The Lark
(Part I)


Primary species: 	cat-morph
Location: 	Earth's moon
Year: 		4,023 A.D.
(This story takes place bout 1,000 years after creation of "The Archive," and 100 years prior to the "Keeper 
of The Traces" adventures.)
Part		1
© Mark Warren '02



The moon machine scurried up and over the outer edge of the crater, its four wire-mesh tires kicking up bits 
of gray dust as it headed back to base camp. Oxygen was running low, and an empty burden of failure 
weighed nebulously on his mind. What would he tell them? That it had been his imagination? After all, 
humans had been known for their cinematic manipulations. Why should he have expected anything 
different? No, he was justified in his actions. Whether he found it or not, his mission would be regarded as 
a success the others. Data, even data to the contrary would be recorded and disseminated at a later date. It 
simply meant, that this location needed no further exploration. Perhaps he was unjustified in his actions. 
Maybe they were right. He had taken the trip on a lark. There was nothing to validate his notion… except 
that he had seen something. Or at least he thought he had. The relative isolation on the moon was known to 
drive some men crazy. Perhaps that's all it was. Sensory deprivation was taking its toll, and Brummers was 
going crazy. Dalston Brummers rarely doubted his sanity, but considering the circumstances, perhaps he 
should. After all, resources were scarce. Oxygen and electricity were both valuable commodities. It had 
been months since the solar panels were heavily damaged by solar flares, and the generation of power to 
run the chloro-oxygen regeneration units, not to mention their ability to charge the machine's batteries, was 
significantly impaired. 

Suddenly, the sensation of falling overtook Brummers and awakened him from his contemplative state. He 
stared into blackness, the backs of his gloves still white-gray with the diffuse glow of the sun. Damnit… he 
was falling…. He had plunged into some sort of hole. Looking to his right, he could see bits of debris 
falling in formation with his descending machine. It all ended abruptly, as he hit solid ground with a thud. 
The tires were badly bent, but he was in one piece.

Though, stunned for a moment, he climbed off of the machine and looked around him. A thin ray of light 
revealed that he was in some sort of dwelling. Star charts covered the walls. Many familiar and unfamiliar 
planets were depicted in vivid color, surrounded by blurbs of text he could not read. After some 
investigating, he found a few solar panels that had been stowed in a closet. They were different from those 
used at base station, but their form and functionality appeared universal enough. The engineer would likely 
know what to do with them. She'd employed much more esoteric technologies for their cause. The panels 
were a heartening find.

Turning on his flashlight, He saw several other things that simply astounded him. Empty space suits hung a 
glass room. They were slightly smaller than Brummers' own, with a smaller tail sock and larger, more 
conical helmets.., indicating that the inhabitants must have had longer muzzles. There was no sign of decay 
in the suits… while badly yellowed papers were strewn about the central area. Remarkable. Diagrams for 
an unusual liquid crystal matrix were laid across several uncluttered desks. Parts of each diagram had been 
torn away. The missing section didn't mean anything to him, but he felt it might hold significance. Looking 
up, something else caught his eye. The high vaulted ceiling had been damaged by his fall, but when 
Brummers looked up, he could faintly make out intricate murals depicting black and white terriers engaged 
in various activities. One was standing over a microscope, another was playing a flute-like instrument, any 
yet another was sailing a boat with wind in her long hair, and another was standing at a large podium… 
apparently a politician or an orator of some sort.

Brummers was a brown tabby, and had never encountered such canines, or direct evidence of their culture, 
before. Apparently there were only white and black terriers at this camp. Perhaps this suggested a highly 
isolated people, stylistic portrayals, or representative of a shallow genetic pool? He did not know, but most 
everything in the room cried "dog." He was expecting to find a lunar lander… something human, not 
canine. He had anticipated evidence of archaic technology and sheer willpower, or perhaps more mundane 
evidence of Catian activity, but never this. What surrounded him was far more advanced than anything that 
should have been. More advanced, dare he say it, than anything he had ever seen.

Contacting base camp, he explained his find. His nav beacon would lead them and they would see for 
themselves. 

As he waited, Brummers couldn't help but smile and laugh at his circumstances. This was better than he 
had expected. Briefly, he wondered if he actually was crazy. Not likely. He was just being himself. And 
cats are curious creatures. You don't know what they're thinking, but that doesn't mean they're not in their 
right mind. There is something about the harsh reality of living in space that brings a man to his senses. 
One wrong move, and he's dead. This much is true. But there's also a need for exploration and ingenuity… 
without which one may be equally dead. For you see, curiosity doesn't necessarily kill the cat… it often 
defines him.