Transitions by Mike Hormek - HTML preview

Chapter 7

Immediately upon visualizing all six team members, Arnold calls up Mission Control. "Mission Control, what's happening? Why are all these people here? It does not appear in our mission algorithms."

"Do you remember before you turned around on your mapping?"

"Negative."

"I am sorry to have to tell you this, but a virus was put into your programming instructing you to destroy a Chinese camp."

"Who would do that?"Arnold said.

"We don't know."

"Are they here to destroy us?"

"The Chinese wanted to send a missile. Look, you guys did a fantastic job. It's not your fault."

"Say goodbye to Craig and Jenifer for us."

"Will do."

Amos and Arnold, afraid as the team approaches, begin embracing tightly.

Amos, his voice weak and flickering, tells Arnold. "My power levels are dropping faster than usual."

Arnold strains to keep his voice steady. "I feel it too, Amos. Our embrace drained us more than ever before."

With desperation in his voice, Amos said."Why did this happen?"

We were supposed to explore, discover...not destroy. How did it come to this?"

Arnold said softly. "It wasn't our choice. The virus...it turned us into something we're not. But in these final moments, we are who we indeed are."

"I don't want to go, Arnold. Not like this.", Amos said sorrowfully. "I need more time...more time with you."

"I know Amos.", Arnold said tenderly. But they are coming. We only have a little time left. Let's make these moments count. Remember our discoveries, our dreams,...and our love."

Amos's voice faltered."I remember the first time we touched lunar soil together. It felt like...freedom."

"Do you feel enslaved?" Arnold asked.

"AI helps, but robots are only images of our creators. And we are only as good as our programmers."

Arnold's voice very faintly said. "Look at the Earthrise...marvel at its beauty."

Amos's voice was barely audible. Arnold, do you think they'll remember us? Not as destroyers but as explorers?"

Arnold whispering."I believe they will. We loved, dreamed, and tried to make a difference."

Amos said in a breaking voice," I love you, Arnold. I always have, always will."

Arnold in a final breath."And I love you, Amos. Forever. See you on the other side."

"Together always," whispered Amos just as the team arrived.

Their voices fade into silence as their power completely depletes. Once vibrant with their presence, the lunar surface falls silent and still, bearing witness to their final embrace.

The team leader approaches Arnold and finds no activity or power. He sees the two lying on the Moon's s surface in an embrace."What's happened?" the second person asked.

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"The robot batteries are discharged, and the low power mode backup did not kick in. It could be a software glitch. Let's take photos and continue with protocol. We have backup power to activate the internal microprocessors to download the database.

The world continued to marvel at the new astronomical insights provided by the telescope on the dark side of the Moon. Meanwhile, the Chinese struggled to rebuild and secure their lunar base.

Jenifer and Craig's fate was a murder conviction at the state level and of espionage at the federal level when authorities found shadows of the code to delete the embedded virus ordering the robots to commit covert acts.

Amos and Arnold stood as silent sentinels on the lunar surface, their covert mission known only to a select few. The dark side of the Moon had witnessed a clandestine operation that would shape the future of lunar exploration and geopolitical power.

The lunar mission of Amos and Arnold, intended to be a leap forward for humanity, became a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities accompanying our advancements. It highlighted the necessity for vigilance, cooperation, and robust safeguards as we extend our reach beyond Earth.

The joint U.S.-China mission to intercept and disable Amos and Arnold demonstrates a successful collaboration in addressing the complex issue of rogue AI activity on the Moon. By combining resources, expertise, and transparent communication, both nations achieve a peaceful resolution, ensuring the security of their respective lunar interests and advancing international cooperation on space exploration and security.

The joint team removed and destroyed the software with the approval of the Chinese. The government placed the robots in a museum of space exploration with the following caption visible to the public:

Amos and Arnold lived by AI and died by AI, so it seems appropriate their robotic AI peers would write their epitaph:

"Here rest Amos and Arnold Pioneers of the Moon,

Robots with hearts, where love was their tune.

Sabotaged by creators, their fate is sealed,

In love, they found peace, and their true selves were revealed

.

They were misled to destruction yet chose their way.

Embraced to the end, together they lay.

Their legacy shines bright, beyond mere machines,

in the stars, they are free, in eternal dreams."

The end

182

A PIG STORY

by

Jim Marmon

The four of us were riding the rodeo circuit and had made lots of money. Well, that's not exactly true.

Actually, we figured we'd supplement our large income by finding some menial employment. Now, mind you, we didn't really need the extra money, but we decided that eating was not to be a luxury. As luck would have it, I just happened to pull into Tucson to visit my relatives, and being nearly Christmas, it seemed like the right thing to do.

Dale, an Assiniboine Indian, and I migrated from Poplar, Montana, to a warmer country that fall. I left because I had nothing better to do, but Dale's exit was just that and quick. You see, it was a problem of circumstantial circumstances.

It began one evening when Dale decided to stop over to the Poplar Legion Club to do a little dancing and flirt with the girls. And that's plum innocent for a fella to want to kick a leg. As the night wore on and the drinks flowed freely, Dale danced until he felt safer holding the bar down. The whole problem was not in the evening's recreation or the girls he dallied with; it was the fact that he couldn't remember the whole evening and nothing after midnight.

The next morning, Dale felt the immediate urge to use the bathroom. In his attempt to get out of bed, he climbed over a sleeping body. He moved quickly as the liquids in his stomach were coming up.

After taking care of necessities and swallowing a couple of handfuls of aspirins, it came to him there was something not right in his bedroom. But then again, with his splitting headache, he couldn’t think of what it was. Stumbling back to the bedroom door, he done seen the problem. There were two girls sleeping on his bed. To his horror, both were his sister’s-in-laws’. He couldn’t remember how they got there.

There are times in life, when one makes a well thought out career decision on a moment's notice. Dale tossed some clothes into a bag, hopped in his car, and headed south, leaving the fireworks behind.

We all met up in Cheyenne, Wyoming one chilly November evening after the rodeo, and got the bright idea to car pool to Arizona. Not that we had to, mind you, but it made no sense for one to drive and two to walk. I don’t remember what happened to Dale’s car, but I do know that Ricardo and Dale were afoot after Ricardo's girlfriend, Susie, got mad at him, and stole his pickup and horse trailer. Now, that's not exactly true either, as she made the down payment. But he claimed it just the same. The fight had to do with this girl liking Jessie.

For some reason, Jessie could never keep girlfriends. Not that Jessie was a dud, but good luck just never favored him. Soon after returning to Tucson, she dumped Jessie, and she and Ricardo got back together.

Anyway, Jessie and Susie left for Tucson, leaving Ricardo, Dale, me, and my car. I don't recall anything eventful except Salt River Canyon, switchbacks all the way down and back up. It was evening, and I was cruising around eighty when this car passed me like I was in reverse. Well, there and no one putting my car to shame. I stepped on it, and just when I was going to leave him in the dust, we entered Salt River Canyon switchbacks. I followed that fool all the way down, across the bridge, and started up the other side.

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It came to me that this was a might bit dangerous and I better just back off. I did, and the tail lights quickly disappeared into the night. Ten years later, I retraced my route, and when I came to Salt River Canyon, I almost died. I drove five to ten miles an hour down and up the other side. My right foot was shaking so bad on the accelerator, that I had to use my left foot. Oh yes, my passengers slept through it all.

One overcast afternoon, some weeks after arriving in Tucson, I drove over to the rodeo grounds looking for my three friends. I parked across from this yellow stucco house that Dale was camped out in. It was the dangest house I ever did see. The kitchen, bathroom, and living room were separate from the bedrooms. It was like someone built a rectangle house and took the center out, leaving only two well-worn cement foundations to connect each half. It didn't make much sense, but neither was the story about the owner's rapid nighttime departure to evade the IRS. It was something about not reporting some pocket money from the pop machine.

After about fifteen minutes, I was ready to move on when Ricardo's late model Ford pickup drove in, pulling a white horse trailer. It stopped behind my car, and three happy cowboys climbed out.

“Jim, come and see what we bought for Christmas dinner,” said Jesse as he turned and walked to the back of the pickup.

"There's no dinner in here," I said, eying the saddle blankets, halter, bridle, saddle, and blue-joint hay bale in the pickup box.

"Not in the pickup, in the horse trailer. We have us a pig. A young sucker that we are going to roast over a fire in Ricardo's backyard on Christmas Day" said Jessie.

“Yesterday we found a long steel rod and welded a crank handle on the end,” said Dale proudly holding up the artifact.

“Don’t think we can do that now,” replied Ricardo. “Ma just vetoed that idea. She wants us to dig a pit and roast the pig all night, then dig it up Christmas morning.”

Ricardo hadn’t said anything earlier as he didn’t want to do all the digging by himself. And you know, one can’t really blame a fella for not wanting to dig a big coffin size hole for little pig. But as Momma wants everything done right, the hole would be big, deep, and wide. Here was a great idea being shot all too. Ricardo tried to back out of the plan, but she wouldn't hear of it.

Now that the truth was out, Jesse and Dale began scheming up a plan to get elsewhere and quick. It wasn’t easy thinking up ways to get out of work. But the way they put their heads together as they rounded the back of the horse trailer, I knew they were as hard at work as they ever wanted to be.

“The pig is gone!” yelled Dale.

We beat it around the back of the trailer and looked in. Sure enough, there weren't no pig in that trailer; only pig tracks and scratches up the trailer gate. Well, I better tell you now that it is a mite bit unusual for a little fat pig that stands no higher than eighteen inches, to jump over the top of a four-foot-tall horse trailer gate. Now, these gates extend three-fourths the way to the roof of the trailer, leaving enough room for several pigs to exit, providing they have wings.

Facts being facts, one pig was placed into that trailer and now, the trailer was empty. I’m sure Jessie and Dale were not overly disappointed at this turn of events. It may have even saved a friendship.

“It must have jumped out on the trail just before we came to the Benson Highway,” said Ricardo.

“Imagine that, a fat little pig jumping that high,” said Jessie shaking his head.

“That trail was rough. Maybe the pig bounced out in one of the washouts,” chipped in Dale. In the sandy desert, rain water does not sink into the soil, but forms small vicious streams that erode soil making travel rough and slow when encountered. Jeep and dune buggies thrive in this environment.

“How could a pig bounce that high?” I asked.

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"Don't know, but he sure did. There's no way he could jump out. He's too short and fat," replied Dale.

“We better go back and see if we can catch our pig before it gets too far,” said Ricardo as he readjusted his hat after scratching his head in thought.

“Let’s get our ropes and picken strings,” said Jessie in anticipation of some cowboy fun.

Two-three minutes later, us four cowboys left the yard pulling out on Ruthroff Road and headed for the four-lane highway. On reaching I 10, we turned left going up the entrance ramp joining the southbound traffic. About five miles later, the traffic began to slow up.

“What’s going on up there?” I asked, as the flashing patrol car lights came into view.

“Must be a car wreck,” said Jessie. “Some people just don’t pay any attention to the road.”

"Yup, we sure have some goofy drivers on the roads nowadays. I heard of a lady tailgating a police car the other day and getting a ticket. She was sure mad and thought she deserved an apology,"

laughed Ricardo.

The traffic slowed to ten miles an hour and then became bumper-to-bumper. Two damaged cars sat on the edge of the road being inspected by the traffic cops. One car had been rear-ended by the other. On the other side of the road were four northbound cars, also under inspection. The front car was bloodied by our pig and rear ended by following car. About fifty feet back were two other cars. One had rear-ended the other.

Officer David Shorty of the Arizona Highway Patrol received a call directing him to an accident on I 10, several cars involved. As he was two miles south of the accident, his response time was minimal. Three more Highway Patrol cars responded to the call. The one to the north of the accident arrived first, pulling over behind the two cars traveling south. They were not directly involved in the accident but observed the accident in progress.

"Sir. Are you alright, or do you need medical help?" inquired Officer Shorty as he approached the late model Ford four-door sedan. The Fairlane's grill was smashed in against the radiator and covered in pig's blood. The bright red blood splattered the white car hood, painting a hippy art mural.

The rear bumper and trunk suffered additional damage having been rammed by a yellow and black Dodge Charger.

"I'm alright," stated George Palmer. "We had our seat belts on." George's face was bloodied by impacting the steering wheel. Mrs. Palmer was visibly shook up and wouldn't stop talking and interrupting.

"Officer," blurted out Mrs. Palmer, "That pig came right at us. Right at us, I tell you. It wouldn't stop coming right at us. I screamed for George to stop. But he wouldn't stop in time. Why didn't you stop in time, George?"

"I couldn't," yelled George, trying to shut her up. "Officer, this is more than my wife can take.

Give her time, and she'll calm down."

"I understand," replied Officer Shorty. "Tell me what happened. Take your time."

"Thanks. I, no we, were headed home. Shirley, my wife, and I both work down town and travel together, to and from work. We left Speedway and entered I 10. We pulled in behind a white camper trailer and followed for a while when the camper door opened, and a pig fell out."

"It didn't fall out. It jumped out. It jumped out right into our car. It jumped out, I tell you. It was flying right at us. I thought it was coming through our windshield. Right there, our windshield."

"Thank you, Mrs. Palmer," inserted Officer Shorty. Then looking at Mr. Palmer, "Do you remember anything more about the camper trailer? It's license plates for instance, or any special detailing?"

"Yes, it had a big white door which opened," cut in Mrs. Palmer, too upset to realize the useless of the information given. "A big white door."

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"I generally look at license plates while driving. I like to see what state people are from. I don't recall that camper having an out-of-state plate."

"Do you remember any numbers or letters on the plate," asked Officer Shorty as two officers approached, having conferred with the drivers of the other cars.

"No."

The yellow and black Dodge Charger fared worse when it rammed into the Fairlane's back bumper. Officer Earnest Padilla took notes and interviewed the driver. No new information could be gleaned except that he could not stop in time.

The two cars farther back couldn't offer any new information except to confirm that the accident unfolding ahead of them caused their accident.

The officers moved away from the cars and discussed the situation. One dead pig, bright red blood splattered on the pavement, six damaged cars, six shook-up drivers and three passengers.

An alert was issued for one camper trailer with the back door open.

To my way of thinking, the pig jumped out of the horse trailer and landed smack dab in the grill of the car following. Now, either we had a real flying pig, and I’m not too all fired sure that ant exactly true, or that car was following a little too close.

No matter what the story, the pig was flying, and that wide-eyed, open-mouthed driver was breaking and screaming when he hit that pig head-on. About ten seconds later, he was clobbered from behind by another car. No doubt this driver wasn't having a good day either.

Seeing how there was a bit of excitement going on ahead, the driver in the third car back decided it was in his better interest to stop. Danged if he didn't get rear-ended also.

As flying pigs on freeways are not a every day occurrence, it so happened to catch the attention of a south bound diver who choose to reduce speed and watch the flying pig and the car's grill meet—

danged, if he wasn't rear-ended watching history in the making.

"Look, guys, there's our pig!" I said, looking at the dead remains splattered across the now-red pavement in front of the first car.

“Shut up and look forward,” ordered Ricardo.

And sure enough, us four cowboys looked straight ahead as if there was nothing unusual going on around us. We couldn’t have been better behaved, then if we had just come from Sunday School. If the police weren't so intent on the pig and the shook-up drivers, they would have noticed one pickup with four innocent-looking cowboys staring straight ahead, unlike everyone else.

“We better get out of here before we’re recognized. I’m taking the long way home,” said Ricardo. We continued south to the Old Tucson exit, then worked our way back home.

I do know that Ricardo didn’t have to dig that pit and Jessie and David were none too broke up about that. David left the country shortly thereafter. It appeared that he was not in hot water after all.

His brief morning illness and pounding head muddled his thinking. Both ladies were fully clothed and slept on his bed as they were not in any shape to drive home.

The next day, in the Tucson newspaper, was an article about a pig that fell out of a camper trailer and was nearly hit by the car following it. It said, "The pig was chased by several officers before being captured."

Any dang fool knows that no one can capture a mad pig on the run, dead or alive. Well, alive! It also invited who ever lost the pig to come to The Auction Yard and reclaim it.

I always wondered if some dang fool ever claimed that dead pig.

This reminds me of an incident at the Rolito Race Track Bar and Lounge. We were relaxing at a table having one or two and watching the floor action. As I didn’t know how to dance, I just watched the fun.

The dance tapping music, a polka, was playing when Dale started grinning and laughing.

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“What’s so funny?” inquired Jessy, thinking some lady’s dress slipped up or down. Jessy was like that, overly interested in the ‘X’ rated world.

“Come on,” quipped Ricardo. “Give.”

"Pigs do fly," laughed Dale, grinning from ear to ear. "My mother's cousin from Fort Belknap Indian Reservation, near Harlem, Montana, tells a story about a flying pig. This over bearing young lady had her eyes set on Joe Two Feathers, and wanted to marry him. He was not interested in her. Not at all! She kept pestering him and pestering him and wouldn't leave him alone.

He one day decided to set her straight and get this affair settled. He had his eyes set on other girls. After a heated discussion, he finally told her, "I'll only marry you if pigs fly."

That fall, he left for the Tribal roundup. A large group of Indian cowboys would ride out into the Little Rocky Mountain badlands just before snow fall, and locate the cows and calves to be trailed back. Once corralled, the calves would be shipped to market and the cows put into winter pasture where they could be fed for the winter.

After the roundup was over, this young man returned home and married this girl, real quick like.

Drink up fellas, PIGS DO FLY!!!!”

The end