Nova Interit.us

[THE YUNIPTER ENCRYPTIONS]

⤗ ؏⤟ ক ⥈ ঔ ☙ অ ⥉ ড ⇺

[RECOUNTED BY DEIMOS WOODHOUSE-ROBERTSON, GRANDSON OF STEVEN ROBERTSON, CAPTURED VIA HOLOSCRIBE IN YEAR 2127. YUNIPTER ENCRYPTION METHOD ⥈ NFT FILE no. ]

It happened back in 2063.

He found himself face down in the mud, pushed up and lifted his head while choking on silt up his nose and down his throat. He almost threw up. Then, finally a clean inhale. While running, looking back and out of breath he'd just tripped on a huge root, bulging from the earth, exposed by erosion. Now on hands and knees in the wet forest he finds a momentary stillness as the rain got louder, thicker. He heard their dog bark twice in the distance, hard to say how far away. This was a glimpse through the depth of mayhem, like looking through a mind portal and you see something critical. He looked over and saw the dead fallen tree, a hollow shell from years of decomposition. He crawled and rolled under it.

They're not far back now if I can hear that hound through this deluge. I won't make it further without some rest.

He knows this, he feels it in his lungs and throughout his body.

The warrant contractors were still tracking him for sure, but he’s a real chance now with the downpour. And with this semi-subterranean compartment? If they tracked off further to his right there’d be no way to see him hiding there. Cold and wet, bathed in mud.

Right? No other options now. I’m flipping the coin again.

“And here I am, damn it! Chance or fate?” He said it out loud, under his breath, still waiting on hope.

Moments or minutes later he hears footsteps splashing around on the other side of his hollow hiding spot. The sound is coming from his right. He is still completely hidden.

Then, looking out from under his respite, thirty meters through the woods and to his left there’s the other one with a rifle. The man slowed his run to a stealthy walk, panning around with a raised barrel. When he lowered the muzzle and turned, he looked right toward the fallen tree.

But over it.

The exhausted man on the ground, peering through the storm could see the rifled hunter hold up his arm, shaking an open hand in the air. He paused. Stillness, but the storm got even louder.

A quick signal back to his partner with a quick thumbs up, the contractor pointed east in reply. A large Norwegian elk-hound raced past further out behind, and the small pack of three continued on toward the looming hill ahead.

They’d lost him. Possibly. Rain can trick an untrained dog.

He looked up and around inside his hollow dead shell. Spiders and mold, wet and dripping all over. He’s not the only one hiding in there. And despite the company he felt safe for about three seconds, knowing how ephemeral and false the moment was.

⥈

The traditional name of the feature was Mars Hill. For a brief period it was renamed Musk Mountain. A strange outcropping, it’s a large hill on one side, a steep mesa on the other, and the back third is a gradual slope rolling north. They used to call it Observatory Mesa since the early 1900’s. The man who named it was convinced of a civilization on our neighboring red planet. Percival Lowell moved his entire livelihood from Boston to build his home and observatory there in 1894. Along with his wealth and studies, he also brought strange beliefs and esoteric knowledge from his travels in faraway lands.

The area later became an important locale for astronomy, hosting many early discoveries. This was long before any rockets or ships. There was a naval observatory and a few others in the area, an astronomy hub for celestial monitoring and astrogeological research. It's where they tracked the precession of our equinox, and many other astronomical processes. The exposed remains of historic telescopes are still up there to this day, along with other buildings burned out and decaying like most of the shattered and shuttered town below.

Back in the mid-2020’s, the Musk company SpaceX did a lot of astronaut training for the Mars missions around the town. Just like NASA did in the late 1960’s and early 70’s when they prepared for the first moon landings. The terrain is ideal. But NASA weren’t the ones who established the original moon colonies. Supposedly.

Some people didn't believe the Mars colony was real either. Percival would be ashamed.

‘Just as then and now again.’

I still don’t know what to think. I’d bet the Moon was a popular destination at some point.

Anyway, their city council renamed it Musk Mountain after his first Mars rocket landing in the 030’s. It was a stupid and divisive issue for the locals. Years later—after he departed in the super class diaspora—his hero status declined, to put it mildly. Then his companies collapsed. (Supposedly, again. It was hard to say anything about a person’s financial status after they left earth and all their assets were moved to the OrbitBank blockchain.) People couldn’t stand the name Musk Mountain then, if ever. It’s been called Mars Mountain ever since. Kind of a throwback I guess. But that’s a whole other story. Mars Mountain is still just the big mesa-like-hill west of the town.

Just as then and now again.

These words echo like a voice from another time. Lying there still under his hollow cover, he begins planning. Thoughts drift with the rain.

What’s my next move? They’ll probably stick together, right?

He figured the best option was to see which way they skirt around Mars Mountain. The facing side of the large incline was bald, and they’d see he hadn’t gone up that way. They'd also know he wasn't on the open dirt road around the base of the hill. They'll probably go in and back toward the north trail. He's almost certain.

The soundscape of white noise shifted. It was abrupt. Heavy rain became soft. The audible change felt sudden and unwelcome. The dog barked again, barely audible this time.

Definitely far enough now.

He climbed out with minor struggle. It was the first time in a decade his back didn't grind with pain from getting off the ground like that. The current adrenaline high made him feel the need to defecate. It was easy to hold back thinking about the men who wanted him dead. He remembered being able to see their warrant symbol chain on the holoscreen, just before the breach.

Definitely a D-Scan Warrant. A warrant to kill.

Nineteen minutes ago he’d seen them on a security cam after his holoset flashed a warning on his wristband. When he'd zoomed in they were checking the holographic biometry of someone. He watched them scroll through some data on their shared holoset outside, in the rain. A miniature 3D hologram of his exact body morphology and then his face appeared before these men, with the triangular eye above the data. They pointed and noted some features. Less than a minute later the heavy pounding began. Raeyla had rushed into his room with her eyes wide, filled with primal fear.

In this moment he can’t recall their frantic rush down the stairwell. With some help from Raeyla just before they parted, he’d escaped the building undetected.

And now it comes; the elation of still being alive. Tears thick as the rain coming down from the high, and juxtaposed with a longing for her—his offspring— knowing her fear of being left alone to survive without him. Unless he too could survive.

A blue chunk of sky is breaking the wet nimbus blanket overhead. The sun wants to shine through. Early sunset colors of bright orange paint the thinning clouds above, weaving a canopy of pine branches.

It was surreal. The view made him forget what year it was. This only lasted for about five seconds before his mind cleared. The nootropics were wearing off.

If the hunters keep going and traverse around together, maybe he should climb up the hill before they come back. Gain some higher ground and recon. There was plenty of cover up top. And he’d be able to see back down into town. Spot the patrols and random checkpoint locations. Maybe then he could plan his way home and decide if it was safe. The night patrols would be starting soon.

“Home.”

He scoffed at the thought of it. The comfort of previous ‘homes’ he can remember from times long gone.

Back in town on the other side of Mars Mountain, they were sure to gather for a candle ceremony, praying on his most fortunate fate. But not investing in false expectations. So many had gone missing these last couple years.

I need to get over and back down into town. Hopefully they stashed my packs in the tunnel lockers. I have supplies and a chance to survive down there. And a way out.

He can’t stay at the Allen house any longer. And not for the gossip over him and Daeja Allen. Any one of the remaining households would demand the grand sacrifice if he ever returned. He’s marked now.

But he still has the promise with Allen house.

The promise was a two day protocol. After the second night, both Allen sisters would wait until nightfall and travel down into the tunnels. If his packs were gone they’d light a palo santo candle and pray for his survival. If not, they’ll take his things back up and divide supplies between the Allen elders.

⥈

As you know, we still promise today just as then, “I give to all my promise of stoic assurance, to lend my hand, if healthy, to you in times of need. I feel your gratitude and mine in tithe. To be retrieved if not returned, a hand not to be taken in grant, nor for granted.”

The three who hunted him were out of sight, around the base of the questionable mountain at this point.

There could be others coming, or those two and the hound might backtrack anytime. At least a few hundred meters away by now, right? It’s now or never. Another gamble.

If he takes the main trail he'll be easily seen. But the same would be true for them as well. They took the north trail around. He’s almost certain. Otherwise he’d be able to see them still. Right?

Walk slow. Be like the rain. Let this dim light aid your path. You have dark clothes on. That’s good while among these wet trees.

All the tree trunks have rain-soaked bark. They’re darkened like lacquered wood shining deep with richness, looking forever wet. He can see the west slope as he approaches. It's still bare from an infamous small fire. It was ‘a long time ago’ as some folks say.

This was not the big one, however. The big historic tragedy, the ruinous Moon Fire that burned most of town? That happened some years later in ’045. Back then they used to name each and every forest fire, just like they did with hurricanes and even moderate rain storms with minor flooding. The fires and storms got worse and worse. Now they get named by their dates alone. Sometimes a nickname. Most fires occurred far enough away to be non-threatening. The seasonal monsoon rain storms became unbearable every few years. Yet some years were so dry. The storm today is barely moderate, considering the recent weather.

So many changes. His mind is drifting again, but nothing seems that long ago really. Time is strange. He feels that soft sense of DPTD, the quick dream-like moment where ideas and memories blend together. Di-Polar Temporal Dislocation is a disconcerting experience, a perspective that feels wise but momentary. You can learn things from it. But it only happens when you’re coming down from the nootropics. This is typical of nootropic induced temporal dislocation phenomenon.

⥈

DPTD is often a great moment of clarity, used for thinking and digging into one’s own mind. Hopefully, if one doesn’t get the headaches. In which case you might have an allergy to the Solidrosol solution. Most considered it a worth-while trade for feeling 20 years younger. The enhancements were considerable. The new mind-body connection wasn't just a feeling, one's actions and strength were proof of the nootropic effects. The blood tests were proof... I digress every time telling this story.

He knows his only option is to make it over Mars Mountain. It's a fairly easy hike, from this side.

Climb the hill. Now’s your chance.

“Why am I running?” Speaking aloud to himself again. He must not be seen. Clarity returns.

Go now.