Traveller Probo

The craft hovered for a moment and then rapidly, almost silently ascended to over one-hundred feet above them. The controller, who wore virtual-reality goggles, smiled as the Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV) continued to accelerate until it was out of sight.

Professor Alexander shaded her eyes and looked. “I can’t even see it,” she muttered in wonder. Professor Cowen laughed and pointed at the two monitors. One displayed telemetry, such as wind-speed and other relevant flight-data, while the other screen showed a crystal clear image of Lady Alexander staring upward. “There!” he laughed, “The image is perfect, yet the UAV is invisible.”

“Well, invisible to me,” she replied, “but will it be invisible to them?”

The mission specialist standing by the pilot nodded and then also looked skyward. “Oh yeah, they won’t see that baby,” he replied. “She’s way too high for anyone to see without binoculars. The camera zoom can easily show up individual faces and activities. Everything the craft sees is immediately broadcast back to the Base Station, so no data will be lost, even if there’s an accident and the UAV crashes.”

“Not that that’s going to happen,” smiled the pilot. “These craft are extremely resilient and easy to use. There is, of course, the option to make them fully automated. There are a lot of drones on the market now. You might have seen them. They’re for sale everywhere. Nothing like these though.”

“How long is their mission time again?” asked the British academic.

The mission specialist looked skyward and then at his watch, “Six hours. We can deliver the UAV, launch it, and then return to our time for, say, five and a half hours before we go back to pick up the drone and the Base Station with the data. Like we said, even if the craft is lost, the data will be retained. It’s a very safe way to conduct a recon. Because this craft can fly from a hover to just over one hundred miles per hour in a matter of seconds, it also means we can eye-ball a location over a hundred miles away and conduct a thorough look-see. We can investigate an area bigger than ever, so team placement decisions can be made more effectively.”

Leishman and Morris inspected the other proposed UAVs for Mississippi Traveller. Some were smaller units, barely as large as an adult fist. “It’s proposed that these will carry miniature cameras similar to those used in Saxon Traveller and can be set into an automated search pattern with the Base Station as a guide,” continued the mission specialist.

Leishman squinted into the blue. “That’ll certainly help but it won’t really work if there are dense forests. The UAVs wouldn’t have helped Hurley or Hunter in England. And they probably wouldn’t have helped the poor guys in New Zealand.”

The specialists shrugged. “Yeah, it’s not a silver bullet but it beats going in blind like you Saxon Traveller guys did. Besides, we’ve been testing these in and about the Mark Twain National Forest, which should be similar vegetation to Mississippi’s target date. The craft have shown no problems at all.”

Leishman grunted and looked to his friend Morris. It felt odd to speak of their involvement in Saxon Traveller as if it was any normal military mission.

It had been pretty grim and didn’t feel normal at all.

He was relieved there were no swords on this mission. This was not an infiltration like Hurley and Hunter, nor a recon like the Kiwis had conducted. His team would go in armed to the teeth. Working with the very best technology, there would be two teams. One would act as a command, secure the Base-Station and guard the drone pilots, while the other would explore. The explorers would wear camo and armour as if they were in a conflict zone. They would not make the mistake of underestimating the locals.

The two Travellers wandered back to their car as the academics continued chatting with the specialists. While the UAVs would inspect the lay of the land, the ground team would protect Professor William Cowen, who would lead the historical exploration function of the mission.

“You think it’ll go the way you want?” asked Morris.

Leishman shrugged and replied, “Oh, the mission will go well, and even if we encounter hostiles, we’ll be safe.”

“That’s not what I meant,” frowned Morris, who was contracted as mission consultant.

Leishman glanced quickly at Morris, whose jovial nature was slowly returning. For months the big man had been in the depths of depression but thankfully he was making a comeback. “Who can say?” shrugged Leishman again. “It really depends on our ability to access original culture. I believe I’ll find what I’m looking for.”

Morris grunted. “But what if you don’t?”

“Yeah, I know what you’re saying but I have to approach this with the expectation that what I believe is true,” replied Leishman. “It’s a Mormon thing. I believe that there were Christians in ancient America, so I’ll do everything I can to find the evidence. It doesn’t mean I’ll do anything to risk the mission. I’ll just keep my eyes open.” Leishman came from a large Mormon family from Idaho. As a proud American he served his country in ever more dangerous assignments and was decorated for his cool bravery under fire. Of all he had ever done, none had thrilled him like the Traveller missions. He jumped at the chance to be part of the US mission to Mississippi as it would allow him to investigate the history of the American indigenous peoples first-hand.

“No one ever thinks you’d risk anything,” smiled Morris. “You wouldn’t be going if they did.”

Leishman was comfortable with the mission. Besides, his team members knew of his interest. “If there’s anything Saxon Traveller showed us, it’s that there’s a lot of old knowledge to be gained. At the time of the conquistadores, there was no interest in native beliefs, only in gold, converts and power. I think Professor Cowen’s mainly interested in glory, while our sponsors hope to learn about native resources, such as medicinal plants and lost species. For them, it’s as good as money in the bank.”

“It’s funny how, with this project, various motivations are beginning to rise to the surface,” nodded Morris. “I mean, the team has no need for training in linguistics, there will be no attempt to adopt the culture and but for me, it’s an all American mission.”

“Yeah, the team have been selected on their military skills, intelligence, and their ability to complete the mission,” agreed Leishman. “To show racial balance, there’ll be a few guys who are African American, Indigenous, and Hispanic.”

“What a brave new world we live in,” laughed Morris as he climbed into the driver seat.

Leishman also laughed, pleased that his friend seemed happy. “What’s interesting is the absence of our two friends.” He referred to their two other American Saxon Traveller comrades, Lieutenant Paul Anderson and Sergeant Wayne Kitchener, who were obvious by their absence. The media and the public identified their non-participation immediately. Morris only grunted. Unavailable meant seconded to other duties. They weren’t fooled. Something else must be planned, something likely to be another Traveller mission but no-one was talking.

“So,” continued Morris as he guided their car back to the base, “the main target is Cahokia!”

Leishman grunted, “Or at least some of the communities around about.”

Morris sighed. “It is amazing, isn’t it? Here you are, about to visit what will become one of the largest cities of the North American continent.”

Leishman repressed a smile at his friend’s obvious excitement. He felt everything in his life had directed him to this point. This mission could be a vindication for all of his efforts, his training and military experience as well as his missionary work and faith. If he found what he was looking for, it would be proof of divinity that would shake the world.