The Forest of Stone

Part One

A shearing wind tore through the flimsy tent. The anxious men huddled around a small oil lamp to absorb even the smallest degree of warmth. Their faces displayed a patchwork of desperation, frostbite, and unkempt beards.
"She's died down, Lads," said the oldest man in the quivering tent. "Let's have a go at it, shall we?"
One by one the men poured from the canvas hut and stretched their arms under a powerless sun riding high in the spring sky. The prevailing storm had died down enough at this point to feed the appetites of their thirsty, adventurous souls. "It's just over that ridge, Lads. Hurry, bring the camera!"
The shortest of the haggard men fell behind the others. He struggled to keep up, eventually falling into the deep snow pack below. His face bathed in the new powder, flakes melting against his cheeks. He licked the cool water on his lips, the chill was a sign he was still alive---barely! "I can't make it, Commander Peary. I'm sorry." "Nonsense, Lad," said Peary. We came here to be the first men to reach the North Pole, and by God we will ---all of us."
Peary bellowed an order; the men turned, and except for the lead officer, the other explorers quickly raced back. "Help him up, Lads," said Peary. "Nobody is left behind. That's an order!"
The men hoisted the fragile, exhausted young man up and helped him along towards their invisible prize. The lead officer walked toward their intended destination alone at least a hundred meters ahead of the main party. An oak walking stick, sharpened at its point to accommodate a steel tip, pecked the snow layers searching for the ice shelf below. He thrust his stick into the ice over and over as he trudged forward searching for cracks that could spell doom for their expedition. Chipping into the ice and snow, he forged a trail for his fellow adventurers until a strange sound changed the droll movements of his arm. The bearded old man paused and retapped the snow. The same baritone thud emanated. The old man fell to his knees and began scraping the snow aside, desperately searching to the anomaly buried deep below the white sheet of powder. His ardent effort revealed a wooden door with a cast iron handle.The old man's eyes widened, "Commander, come quickly! You've got to see this!"
Slinking through the knee deep powder, the main party reached the odd wooden hatch. Peary removed his hat and rubbed his brow."What is it?" he said. "How did it get out here?"
Peary motioned to the officer who found the hatch, ordering him to pull on the handle. It creaked, revealing a pit containing three shivering individuals: two men and a woman; all wearing strange faded blue military uniforms. Smiles erupted on the faces of the trapped souls buried alive near the North Pole.
"Thank you very much," said the oldest of the two men as he reached to grip the sides of the pit and climb out. "Who are you?" asked Commander Peary. "I'm Captain Borman of the IPC Endeavor," replied the tall, broad-shouldered officer as he reached downward to pull up the female. "I appreciate your assistance...but I know you have more pressing matters, like being the first man to reach the North Pole!"
"But, but..." stuttered Peary, his jaw hanging off his face." The three strangers smiled again and ran off in a southerly direction, away from the North Pole. The officer that had discovered the hatch, released his grip from the cold iron handle and the hatch slipped shut. The strangers turned a corner and disappeared behind a snow bank. One of Peary's men followed their trail, but was quick to report that they had vanished into the ice shelf.
A biting wind erupted, tearing at the spines of each man in the expedition. "To the Pole, Lads," shouted Peary. "Let’s make history before Mother Nature does it to us!"

Inside the Endeavor, Captain Borman buckled his last strap and locked himself into the command chair. "Everyone strapped in?" he grumbled. Something he often said when he knew they had all been secured. Two small affirmatives squealed from the other chairs in the Endeavor's flight center.
"Inter-browser drive activated, Captain," replied Commander Maser. "Surf-slip initiated at 1001001.84," said Borman. The Endeavor shuttered as it slipped from web page to web page; they had resumed their long trek into cyberspace.
"E-energy spikes emanating from 145.234 at 456.765," said Maser.
Doctor Janet Klein clenched the arm rests of her chair until the color faded from her fingertips. She watched the pages flash in front of her eyes through the main windows of the flight center. Brilliant bursts of energy splashed like a succession of fireworks during a finale. She tried to close her eyes until the ship's engines had signaled all-stop, but the fast-paced slideshow of dynamic energy and colors was mesmerizing, captivating.
"How much longer?" shouted Janet.
"Almost there!" replied Commander Maser. Instantly after he had spoken, the engines grunted and then ceased to function. Janet had begun to hate travel in the Endeavor because the abruptness of its engines reminded her of a plane losing power in mid flight; it scared her to her very core.
"Touchdown!" announced Borman. Final particles of light formed into place. A soft red hue covered the entire window of the unknown landscape. Commander Maser began to switch off power units and cool down the Endeavors flux-drive. Janet unbuckled, stood up and peered through the front window. She could see a crude landing craft the size of a automobile. The vehicle had a rectangle claw protruding from its belly. Another small rectangle marked with stars and stripes was affixed to its side.
"Mars," she began. "Damien is hiding on Mars..."