Of Life and Dust

“All the way until the end of the ridge?” Blankton called out, as Garren Klug moved the rover along in the red sand.

“That’s what Hollis said.”

“Is the Geiger on?”

“Yeah.” Garren could hear the popping of the fallout’s half-life through his headphones. And any second now they’d be traversing the radfields.

“Did you switch on the scrubber?”

“It’s not time yet.” Garren said, ready to be done with the day. It was their last job. He could then head back to his hovel in Verne, order dinner, fall asleep, and do it all over again tomorrow.

“What are they doing with this land?”

“It’s owned by Kindred Decker, the founder of Robotical Gardens. Three thousand acres. They’re building autofacs for The Eastern Republic’s military.”

“Not on base?”

“They don’t put autofacs on bases anymore. Not after what happened back in ’87.”

Blankton sat quiet for a moment.

“You'd think they could’ve come up with a better way of putting an atmosphere on Mars besides nuking it.”

“Then we’d be outta the job.”

It was then that the pops from the fallout’s half-life began to spit more rapidly in Garren’s ears. The pair cruised along a straight stretch of red sand until they heard a loud bang. They turned around in their seats to see the scrubber, barrel shaped, heavy, and reddened by dust, rolling along in the desert sand.

They unloaded and checked the rover. Something sticking up out of the ground had damaged it, and after Garren inspected the damage, he considered the work done for the day.

“What’d we hit?”

Garren scanned the the trail they’d left until his eyes stopped upon a white and shining cylinder sticking up about half a foot out of the sand. Their scrubber had chopped part of it off.

“What is it?”

Garren pried it free and inspected it, “Antique injection mold plastic and epoxy resin.”

“Any writing on it?”

Garren turned the cylinder over in his gloved hands.

“It’s got some embossing.”

“Can you read it?”

“No, it’s really old and sort of melted.”

“Something flew out when the scrubber hit it.”

Blankton trudged over to where the rest of the cylinder had been flung. Garren watched him bend over and lift some odd contents into the air.

“It’s paper!” Garren heard him shout.

“You gotta be kidding me.” he whispered to himself.

Blankton handed the contents to Garren.

“Looks like a notebook and some old paper dollars.”

“There’s a lot of it. Can you read any of it?”

“No. But that’s a funny looking guy pictured on the notes.”

Blankton guffawed.

“The writing in the notebook looks different from the writing on the money.” Blankton said.

“The writing in the notebook looks like Chinese but it isn’t.” Garren said, trying to contain his excitement. Then he realized he was still at work and their rover was badly damaged. Hollis is gonna be a real sweetheart about this, he thought to himself.

Finally Garren spoke up, “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna call Hollis and tell him we broke the scrubber off the rover. But we’re not gonna tell him about the cylinder. We’re gonna scrub the fallout from it, and then we’re gonna meet after work and try to find an expert on it.”

“We could sell it and get rich.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

So, after work, they met at a cafe near their hovels and looked up an expert in the white pages. Some professor of history from Samuel R. Delany university.

They sat drinking their beverages and waited.

“I can’t believe you drink that.” Blankton said after some time.

“It’s coffee.” Garren said, incredulous that Blankton could be passing judgement on his choice of drink - especially when it was hard enough to work off a clear glass of clean water.

“That’s not coffee. That’s sand water. Back on earth you get the real deal. Ever tried espresso?”

“Is that where you’re headed when you get your share of the ren?” Garren said, deflecting the subject away from himself which was part of his usual temperament.

“I don’t think so. Which country would I even live in? I could move to The Western Union and have surveillance cameras shoved in my face 24/7. America Territory’s nothing but slums and mob ruled. All that leaves is The Eastern Republic — where any and all minor infraction is punishable by you-know-what. Nah, I think I’ll just stay in one of the Martian capitols. Most likely East Orson. Maybe I’ll get into one of those fancy high rise flats where there isn’t even a micron of fallout for miles.”

“Amen to that. What will you do for work?”

“Maybe I’ll get my airship license. Fly asteroid miners back and forth.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You?”

“I’m thinking about going back to earth. Somewhere in the mountains in America Territory. Somewhere where everyone isn’t sick on banware and augment apps. Try to live off the land.”

“Garren Klug and Blankton Wastewater?”

Standing behind them was a gray haired man with a reddish Martian tan, and a white mustache. His hair was sticking up in frail spires where he’d taken off his hood.

“That’s us.” said Blankton.

“Gulliver Fink, professor of earth studies and Mars history. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you have the artifacts?”

“Here.” Garren handed his black cloth bag over to the professor.

“Oh my goodness. What a find. These are pre-collapse U.S. dollars. All in hundred dollar notes… about twenty-thousand dollars worth. And this,” he held up the notebook with its creased black cover. “is a high-end notebook.” he flipped through it. “Japanese.”

He sat reading it, gasping and sighing while Garren and Blankton sipped their drinks. He must’ve read it for over an hour before abruptly announcing to the men, “This is the journal of one Norifumi Matsuda. Who’s sort of known as a folk hero for disappearing during The Eastern Republic’s annex of Japan, and subsequent invasion of Hokkaido. He was one of Japan’s leading engineers and tech entrepreneurs during the 22nd century.” Professor Fink giggled, “And now we know what happened to him. He fled to Mars, crash landed, and died out in the desert.”

“What’s all this worth?” Blankton asked.

“Well, they’d have to go to auction, but I’ve seen similar amounts of pre-collapse U.S. currency go for billions of ren. The notebook, however, is priceless. I wouldn’t even know where to start an estimate. Where, may I ask, did you acquire it?”

“Out in the…-”

Garren cut off Blankton, “Off some guy.”

“Off some guy?”

“Yeah, some guy. Was hard up, so we made the trade. That’s all for now, professor. We need to get up really early tomorrow.”

“I’ll call you to give you the details on when and where the auction is.”

“No. Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

“Well, then. Have a wonderful evening, gentlemen. And I appreciate you showing me your find.”

When the professor was out of sight Blankton opened up, “What are you doing telling him off? He could make us rich.”

“We can’t sell off Matsuda’s notebook. This guy gave his life for what he loved.”

“Then we can sell the cash.”

“You can have the cash. The notebook is getting put to use.”

After Blankton left with the remainder of the cash, Garren sat at the bar looking over the contents of the notebook. Any of us could do it, he thought to himself. Any of us could just build a ship and just leave. And I think that’s what I’ll do. I’m gonna learn what you had to say. And I’m gonna leave this place, and find somewhere on earth where I’m truly free. Just like you.

THE END