”

They went on to talk about flora and fauna, mostly of Siberia and she mentioned that the U.S. was going to build the world’s largest embassy in Moscow. Nick asked about preventing bird strikes.

“You know, I don’t know if the engineers have considered that. What do you suggest?”

Nick talked about landscaping, window materials, and lighting that could lessen the likelihood of bird strikes. The Ambassador actually took out a notepad and made a note. The lunch ended soon after and Nick was whisked back to his hotel.

THE ZONE

The Arctic summer sun never quite sets and the glow is beautiful, if surreal. A few stars and planets appear, actually but so far no life. I see Venus in the northern sky. My equipment all functions. I can read oxygen levels, take soil samples, and have a dosimeter on my belt for radiation levels. This land should support reindeer, eagles, hawks, crows, Arctic rabbits, and foxes. But if you take too many critters out of the trophic cascade you get just that, a cascading fall until you have nothing. After my trip, they should be able to seed the land in the most promising areas where the radiation, oxygen, running water and other life supports are in place.

It's not so lonely out here. I have Mary’s letters. I’ll read one tonight and I’ll call Marty soon. I could actually hear her conversation with Gullman. I can train my awareness to a remote location and get a pretty good sense of what is going on. I don’t know how that enhancement works, but it does. Anyway, my pod has arrived with food, and a secure place to sleep, and it looks like a sex robot although I have not turned her on, literally or figuratively.

July 1 The Zone

Tracks! Definite canine tracks in the mud. The tracks circle then go up to higher ground, then disappear as the earth hardened.

Very exciting!

I’m naming her Aurora. She showed up during an aurora in a very early morning, keeping a respectful distance. The Arctic wolf seems content and has followed me for the last couple of days. I accidentally dropped some of my meal from the pod and I suppose that has been taken by Aurora. She’s not really tracking me. Just following. She could easily close the distance if she had any interest in attacking, but she clearly has no interest. I’ve seen no signs of aggression, but I do sleep in the pod these nights.

Her appearance makes me happy. It’s nice to have company. There’s a wonderful Native American story about animals talking to people in the Old Days. But people kept taking from animals, never giving anything. So they stopped talking to us. Maybe they’ll start talking to us again if we learn to live together.

THE ZONE

There are abandoned buildings in this part of the zone. I don’t go in. My job is setting the stage for rewilding, but I appreciate that the people who lived here were hardy. Aurora now comes to a perimeter that she’s established. I judge it to be 4.5 meters from me or the pod. She won’t get closer. Yet. I talk to her. She cocks an ear every now and then. Mostly she is sniffing the air, looking off to the horizon. Doing Arctic wolf things. This time, I’m following her. And hoping she’ll bring me to a more hospitable area. I sleep outside again. Aurora doesn’t seem to mind the snoring.

SIBERIA

Still following Aurora and we have gone far enough South! We rounded a hillock and looked east and voila! Shrubs, perennial trees, lichens, moss, and in the distance spruce, fir, larch and cedar. Really good to find the border between biotic and abiotic. Meadows and tons of berries. I’ve found cranberry, cloudberry, currants, raspberry, bird cherry, wild Roseberry, bearberry, and wild rose. This has been great for teas.

On the fauna side, I’ve seen deer, lynx, grouse, geese and ducks. Also saw a Dybowski’s Frog and poured a bit of water on him since it’s been dry for a while. Seemed to like it! I should send Marty a pic. Aurora has happily trotted off somewhere

Vladivostok

Trudging through Siberia was not ideal. There were blizzards, floods, and even a mid-winter forest fire, but all in all, Nick and Aurora did well. Staying with locals whenever possible. One old woman had a dogsled and her dogs were named after Moscow politicians. They were huge Asian Avcharkas. Friendly as long as the Babushka was happy. She fed Nick well and offered one of the dogs, but Nick explained that Aurora was probably not far away and the relationship with her dogs might not go well. The Babushka nodded. “Our highest responsibility is to the animals on this planet. The only thing we can do that they can’t is transport life from Earth to space. Otherwise, they use tools, have relationships, a sense of humor, and souls. They are better than we are. Not greedy. You are right to look out for Aurora.”

Aurora remained always within reach. A day or two she might be absent, but for the most part she followed and at times even led Nick to the East. They followed frozen ice roads, rivers that served as highways. Not everyone has the means for a pod. As for the trucks, Nick never accepted a ride, not wanting to lose Aurora.

When they reached Vladivostok Aurora was nowhere to be seen. But at last she was heard. There was a full moon and Nick recognized Aurora’s howl. What he didn’t expect was an answering call. Not far from Aurora. He caught one last glimpse of her from the freighter he arranged to take across the Pacific. Aurora had a mate. All was right with the world.