TZR-571, the characters stripped and worn on the steel arm of the electronically shielded bipedal transport, moved past a gloved hand of Tristan Newark as he inspected it’s surface. The logs of the docked mech had indicated that this unit had seen significant action beyond the Rizen sector of human kind’s home in it’s Third Epoch. Most of the maps since the beginning half of the First Epoch had been reworked showing and outlining areas of habitable interest on account of nuclear storms and temperatures reaching below -50 C in zones declared as the New Arctics. Tristan punched a few numbers on a nearby keypad showing the maps. A collection of vector shapes resolved into a teal glowing disk revealing a yellow triangular marker appearing above a relic city on the eastern edge of the Eurasian plate. A glowing screen now becoming one of the few sources of light in the shadow cast hanger in late afternoon. Tristan felt squeamish. Solitude and the gentle hum of cooling fans internal to the mobile diagnostic unit Tristan now used to query logs and maps made him realize there were few things more interesting beyond the enclosed walls of a segmented dock holding this peculiar entanglement of wires and metallic mass that stood before him. The wind shifted outside, hitting the insulated aluminum siding, creaking the western facing wall as the sun glimmered through a recessed slit piled on the outside with ice crusted snow at it’s base. Tristan sighed. He had to go. The mess hall would be the only stop between him and his bunk. The thinking had worn at him. How could the logs show this?
The galley was barren. The mess hall, a frigid clean room, yielded a stolid commander Noah Burham from the break room on the far wall. The coffee and paper cup made it’s way to Burham’s white bearded jaw before he managed to sit. The rationed disclosure report sat at the table that Burham now pulled a chair to. The few times the report was air dropped along with various supplies made the expose seem placid on account of the slow moving, glaciated transports in the bleak hours of the mornings leading up to the second quartered year. The report put out every 3 months tallied statistics related to the remaining population fielded by high resolution satellite imagery, projecting estimates in graphical charts and random article clippings. Burham set his cup down and focused his attention on one section of the paper. An article heading, “Virus Incubation Retainment Rates Hold Steady, Projecting for Third Quarter”. “Damn,” swearing under his breath. He had a feeling this is how it would play out but never understood the time frame. The report outlined metrics in numbers of people dying, measuring epochs in terms of per billion. What Burham had counted through reports collected over several seasons was that humankind was now in it’s third such epoch having lost some three billion at the time of what was termed the IP, or inflection period. There were few things that could slow the spread of death among the war torn planet. Since the IP as it was dated and referenced in most reports had made apparent that the downward trend would not stop, the reason being that disruption on multiple fronts kept humankind at the gates of hell. The Arctics were the backup points. Locations meant as insurance to perpetuate a long enduring of unfavorable living conditions. The suffering would not last, death would come first, to all. Burham shifted his weight as a person made their way down the hall toward the break room. “Tatum, is that you?” Burham looked back toward the far wall, but heard the perforated silent drips of the coffee machine before turning his head back to focus on another article. Tristan made his way up behind Commander Burham, “Morning, take a seat,” the commander pulling his attention from a reading on hydroponic growth yields. “You’re up early,” “I had a bit of trouble sleeping,” retorted Tristan. “Too many ones and zeroes I presume, those logs are as good as dead,” said Noah, being disinterested in what any future information Tristan may be able to offer. “Is that the newest disclosure?” “Yeah, ITCS dropped it this morning along with a few rations, breakfast looks like it will be good at least for the next several months.”