SteveJordanBooks.com

Sol

by

Steve Jordan

1: THE PROPOSAL

Kielmo was a beautiful blue-white world against a stark background of stars and black, and it could now be seen to be expanding in the observation window. Ghen, standing in the forward observation deck of the Union ship Dac Fuair, could not help but admire the round jewel of a planet ahead. It was, after all, not too different from his own world. Maybe somewhat lacking in green, he mused.

“Attention. We have entered Kielmon space. We have received permission to land. All landing crews to stations.” The announcement had gone out over the ship’s broadcast system in Tktlli, so Ghen’s translator repeated the message for him. He nodded at hearing the message, and was glad he didn’t have to leave the observation port just yet. He was enjoying the view too much, and was looking forward to watching the planetfall, usually one of the most enjoyable parts of any space voyage.

He heard a vague hum of energy approaching him from behind, and turned slowly, already knowing whom it was. The small metallic box floated up beside him, its many sensory stalks roughly dividing themselves between taking in the view, and regarding Ghen. Ghen nodded at him. “Ambassador Palon. Come to enjoy the view?”

“No, Father Ghen. I am afraid the view is wasted on me.” The voice that emanated from the small membrane on the box was a tad dry-sounding, but nonetheless clear Union standard speech, and Ghen’s translator did not need to respond to it. A few of the box’s sensory stalks swung in the direction of the planet for a moment, before most of the stalks swung back towards Ghen. “It does seem to share many similarities with Sevi, though.”

“I was just thinking the same thing, myself,” Ghen admitted. “A tad sparse in vegetation, perhaps, but I think the Seveid could have evolved here.”

“Maybe they did,” Palon stated. “We have very little information on Kielmo before the Solars came to it. There might have been a species here similar to the Seveid, long ago, that the Solars have found no evidence of.”

Ghen smiled. “I doubt it. The Solars are usually very thorough about matters historical. I wouldn’t be too surprised to discover they’ve managed to dig clear to the core of the planet.”

“You give the Solars too much credit, Father.”

“And you give them far too little, Ambassador.” Ghen looked down on the box, so much smaller than Ghen himself, not even a quarter the size of Ghen’s head, floating beside him. The Vino were a race of atomic components and inorganic bodies, considered the ultimate in manufactured beings, and most of the Union believed them to be without the annoyances of emotions that the more organic members of the Union were burdened with. But Ghen knew that there was emotion in the Vino, albeit based on a different set of values than most organic life. “I take it you still have no confidence in this undertaking?”

“Father, this is your project, and I would not presume to question your motives in this.” Ghen could hear the tone of sarcastic reverence in Palon’s voice, and sniffed. “However, I do still take exception to your choice of the Solars to take us there. They are not my first choice of the beings I would want to represent the Union to new worlds.”

“We have discussed this before, Ambassador,” Ghen said. “I feel the Solars are perfectly suited for this mission. Look at Kielmo. In just a few short mecycles, they’ve managed to reform the entire planet to suit their species. Look around you, Palon. Look at this ship. If the Solars hadn’t brought the Union this technology, we would not be able to undertake these journeys through our own spaces. We would not be together at all, would we?”

“If the Solars had not brought us this technology, we would never have had the Colmann/Neste War,” Palon pointed out. “This technology almost destroyed the Union.”

“Not at all. It has definitely brought us together, and allowed us to work together like never before.”

“At their price.”

“We cannot begrudge the Solars profit on their technology, Palon, any more than they begrudge the Seveid profit on our diplomatic skills, or the Tktlli profit on their art. They happen to be the most gifted techsmiths in the Union, and that’s that.” To emphasize his point, Ghen glanced around him at the ship he was traveling in. Though the ship was manned by a Tktlli crew, the ship was built by Solars, and many races used specially modified Solar ships instead of their own race’s craft. Solars did not build the only ships in the Union, but they did build the best. And, of course, they were the ones who had created the Solar Field Drive, the only engine capable of taking ships beyond the limits of light. Their incredible technological leaps made the Solars the miracle workers of the Union. And the Union’s laws protecting the inventions and rights of its member races guaranteed that the Solar race would be a wealthy and well-standing member of the Union for a long time to come.

Beyond the observation window, the curvature of Kielmo was becoming less defined, and the blackness around the ship was beginning to lighten. Stray ribbons of flame occasionally darted out from some point ahead of the ship, as the shields deflected tiny particles of gas in the upper atmospheres. The show of light was a breathtaking one, and Ghen always enjoyed it. “The decision has already been made, Ambassador. No point in dwelling over old debates long since settled.”

“As you say,” Palon acquiesed, but Ghen heard the bitterness in the synthetic voice. Palon floated away towards the travelers’ quarters. Minutes later, when Dac Fuair was sliding through the clouds above Kielmo’s major landmass, Ghen headed back to his quarters himself.

Griffin Major Spaceport was the largest port on Kielmo, the only one suited for large-scale interunion transportation. This only made sense, since over 85% of the interunion commerce on Kielmo was transacted on Griffin Major, as opposed to the other, much smaller, landmasses. The spaceport resided on the southern edge of Griffin Major’s capital city, Nuathens, and was often referred to by the city’s name only. Nuathens itself was a relatively small town, despite its role as a major hub of commerce. Nuathens radiated outward from its southern end at the point where the spaceport touched the city. It was an open city near the spaceport, the closer avenues filled with small open-air markets, storage pens or blisters, and merchants offering their services to the recently arrived, or soon departing.

Most of the residents that lived close to the spaceport were used to the coming and going of ships, so they rarely looked up when the whistle of a ship slicing through the atmosphere was heard. But most of those residents had been there long enough to recognize different types of ships, merely by the sound they made above them.

The growing hiss of air, joined by the powerful thrum of engines, was a combination that few had heard recently above Nuathens. Quite a few people looked up for the source of the sound, and only a few recognized it right away. Some pointed, and children called to parents to let them know something new was coming. The Dac Fuair’s graceful lines cut a wide, smooth arc across the skies, tilting slightly to one side as it angled for a corner of the spaceport. It slowed and lowered itself gently, coming to a hover just above its terminal slip, before descending the last few meters and coming to rest upon the slip’s pads. The slip then extended a segmented roof, which closed like an iris over the ship.

Ghen barely felt the touchdown from his quarters, but hearing the ship’s systems cycling down alerted him that they were in the spaceport. At that moment, he was busy getting into his excursion suit. It wasn’t absolutely necessary for him to wear a suit, for the atmosphere of Kielmo wasn’t directly harmful to him. However, Kielmo was considerably warmer and drier than Sevi, and Ghen’s suit and breather made him much more comfortable. Besides, his suit was cut in an Ambassadorial style that would lend an air of officiousness to his visit, which he felt was appropriate. He allowed the Vino drone to finish sealing the suit across his massive back, then checked the fit himself, before leaving his quarters.

Palon was waiting for Ghen at the main access hatch. Palon did not need any type of excursion gear on Kielmo, and he hovered patiently as officers supervised the drones securing the ship’s systems. Ghen activated his breather as he approached, ready for the dry air he was about to walk out into.

“Are you ready to disembark, Father?” Palon asked formally. Some of the drones stopped what they were doing, or stood a bit straighter as Ghen approached.

“I’m ready,” Ghen replied. “Let’s go meet our hosts.” He nodded to a nearby Tktlli officer, who spoke to a drone near him. The drone worked over the hatch controls, and the door cracked open and slowly rose into the roof of the hatch bay. Ghen started down the extended ramp, flanked by Palon at his left shoulder.

There was already a figure waiting on the ramp, halfway from the door of the slip. The Solar smiled and nodded at both of the Ambassadors. “Welcome to Kielmo, Father Ghen, Ambassador Palon. I trust you had a pleasant trip?”

“Oh, yes, a very good trip,” Ghen replied, slowly bowing his massive head to the Solar. “Your shipbuilders really outdid themselves with the Dac Fuair.”

“Glad to hear it,” the Solar said. “I am Eduardo Telor, administrator of the spaceport. We’ll take good care of your ship during your stay. I imagine the council is waiting for you?”

“Yes, they are expecting us within the hour,” Palon replied.

“Then, allow me to show you through the spaceport,” Telor said, turning and leading them down the ramp.

As they walked through the terminals, speaking in cordial formalities, there was a respectful hush around them. Although the Seveid and Vino were not uncommon visitors to Kielmo, having a Union Father visit was news to the residents and workers of the port. Many people whispered to each other after the procession had passed, wondering what would bring a Father to Kielmo at all.

When they reached the outside of the spaceport, Telor steered them over to a large transport vehicle, with a waiting driver. “Father, we have a car waiting to take you over to the Council Hall.”

Ghen looked at the vehicle, and smiled. “Thank you, Administrator... but, with due respect, we have plenty of time to meet with the Council, and I haven’t visited Nuathens in a long time. I think I’ll walk.”

Telor seemed to stiffen in surprise just a bit, and his eyes blinked rapidly for a moment. Then he recovered and inclined his head to Ghen. “Of course, Father. If you have need of the car, feel free to call me, and we will have it sent to you.”

“Thank you again. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Ghen turned to Palon. “Do you remember the way to the Council Hall, Ambassador?”

“Of course, Father.”

“Then, let’s be off.” Palon floated off along the sidewalk, and Ghen fell in step beside him. Telor and the many bystanders watched the two Ambassadors amble down the road.

Kielmon cities had a look to them that was unique to Union worlds. The mix of modern technology with the trappings of natural materials, primitive art and simple lifestyles that Ghen passed on the Nuathens streets gave him the impression that he was walking through a massive open-air museum. Solars had always demonstrated a strong affinity to their past, more than any other Union race. It was one of the fascinating things about the species that had kept Union scholars busy for many cycles. Ghen all but stared when he passed a Solar woman wearing what appeared to be the skin from some animal, wrapped tightly around her body from her bared shoulders to just below her posterior. Although Solars rarely showed a compunction against baring their bodies to the open air, this woman seemed to be baring more than most. And Ghen noticed that quite a few Solar men took note of her passing as he had, and exhibited expressions that he could only interpret as approval.

In the distance, Ghen could see the taller buildings that made up the northern end of Nuathens. The structures were patently monstrous, most of them wider at the base than the spaceport they had just left, and tapering up to near-points far above the ground. The buildings almost seemed from the distance to be floating on air, due to the many open levels, balconies, outcroppings and terraces that broke up the outer faces. Solars seemed to enjoy living so high in the sky, as if the skills that took them to the stars were constantly forcing them ever higher, even on the ground. Ghen had never been fond of those structures... in fact, no Seveid liked being in those dizzying open heights... but they were, nonetheless, fascinating to see.

There was a lot of conversation going on all around them as they walked down the market streets. Ghen’s Tktlli-made translator constantly struggled to interpret the many things heard around it, eventually forcing him to lower its sensitivity to a very narrow range and reduce the cacophany of voices to a whispered few. Most of the conversation was in Solar, although there were a few Tktlli, Neste and Pem Teins sprinkled among the Solars. There were a great many Calis around the markets as well, but most of them spoke Solar as well as the natives, so did not need translators like the other races in the markets. All of the Solars and Calis, and most of the Pem Teins, wore the smaller and more efficient new Solar translator that was becoming so popular throughout the Union lately... one of the latest examples of Solar ingenuity, and their second-best selling item, after the SFD. The Tktlli and Neste mostly wore Tktllian translators, much bulkier and not as accurate as the Solar models. They would not have been interested to try the new models, though: The Tktlli were still unhappy about the loss of income they were suffering at the hands of the Solar technology; and the Neste disliked anything Solar, period. Doubtless Palon was picking up every conversation around him without a translator, but had no trouble ignoring them all.

Ghen became vaguely aware of a commotion to his right, just before he saw a small red object bounce out of an alley. It rolled into the center of the avenue, coming to a stop just a few meters ahead of him. Ghen looked at it: It was an oblong ball of some kind, possibly designed for some game. Ghen looked into the alley it had come from, and saw a half-dozen young Solars standing, watching him. Clearly, it was their ball, and had gotten away from them. Ghen slowly bent forward to pick the ball up for them.

His hand pressed against something solid, but it was not the ball. It flattened as if pushed against a pane of perfectly clear glass, and would not go any further. There was an odd vibration that seemed to come from the invisible barrier, as well, causing Ghen to pull his hand back.

“Don’t touch that, Father!”

Ghen straightened up slowly, turning in the direction of the voice. He caught sight of the Solar running up beside him, just as he slipped past and picked up the ball at Ghen’s feet. He straightened up, and took a deep breath, as if he’d been running a long race. The Solar hefted the ball, brought it up to his nose, and sniffed it.

“I thought so,” he said, and turned to look down the alley. The children were already running in the opposite direction. “Tai, grab those kids!”

From the opposite side of the street, a female bolted past Ghen as if shot from a cannon. Ghen reared back in surprise. She whipped down the alley after the already vanished kids, her small feet barely touching the flagstones. In a moment, she too was out of sight.

Ghen turned back to the Solar in front of him. He, and the girl that had chased into the alley, were wearing the uniforms of Workblacks: Black Druller’s suit unitards and datasleeves, under charcoal-gray jackets and other clothing accessories, the latter of which seemed to vary among every Workblack Ghen had ever seen. They both had on excursion pants and thigh-high boots, and the standard stinger-class firearms on their hips, but he had the addition of a short staff in a holster on his left side. The girl had had matching holsters on either side of the wide sash around her waist, but as she’d flashed by so quickly, Ghen hadn’t gotten a good look at their contents. The Solar was just a bit taller than most, very broad in the shoulders and a bit stocky in the waist. His skin was somewhere in the middle of the many hues Ghen had seen on Solars, and he wore his curly dark-brown hair short.

Ghen recalled what happened when he tried to pick up the ball. “Were you the one who stopped my hand, Workblack?”

The Solar looked up at him, and he seemed to be catching his breath again. “Yes, that was me. I’m Harley Delmar, Spar Wing Commander, Father. You didn’t touch the ball, did you?”

“No, you managed to stop me,” Ghen told him. “I’ve never actually been in contact with a Druller’s field before. It was... interesting. Was there any danger?” He indicated the ball in Harley’s hand.

“Well, it’s not really dangerous,” Harley replied, wincing slightly. “Just very annoying, sir.”

“Annoying? To whom?”

“To you. Sir.”

“What is the meaning of this, Workblack?” Palon floated up around Ghen’s head, to hover in front of Harley. Harley started to reply, when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see the Workblack female approaching them.

Ghen hadn’t noticed when she’d raced by before, but he could see now that the female was a Cali. Her feathered hair was short and lay close to her head, stopping behind the neck at the ornamental neckband she wore. The Cali race, having evolved from avian ancestors, were nonetheless so similar in general physiology to Solars that other than feathered hair it was hard to notice any differences between them. Even the gross aspects of their physiololgies were so alike that both races could wear identical Druller’s suits and datasleeves. Ghen could now see that the twin holsters she wore carried a weapon common to Cali, a double-bladed hand weapon known as a “claw.” Her eyes, if he’d seen them earlier, would have been the dead giveaway, being almost twice the size of Solar eyes, and so clear it seemed you could almost see through to the back of her head. Calis and Solars seemed to spend more time in close quarters than any other two races in the Union, Ghen considered, and he knew there were a number of Calis serving in what were otherwise considered Solar organizations. Calis had, in fact, long ago learned the Solar language so well that they rarely needed translators to speak Solar, and often spoke Solar among themselves.

“They had their escape routes well planned,” the Cali said, shrugging. “Didn’t catch one of them. Sorry. Are you all right, Father?”

“I’m fine,” Ghen replied again. “And you are?”

The Cali smiled. “Tai Kiil of Spar Wing, Father.”

“I am Ghen, and this is Ambassador Palon. Commander, tell me what is so annoying about picking up a ball?”

“Well, Father, it’s not the ball, but the spice that it’s been rubbed in.” Harley held the ball up, though not close to Ghen. There was a slight brownish sheen to the surface. “Anise. It’s a fairly common spice, you can find it all over these markets. But it does have the unfortunate side effect of being highly allergenic to Seveid. If you’d touched it, you’d be scratching and sneezing for hours.”

“I see.” Ghen looked in the direction of the now-empty alley. “I’m sure the young ones would have found it amusing,” he commented drily.

“I had no idea Solar young were so malicious,” Palon remarked. “Maybe you should consider keeping them indoors.”

“Yah,” Harley smiled politely. “Well, as long as no harm was done, I guess we’ll let you get on your way. Tai...”

“Wait,” Ghen said, holding up a hand. “I think it might be a good idea to request your services to escort us to the Council Hall. We do not want to be held up again, and the Council is waiting for us.”

“Uh. Well...” Harley’s voice trailed off, and he exchanged glances with his partner. Then he turned back to Ghen, sighed just a bit heavily, and forced a jovial smile. “Sure. It’ll be our pleasure, Father. This way.” He paused a moment to look at Tai, but she was already moving off in the direction of the Council Hall. He fell in step beside her, and the Ambassadors followed just behind.

Halfway down the first block, Harley glanced over his shoulder to see how close the Ambassadors were to them, then whispered in a low voice to his partner. “Well, that’ll teach me to be a good samaritan.”

“That ought to teach you not to gamble,” Tai whispered back. Her eyes flashed in amusement. “After all this time, you’d think you’d know better by now.”

“Gee, thanks, mom,” Harley winced. “I didn’t exactly see you backing down from the bet, did I? I’ve never seen you turn down a free Carder’s.”

“That’s right, you haven’t,” she said. “But I don’t bet cases of the stuff on footraces through town.”

“We could have won easily... I’m telling you, my route to the Courtyard is quicker...”

“Unless you run into a bunch of kids ambushing an Ambassador,” Tai finished sarcastically.

“Go ahead, laugh,” Harley said, but he wasn’t really upset. “We would’ve wiped them out.” He raised his left arm, bringing his datasleeve into view, and started using his right hand to type out a message. “I’ll let Jamie know we got hijacked into escort duty.”

Behind the two Workblacks, Ghen was adjusting his translator again. He seemed to be listening intently to the conversations among the Solars around him (mostly the young, again), and after a time, he stepped a bit closer to Harley. “Excuse me, Commander, but I’ve been hearing a single word said by many people we’ve passed, but it does not seem to have a direct translation. I wonder if you’ve noticed?”

“Uh...” Harley cocked his head, then shook it. “No, I haven’t noticed anything. What was the word, Father?”

“It was a large word, I think...” Ghen tried to repeat the sound from his translator, and Harley’s translator tried to re-translate for him. “Elle... elle-font... or elle-fint...”

Harley’s face became blank, and he stiffened a bit. Tai turned to face them. “Was the word, ‘elephant,’ Father?” Tai said, and Harley flashed her a withering look.

“Yes, that was it,” Ghen replied. “Elephant. What does it mean?”

“Um...” Harley cleared his throat and glanced around, seemingly checking to make sure no other bystanders were within earshot. “Well, an elephant is an animal that was native to our original homeworld. I guess you’d say there is a slight physical similarity between your race and... the elephant.”

“Really? How so?”

“Well, it’s a large animal...” Harley paused, slightly uncomfortable. “Most were larger than you, actually, but shaped about the same... they walked on all fours, like you... and they had an extra limb, a sort of long prehensile extension of their... noses, which shares a resemblance to your...” Harley trailed off, but hooked a thumb to the single limb that extended from the Father’s chest just below the neck. Ghen raised his arm to his face, as if seeing the double elbows and three-fingered hand for the first time, and lowered it again. Then he looked back at Harley.

“Well,” Harley smiled helplessly, “there’s a slight resemblance.”

“You are comparing a Father of the Union to a dumb animal from Solar’s ancient history!” Palon snapped, rising almost over Ghen’s head.

“Actually,” Tai stepped up, shouldering between Harley and Palon, “the elephant was one of the smartest and most dignified creatures on their original homeworld. Almost as smart as Solars, in fact. Many scholars believed that, had Solars somehow died off or something, the elephants would have risen to match their civilization and achievements.”

“I see,” Ghen said, nodding. He glanced at Palon, whose sensory stalks swung about taking in all three of them at once, before he finally sank back down to Ghen’s head level. Ghen indicated with his hand, and the four continued on down the street.

Once they had reached a whispering distance again, Harley said to Tai, “Nice save, ‘Black.”

“Anytime, boss,” she said, and flashed him a beaming smile.

The Solar Council Hall, home of the Solar Government, dominated the west corner of the city. The Hall itself was massive, being as it was used for official and ceremonial functions, full government congresses, sheltering and courting visiting dignitaries and celebrities, and the occasional politically-inspired party. It was made up of a main corridor that connected to all meeting rooms, offices and support functionaries, with additional side corridors adjoining rooms in individual sections, such as guest quarters, support systems, and Council chambers. Every door in the building was large enough for any member of the Union to comfortably move through... which put them about twice the size of the average Seveid, approximately the size of the Kanirian Clerics. And the main corridor itself was large enough to fly small aircraft through, possibly even with a few tight turns thrown in.

As the Ambassadors and their escorts approached the towering facade of the Council Hall, not yet across the wide street in front of it, the double doors in the center of the facade slid slowly open. Harley and Tai could both see a figure, still well inside the main corridor, approaching the entry. The figure stopped at the entry and waited patiently for the quartet to reach the threshold. He was an old man, with a finely wrinkled face, but his smile was strong and sincere. He extended his arms as they neared him.

“Father Ghen... Ambassador Palon. Welcome to Council Hall,” the old man greeted them.

“Councilman Adam,” Ghen nodded. “How good of you to see us, sir.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Adam said. “We are honored to have a Father grace Council Hall. The council is waiting for you in the north chamber, and there are refreshments inside.”

“Thank you,” Ghen smiled, then indicated the Workblacks beside them. “May our escorts join us, as well?”

“Your...” Adam regarded Tai and Harley as if he had just noticed them, then inclined his head. “Why, certainly, Father. Please, come this way. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable out of the dry heat.”

“Excuse me, Father... Councilman,” Harley interjected, stopping Adam before he’d taken a step. “We do have duties elsewhere, sirs, so if you’ll excuse us—”

“Actually,” Ghen said, cutting him off, “I think you two should accompany us into this meeting. It so happens that your organization will be involved in this project, as well. I’m sure your superiors will understand if we detain you for a short time.”

Harley opened, then closed his mouth. He looked to Tai, who shrugged and started through the threshold after Councilman Adam. Ghen and Palon followed them through, and Harley, looking frustrated, followed up the rear.

They marched down the corridor until they came to an open set of doors to the right. Walking through these, they were greeted by the entire Solar Executive Council. Many were standing about talking amongst themselves, and some were helping themselves to various foods and drinks on a large table along a near wall. The councilmembers all stopped what they were doing to walk up to Ghen and Palon, and each greeted them personally and in turn. Harley and Tai drifted over to the side, in the general direction of the table.

They watched the formal greeting line from the side. “Lucky there are only the nine of them on the Exec Council,” Harley commented. “I hope they wouldn’t do this if the entire Kielmo Congress showed up.”

“Shh,” Tai admonished. “Be good. So we’ll hang around with the big doers for a while. Relax. Try some of the... hey, they have Cali sweetbread.” She turned to the buffet table and helped herself to a plate, then selected a piece of tan bread and various other items from the platters. The buffet had been supplied for the Seveid, knowing that the sharing of food was a cultural trait that Seveid and Solars both enjoyed. Harley shrugged and joined her, picking up a shaped piece of bread and filling it with assorted meats and vegetables. The councilmembers pointedly ignored them while they fawned over Ghen and Palon around the buffet table, but after a few minutes, Tai nudged Harley to alert him that Councilman Adam was walking over to them.

“Hello. I’m Trent Adam.”

“We know,” Harley said. “Harley Delmar, Spar Wing leader. This is Tai Kiil.”

“I understand from Father Ghen that you saved them from an embarrassing moment on the street,” Adam said. “You have our gratitude, Workblacks. We are about to sit down.” Adam nodded across the room. “There are some chairs over there. Please pull them up to the table and join us.” And with that, he turned and walked over to the table in the center of the room.

Harley and Tai obediently walked over to the far side of the room, where an assortment of chairs resided. They picked two chairs built for humanoid sitting, and Harley carried them over to the table, while Tai carried their plates. They sat down at the end of the table, while the rest of the council sat down opposite Ghen. Palon settled onto the table next to Ghen.

“Well, I suppose we should get started,” Ghen said. “I requested this meeting, because I have an important proposal to present to you. The Union wants to commission a special SFD ship from you.”

There was a pause, then murmurs around the table, after Ghen’s words were translated. Adam was the first to speak aloud. “You have us at a disadvantage, Father. Certainly you can commission a spacecraft, but you could have discussed this directly with the shipsmiths on SS.”

“That’s true,” Ghen nodded. “But this is a special ship, for a special mission, and it will require joint cooperation with all the ranking members of the Union.”

“You have our full attention, Father,” Adam said.

“Councilmembers, you know that the Solars represent the last ranking member race to join the Union. Since your arrival, and of course the introduction of the Solar Field Drive to Union travel, the Union has grown stronger as it has grown closer together. Most of our races have reached new understandings and found new respect for each other. The Union has known greater prosperity than ever in its history.

“We feel it’s time to begin expansion.”

“Expansion?” Representative Archer LaSalle held up his hands in confusion. “Father, I thought we’d already visited, explored and colonized every habitable planet in this region of the galaxy. Not to mention many of the uninhabitable ones.”

“And we’ve also established that there are no more worlds in our part of the Arm with substantial native life,” Representative Li Abaster added.

“Well, stricktly speaking, that’s true,” Ghen admitted. “There are no other planets in our section of this Galactic Arm that have life, or can support life. So we’ve been doing a bit of research. Ambassador?”

Ghen turned to Palon, who swung his sensory stalks around the table. “We have concentrated our efforts on locating regions of space where undiscovered life may reside, according to our best estimates. Our research has pinpointed another region of the galaxy, relatively close to ours, that is likely to have many forms of life, including intelligent life forms.”

“And where is this?”

“In the Inner Arm.” Palon waited for the rustlings around the table to die down. “We based our studies on the phenomenon of Galactic Time Development Correlation theory, as proposed by Zhin of Sevi. Basically, the theory is an equation that can predict, based on the relative ages of any part of the galaxy after it has formed, when intelligent life can expect to be found. Star systems that are very young, still hot, like those near the outer edges of our galaxy, have proven to be too young to support intelligent life... although, over time, many of them may develop such life. Similarly, star systems that have long since settled down allowed life to start much sooner, and now they may harbor life. Given time, the star system will cool down too much, and life will not be able to maintain itself.

“Our Union is in a region that, according to the equations, should be teeming with life, and so it is. Our explorations in either direction of this Arm have proven that the star systems closer to the center of the galaxy have had life, but lost it, long before any of us were beginning here. The star systems further out are only just reaching the point where life can begin on their surfaces, also in agreement with Zhin’s equations.

“But there is a region like ours, on every arm of the galaxy, that can support life. Allow me to illustrate.” Palon reached a stalk out into the air and froze it in place. A moment later, a glowing image appeared over the center of the table. The familiar spiral pattern of the galaxy began to spin over the Councilmembers’ heads. “Here is our galaxy... and here is our present position in it.” A small red point glowed on one arm, near the bottom of the image. “Here is the area explored by the Union.” A yellow band widened around the red point, spreading in both directions along the same arm, but for only a small fraction of its length. “In this area, we have explored the star systems thoroughly to correlate our data with the Galactic Time Development Correlation theory. Finally: This is the area the theory predicts will harbor life.” The yellow band seemed to sprout a darker yellow at its edges, which spread a short distance further along either end of the arm. “As you can see, the theory tells us that we will find no life beyond its borders in this Arm. It has proven to be 98.869% accurate.”

The council examined the diagram hovering before them, many stroking beards or scratching heads among them. Li Abaster finally said, “Then, where does the Inner Arm come into this?”

“Watch,” Palon said. The diagram slowly began to change as darker yellow bands of light appeared across every arm in the galaxy, at roughly the same region along each arm’s length as the band in the Union’s arm. The yellow bands described a circle inscribed across the vast pinwheel of stars. Palon continued: “According to theory, each arm of the galaxy will react to the equation equally. We simply had to study the other arms, and find the regions that matched the theoretical criteria that indicated life in our regions. These bands are the result. All of these areas are expected to contain intelligent life.”

“All of them,” Ghen repeated. “Possibly even collected races like our own Union. And as you can see, the band in the Inner Arm, the Arm on the inside of the galactic curve from us, is noticeably closest to our Arm. It is the logical first place to explore.”

“Father,” Representative Tracy Chiun spoke up. Chiun was considered the most knowledgeable about Solar ships on the Council (although Harley or Tai could have talked rings around her, and everyone else at the table, with the exception of Palon), and the others gave her the floor. “My knowledge of the present development of our SFD ships, leads me to believe that even our fastest ships would take many years to travel that far. Are you suggesting sending someone out on an exploration they may never return home from?”

“No, we are not,” Palon replied. “According to Solar engineers, the SFD as it is presently designed works at only 47% efficiency. Their data suggests that the SFD is capable of operating closer to the theoretical ultimate of 79.6% efficiency, and only research and resources separate them from moving closer to that goal. The Union is prepared to put any and all resources at your disposal necessary to improve the Solar Field Drive for use on this mission.”

“It will require a lot of preliminary design, testing and prototyping,” Ghen said. “But we are confident that our needs can be met by your shipsmiths. We intend to offer whatever resources your engineers need, to build the next evolution of the Solar Field Drive that will take us to the Inner Arm. Then we want it to be installed in a ship designed for a long-term fully-independent exploration mission. We will offer whatever resources are needed for the building of the ship itself, as well.”

“We also have a list of Union representatives that must be accommodated on the ship, so there will be special modifications that will have to be built into the overall design,” Palon added. “In all, we require a very different ship than the standard Solar ship.”

“You plan to include all the ranking Union races on this ship?”

“Oh, yes, that is absolutely necessary,” Ghen replied. “This is a diplomatic mission, as well as an exploratory mission. It will probably last for decycles, so they must be comfortable for a long time. Their quarters, and many parts of the ship, must accommodate their needs. Oh, yes... and since we don’t really know how we will be greeted by any races we might find out there, we will also need a force included to defend the ship, if necessary.”

After a pause, everyone turned to look down the table at the two Workblacks seated there. Harley and Tai returned the looks, then exchanged glances with each other as they realized what they were really doing there. Suddenly Tai slapped a hand to her head.

“Oh, Damn! —I just bought a glider!”

2: REACTIONS

Ghen, Palon and the Council spent the next few hours discussing timetables, specifications, a general mission profile, and an incredible amount of miscellaneous minutiae. Once it seemed that every bolt on this project ship had been discussed, the meeting finally broke up.

Harley and Tai were the first out of the chamber, after pausing just long enough to be thanked again by Ghen and Adam. “We will be sending a full transtext of this to your superiors,” Palon had told them. “They will probably be looking to you two for corroboration of the details.” Then they had been dismissed.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Harley said as they exited the great double doors to the Hall, “exactly how intelligent Vino really are.”

“Why?”

“The way they talk and act... sometimes I can’t decide whether they are being incredibly obtuse, or just plain rude.”

“I’d call it rude,” Tai told him. “They seem to have very little tolerance of most of the races in the Union, not just yours. But they are especially nasty to Solars, I’ve noticed.”

“I’d love to know what we did to them to merit that kind of abuse.”

“They’re just afraid of you. Solar technology is so good, the Vino know someday you’ll be replacing them with artificial life forms even better than they are.”

“You think so?”

“Well, it’s either that, or they just don’t understand you.”

“Damn, it’s late.” Harley checked the time, then switched on the com on his sleeve. “Delmar to Gaucho.”

There was a momentary pause, then an answering beep from his com. “Hey, Harl! Decide you like buying my Carder’s for me? Or did you break your leg trying to get across Sonnen Avenue?”

“Neither,” Harley said, throwing a frustrated glance at Tai. “We were sidetracked. We’ll have to run this race some other time.”

“Just refuse to admit that your way is slower, don’t you?Sorry, old buddy, those sidetracks are gonna cost you.”

“Forget it! We were drafted as escorts by a couple of Ambassadors! If you haven’t heard...”

“Okay, okay. I was kidding, we all already know about Ghen’s proposal. They sent the transtext to the Block just a minute ago. If you haven’t heard yet, the Senior Staff is convening now, and they’re expecting you two to join them when you get here. Better get a move on. And don’t stop for any more side tracks.”

“Very funny,” Harley said. “We’re on the way.” He switched off his com and started looking up and down the avenue for a hire car. “Never a hire around when you need one,” he groused.

“Well, then,” Tai said, “we might as well get some exercise in. We are Workblacks, after all.” She started off at a fast jog across the street, and turned to see if Harley was keeping up. Harley broke into a run a few steps behind her, and sprinted to catch up. Then they matched pace as they ran across town.

The Solar Space Manpower and Defense Force, a.k.a. the Solar Space Force, generally referred to as the Workblacks, was one of the oldest organizations in Solar history. Their existence dated back to the original homeworld, where the equivalent of the Workblacks, then known as Merchant Marines, sailed the seas and carried on business with any and every nation within reach of their trade routes. At some point before Solars left their world, the Merchant Marines had to adopt a more aggressive posture against pirates, smugglers and unfriendly governments, and the term Marines took on a completely different meaning than originally intended. They became a combination workforce and defense organization, and often traveled in conjunction with cargo ships as extra laborers, or simply as guards. The organization led the Solars out into the galaxy, found their new homeworld, Kielmo, and even did a substantial part of the taming and reforming of the planet. It was safe to say that, without the Workblacks, Solars would not have become members of the Union at all.

The Block, the local name for the SSF’s headquarters, was a fairly featureless structure on the east side of Nuathens. The Block appeared to be a single massive structure from the outside, but once a visitor passed through the front gate or any of the portals along the walls, they entered a huge courtyard that encompassed assembly and game fields, an outdoor amphitheatre, and a number of landing pads along one side. From the courtyard, the Block was seen as four buildings linked at the corners, not nearly the ponderous bulk it presented to the outside.

The main gate was, as always, manned by a unit of Workblack soldiers. Their uniforms, clearly more standardized than Harley and Tai’s, marked them as security. The team straightened as Harley and Tai jogged up to the gate and came to a stop.

“Afternoon, Spar Wing,” one security guard said. He did not ask for identification, but instead waved a small handheld device at them. The device was linked to a small pad in his other hand, and after a brief moment, the pad identified Harley and Tai.

“Hi, Csilla,” Harley greeted. “Quiet day today?”

“It was, until about fifteen minutes ago, when that transtext came in,” the guard with the pad said. “Everybody’s talking about it. You’re ordered to conference room 15-A-4. The high stripes are waiting for you.”

“Thanks, guys,” Tai said, and the two continued through the gate at a fast walk. Because of the lateness of the day, the side tunnels that connected to the main gate walkway were all dark. They walked through the gloom of the walkway, with nothing but the light of the open courtyard ahead of them.

“It’s about time you two got here. What’d you do, find another great shortcut?”

Harley and Tai both started, although they knew exactly who was addressing them. Harley looked over his shoulder, and saw the smiling face of Jamie Gaucho. Jamie was easily as tall as Harley, but he was so much thinner that he didn’t look as if he could put up a good fight with anyone Harley’s size. In fact, his wiry frame had proven to be a match for many and larger men, and had often been seen in a fight holding his own against four men or more. He wore the standard Spar Wing unitards, but his trousers were cut tight against his legs, displaying the taut musculature underneath. He wore short boots, built for maneuverability on any surface. At his waist, on the opposite side from his standard firearm, was a holster for a Sutter’s blade, a compact power field that projected a molecule-thin blade from its sheath. The Sutter’s blade was based on the same technology that made the Solar Field Drive possible, and the blades were rare and expensive. Jamie had never admitted to anyone exactly how he’d come in possession of one, and had even gone to the brig once for refusing to tell a superior under a direct order.

Another voice emanated from the shadows behind them. “You might have snowed Jamie about that race, but I’m not buying it. I want another race, and I want it tomorrow, understand?” Despite the stern tone, the soft voice was clearly amused. Tai and Harley tried to find the owner of the voice, but the only thing they could see was a wild mane of white hair that had come up soundlessly behind them. It was so white, it almost seemed to glow of its own accord in the dark walkway. Melissa Kodiak’s features were completely hidden in the dark, but not by her luxurious hair: Rather, she was practically invisible in the dark because her skin was a deep black color. Not a shade of brown, like many Solars, but sable black, with shiny highlights. Her black skin, coupled with the black regulation unitard, had the dubious advantage of making her almost impossible to see in the dark. Melissa wore no trousers over her unitard, just the regulation jacket, and a single standard firearm in a holster. Her boots extended all the way to her knees, and they had the more supple soles preferred by those skilled in what Solars had referred to for ages as the Martial Arts of combat. Although the Arts were taught to all Workblack soldiers, Melissa was particularly adept at it, and her light but powerful body was amazingly quick and controlled.

Melissa seemed to reconsider her last statement. “Or maybe we should just roll them for the money for a case of Carder’s, right now.”

“Enough about the Carder’s, already!” Harley smiled as they came out into the sunlight of the courtyard. “Are you two going to come into the meeting with us, or wait around out here?”

“I’ll think we’ll just wait around somewhere else,” Jamie replied. “Give me or Mel a call when they’re through with you, and we’ll go get dinner, okay?”

Harley looked back suspiciously at Jamie. “You okay, man?”

Melissa laughed, and Jamie did not immediately reply. After a moment, Melissa volunteered, “Jamie hasn’t settled up with Wimmiper, yet.” Jamie winced at the sound of the name, and Harley made a mock-fright face. Jamie was notorious for betting with his fellow Workblacks, on almost anything. Unfortunately for him, sometimes he got a bit overzealous. Wimmiper, a big Solar from Corsa (which was saying something, since few Corsans were less than 2.2 meters tall), had lost almost two thousand credits to Jamie over a Mellee match three decycles back. Not long after the loss, Jamie found himself scheduled for a standard Druller’s suit sparring session, and coincidentally, found Wimmiper was his opponent. Reading between the lines, Jamie had repeatedly avoided the session, begging off sick or finding other duties to keep himself busy.

This would have continued on at status quo for decycles, until Jamie began bragging that, not only was he not afraid of Wimmiper, but he would turn him into a greasy stain when they did meet. This naturally enraged Wimmiper when he heard about it, and he had been actively searching out Jamie for cycles. Jamie had managed to avoid him so far, but he was beginning to realize his luck wouldn’t last.

They reached the Command building, and Jamie and Melissa took their leave of Harley and Tai at the entrance. They took a lift to the fifteenth floor and headed immediately for the A-4 Conference room. A guard at the door nodded when they approached, and opened the door for them.

The long table in the center of the room was surrounded by “high stripes,” the popular name for the highest-ranking Workblack officers. Most of them were discussing things among themselves, and Harley and Tai were spared one of those awkward moments when the entire room went silent at their entry. But many of the officers looked up when the door opened, most notably, General Butte at the head of the table.

“Ah: Delmar and Kiil. Please come in and sit down.” General Butte pointed to two empty chairs on his left, just past Colonel Hasir and Major Dase. Donata Hasir stopped speaking as he watched the ‘blacks walk around the table and sit down. Valerie Dase did not look up from the pad she had in front of her, which scrolled through a transtext of the Council meeting. Tai and Harley sat down, and Tai picked up another pad on the table.

Butte regarded the two ‘Blacks. Gaard Butte was a large man in every sense: His overlarge frame was covered with powerful muscle, and that muscle was in turn layered with enough fat to smooth out his features. He didn’t look like he could move easily at all, until he actually did; then his smooth, controlled movements demonstrated how powerful he was. He was considered a good General, because he was willing to listen to his officers and men. He gave Harley and Tai a look that confirmed they were here to be questioned, not interrogated.

“All right,” Butte began, “we’ve seen the transtext. But we weren’t there, and you two were. Exactly how did you manage that, anyway?”

Tai smiled, and Harley cleared his throat. “Actually, we happened to run into Father Ghen and Ambassador Palon just as a bunch of local kids were trying to trick Ghen into picking up an anise-covered ball.”

The General blinked. “Damn... I don’t suppose you caught any of them, did you?”

“No, sir. Sorry.”

“Just the kind of thing I hate the Fathers to have to see. We’re going to have to have another talk with the Constable General about that,” Butte said. “Well. So, they invited you into the meeting. Tell me, who’s idea was this excursion into the Inner Arm, anyway?”

“It was Ghen’s, apparently,” Harley said. “Not that it was easy to tell, but I got the impression that this is his personal project to expand the Union, using another Seveid’s theories as his reasoning. Palon acted like he was going along with the project, but he wasn’t happy about it.”

“Of course he wasn’t happy about it,” Colonel Hasir said, pushing the text pad away from him. “He’s unhappy because Ghen wants a Solar ship and a Solar crew. I’ll bet the Vino did their damndest to delay this project of theirs until they could finish their own translight ship.”

“Yes, you told me about your suspicions of the Tec Ci Toor,” Butte said. “But you’ve only showed me suppositions so far.”

“We have the proof that the Vino and Tktlli have been collaborating on research on a translight drive,” Hasir stated. “And now we have proof that they’ve installed one on the Tec Ci Toor.” He tapped some instructions on his pad, and pushed it at the General. “Here is the last flight plan of the Tec, flown nine decycles ago. It flew from Tkakl, the Tktll satellite, to Forkes Minor, also in the Tktllian influence.”

“I can see that, thank you,” Butte said. “This indicates that the Tec flew directly from one to the other, no stops. And its velocity was clearly sublight. What proof do you have that there’s a translight drive aboard?”

“There.” Hasir pointed uselessly at the pad in Butte’s hand. “Partway between Tkakl and Forkes Minor is a Union research station, designated USR-439. It takes constant readings of the local star systems, measuring changes in all light bandwidths. If you’re going to Forkes Minor from Tkakl, you have to pass USR-439.

“We’ve been trying to get direct readings from 439,” Hasir continued. “We have been denied access by the station itself, claiming recent security violations that have suspended operations. But 439 intercommunicates with other research stations, to compare data. We managed to intercept a standard transmission to one of the other stations from 439, and we’ve been decoding the readings.”

“And?” Butte prompted. Everyone in the room had stopped speaking, to listen to the debate at the head of the table.

“According to 439’s readings, the Tec did not fly by when it would have had to on a flight path to Forkes Minor. That means it made a course variation wide enough that 439 wouldn’t have seen it. And the only way it could make that severe a course deviation, and still arrive at Forkes Minor in that amount of time, was if it made a translight jump at some point during the trip.” Hasir slapped his open palm on the table. “That’s your proof, General.”

“Colonel, you’re telling me you have proof that this ship traveled at translight speed because no one saw it go by. Knowing how secretive the Vino can be, it’s entirely possible that the log was tampered with, or that the ship’s identity is in question.” Butte slid the pad back across the table. “That’s hardly proof, and I certainly cannot present this to the Council.”

“But, General—”

“And at any rate, we’re not here to discuss the discovery of a new translight drive,” Butte reminded.

“General, this mission has a direct bearing on the existence of another translight drive!” Hasir insisted. “Suppose something went wrong with this wonderful new ship they want us to build? They’ll say it was the fault of Solar engineering, and then they’ll say that they now have a translight drive from the Vino that the Union can use instead of the SFD. Kielmo will be losing its most valuable commodity to the Vino! We certainly can’t afford that!”

“Colonel, we will not discuss Solar economics now!” Butte leaned forward and glared at Hasir, who finally backed down. “If the other races ever discover a new translight drive, we’ll have to live with that. But we are here to discuss this exploration mission! Is that clear?”

The table was silent. Butte nodded at no one in particular, and said, “Now: Major Scai. You’ve looked over the general specifications of this ship. Does it appear to be within our abilities to accommodate so many different environments on one ship?”

Major Scai, halfway down the table, nodded. “It doesn’t look to be a problem to actually build it. The shipsmiths may encounter problems with making the same facilities accessible to all races, so they may end up duplicating quite a bit of equipment there...”

Harley watched Scai from down the table, as he continued to discuss racial engineering with Butte. A moment later, he noticed the officer sitting next to Tai. Toria Maez was a Wing Major, and it was expected that one might be at the meeting, since their wing would likely be included on this mission. But Major Copeland was the officer in charge of Spar Wing, and it only then occurred to Harley that Spar Wing might not be invited to this mission after all. “Say,” he whispered to Tai. “Shouldn’t Copeland be here?”

Evidently Major Maez heard his question, and turned back to face him. “Major Copeland hasn’t returned from Equator-One, yet. His game went into overtime.”

“Oh.” Harley had almost forgotten that Copeland was still out—or to be more specific, up—defending the Workblack orbit title. It was unusual for an orbit game to go into overtime, too, and Harley wondered for a moment how the game was going on. Then he snapped back to business.

Next to him, Major Dase had gotten the General’s attention. “General, I don’t like the idea of sending regiments of troops on what is supposed to be an exploration ship. The ill feelings with the other Representatives aboard will be almost palpable. Does Ghen really expect to find marauding hordes out in the Inner Arm?”

“Maybe he does,” another speaker offered. “Maybe they haven’t given us all the information from their research. They might know exactly who’s waiting for us out there.”

“Not unless their sensing technology is much better than we think it is,” General Butte said. “And it’s not.”

“Well, what are the chances they’ve gotten some kind of message from the Inner Arm?”

Butte considered that. “It’s possible. But I don’t think they would have been able to hide that fact from the rest of the Union.” He turned to Harley and Tai. “Did Ghen say or do anything to make you two distrust his motives?”

Harley and Tai did not answer immediately, but gave the question legitimate thought. Finally, Harley shook his head. Tai said, “He seemed completely sincere. He wants to know what’s out there. All they really have is this planetary theory, and I think they’re just hoping to find something strictly on the basis of good odds. In fact, I think he’s excited about the possibility of expanding the Union into the Inner Arm. I’m convinced he’s not hiding anything.”

“Mm.” Butte nodded. “And the other Union Representatives he mentioned... he didn’t seem concerned at having all of them together on a Solar-controlled ship?”

“Didn’t seem to bother him at all,” Harley replied.

“That’s the part I’m having a hard time with,” Butte stated. “Ghen knows that the Tktlli won’t be happy on a Solar-controlled ship—especially if they’re so close to an FTL ship of their own, as some data suggests,” he nodded in Hasir’s direction. “The Neste won’t be happy with so many Solars around, the Neste don’t like the Calis or the Tktlli, either, the Vino don’t trust the Solars... This is going to be one touchy trip.”

“Well, what can we do about that?” Major Dase asked. “We know the ranking representative, who’ll be a Father, will ultimately be in charge. I’d trust the Seveid to keep things fair in a problem situation.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Butte pointed out. “The Seveid historically take no part in general decision making aboard ships controlled by other Union races... only the overall mission. If there’s trouble, don’t expect the Seveid to clean it up. Dase, make a note to make sure the ship is fitted with extra magazines of shoots, specifically targeted for Kielmo... in fact, targeted to the Block. And double the ship’s internal recording capacity. I want to make sure that, if there is trouble, we’ll have recorded data to back us up in a dispute. You’ll have to contact Guiterra on the Council, and give him the details.”

“Understood.”

“Good.” Butte leaned back in his chair. “And in the meantime, maybe we can think of a few ways to improve our position on this little trip.”

It was finally beginning to get dark when Harley and Tai left the conference room. Most of the officers were still discussing things inside, even though the meeting had been adjourned. Harley was first aware that he was hungry. “Delmar to Gaucho,” he spoke into his com. “You eaten yet?”

“Hey, Harl,” came the reply. “We’re out front of the dining room now. Copeland’s back.”

“Yeah?” Tai spoke into Harley’s com. “How’d we do?”

“We lost by two.”

“Oh.” Harley and Tai exchanged disappointed glances. “We’ll be right down.”

Bannon Copeland was one of the most athletic Majors in Workblack service. He had joined the Workblacks after a stellar collegiate period, including three years on his school’s orbit squad. Not long after he’d joined the Workblacks, he found himself playing on the Guardians, and in no time became Captain of the team. The Guardians had proven to be a major force in orbit for the last six seasons, and Copeland’s superiors had managed to be particularly lenient in Copeland’s assignments, always keeping him relatively close to Kielmo during orbit season.

The Guardians were beloved enough by the Workblacks that, even though they had just lost their second game in a row, they still commanded crowds after a game. Copeland, and one of the backs, had come down to the dining hall as soon as they had landed, and they were the center of a few-score people crowded around the front doors. When Harley and Tai arrived, they pushed their way to the middle of the crowd. They found Mel and Jamie on either side of Copeland, who was busy fielding the usual armchair strategist opinions on the outcome of the game. When he saw Harley coming, he raised a hand.

“Harley! Just the man I want to see. Listen, everyone, I’d love to go on, but I haven’t eaten, and we need to discuss some things. C’mon, Spar Wing, let’s get fed.” He turned and pushed his way into the dining room, and the Wing followed him in. It only took a minute or so for each of them to select a few items from the buffet servers; then they found a table with five seats free, and sat down to eat. Jamie sat down and placed two ales by his plate. The ales weren’t Carder’s, the more popular ale among Workblacks… these ales were tasty, but unlike Carder’s, they were rendered non-alcoholic by design. Still, they were consumed almost as much as their alcoholic cousins, especially by Workblacks when on duty.

“So,” Copeland said after everyone had gotten started, “I heard about you and Father Ghen on the way downside. He’s proposed a mission into the Inner Arm?”

“That’s right,” Tai replied. “He’s commissioning a new ship, wants to pour research into the latest SFD designs, and take every front line race in the Union with him.”

“Copeland shook his head slowly. “I hope you all didn’t have any plans for the next year. If you do, you’d better consider resigning first.”

“Huhm?” Jamie mumbled through a piece of bread.

“You know how the Fathers are,” Mel answered for Copeland. “Once they decide they like you, they’ll have you following them everywhere. By now, Spar Wing must already be entered in the official crew roster.”

“Huhm?” Jamie almost spat the bread out on the table before he swallowed it, and had to drain one of his ales to clear his throat. “You mean, we’re going on this mission, whether we like it or not?” The other four nodded. “Aw, man... I was thinking about going to Michelle’s Rock this season.”

“Nope. Don’t think so.” Copeland took a bite of his ginoloaf and grinned at the others. “Well, look at it this way,” he said after he swallowed. “You won’t need to spend much on the trip. We’ll have a lot of pay credit saved up when we get back.”

“Great,” Tai said glumly. “I just bought a glider, though. I hate having to go through the trouble of credit arrangements for it.”

“Oh, it won’t be so bad,” Jamie said. “Gliders aren’t that expensive. Maybe you can even bring it with you in storage...”

Jamie stopped speaking abruptly, when a hand clapped down on his shoulder. The hand was large enough to completely hide Jamie’s shoulder, in fact, from his slender neck to the hinge of his arm. Jamie winced and slowly looked up the treelimb of an arm that was attached to the hand.

Tobe Wimmiper was Solar, but he had been brought up on Kitchensink, a planet in Solar influence that was incredibly rich in minerals. The mining colonies on the planet were renowned, both for their abundance of raw materials, and for the size of the Solars who had worked there for generations. Tobe was from the same stock of hard workers as his brother Kitchensinkers, which meant he towered at least a head over the average Solar, and had a torso thick enough to hide a few Solars behind. Even the Workblack data core on his sleeve seemed to be unusually large (supporting the favorite joke that Kitchensinkers desperately needed the extra storage space to make up for a lack of brains). He hinged his massive head down and grinned at Jamie with broad teeth.

“Jam-mee! Just who I’ve been looking for. It’s good to see you again, Jam-mee!” He said it loud enough to be heard across half the dining room. Many of the Workblacks knew about Jamie’s risky gambling incident, and the room became noticeably quieter. “Been waiting for my sparring match with you, Jam-mee. Thought you might be ducking me. Decide you’re too chicken to face me?”

Jamie threw a glance at Tai, sitting next to him, but she didn’t move. It was generally considered in bad taste to use the derogatory term “chicken” in front of a Cali, and Wimmiper had probably used it to get a rise out of the rest of the Wing. But Tai and the others weren’t biting, which left the problem in Jamie’s hands alone. Slowly, he lifted out of his chair and turned to face Wimmiper.

“Hey, Wimmiper.” He tried not to look too small standing in front of Wimmiper’s massive chest, and regarded him coolly. “I haven’t been ducking you, I’ve been busy. Why would I want to duck out on a mandatory Druller’s sparring match?”

“Because you know I’m going to beat the crap out of you, that’s why you’re ducking me, Jam-mee.”

“That’s ‘Jaymie’,” Jamie stated. “It’s pronounced, ‘Jay-mee’.”

“No, it’s Jam-mee, ‘cause that’s all that’s gonna be left of you when I’m done!” Wimmiper sneered.

“Okay… have it your way, Wimper,” Jamie said clearly. Wimmiper seemed to swell before Jamie’s eyes, and his face darkened visibly. “You want to get your clock cleaned, okay by me. When?”

Wimmiper took a deep breath before he spoke. “One hour. Gymnasium D. And you’re not ducking out this time.”

On cue, two other ‘Blacks appeared on either side of the two opponents, staring at Jamie with dread expressions and silent menace.

Jamie glanced casually at both men, and chuckled at the obvious threat. Then he looked back at Wimmiper and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be there, Wimp. Make sure you’re not late.”

Wimmiper swelled again, before he turned (almost knocking Jamie over with a broad shoulder) and strode out of the dining room. Jamie sat back down again, as the rest of Spar Wing watched Wimmiper go. The rest of the room resumed eating, and ambient noise came back up to its usual level.

After an extended moment of silence, Tai said to Harley, “Are you going to put a bet down on this fight, too?”

“If you do,” Jamie said, “make sure you get good, long odds.”

Gymnasium D was a fairly standard gym, but it was one of the larger ones in the Block, fitted with ample seating on either side of the floor. Spar Wing was not surprised to see the stands were almost full on both sides when they arrived. Jamie led the wing, wearing nothing but his regulation Druller’s unitard.

The Druller’s suit was traditionally considered the single most important tool of the Workblacks, bar none. The suit incorporated a tiny but sophisticated shaped field generator and manipulator, with a sensory net that took cues from the electrical signals of the brain and body to manipulate the field. Tied into the datasleeve buffer built into the forearm of the suit, it made for an effective extension of the body and mind. The suit had its ancient origins as a worker’s tool, but as the generations passed, the Workblacks had developed it into a singular offensive and defensive weapon as well, and were known throughout the Union as the undisputed masters of Druller’s suit mainpulation. The flat black unitard not only became the defacto symbol of the Workblacks, it was the source of their popular name. Every Workblack was trained in the use of the Druller’s suits, and mandatory sparring matches between ‘Blacks went on all the time, with a Drill Instructor’s supervision.

When Jamie walked into the gym, the crowd began clapping and jeering. Jamie threw them all a disgusted glance, but said nothing aloud. Behind him and Spar Wing, the two ‘Blacks who had been shadowing him since leaving the dining room (and had clearly been intended to carry him bodily here, if necessary) walked into the gym and settled against either side of the main door. Jamie walked to the center of the gym, where a regulation sparring circle had been placed, and sat down on one side of it. As Spar Wing settled down just outside of the circle, Jamie began going through a few warm-up stretches.

A minute later, Tobe Wimmiper walked into the gym. The two ‘Black guards closed the gym doors behind him.

Even Jamie had to be impressed by Wimmiper’s physique, bulky and powerful under his unitard, and much more impressive than Jamie’s wiry body. As he strutted into the gym, the crowd began cheering and clapping, and Jamie’s experienced eye noticed numerous bets being placed around the stands. He resumed his stretching, ignoring Wimmiper as he reached the opposite side of the circle.

Wimmiper stepped into the circle and, in lieu of stretching, arched his back and raised flexed muscles to the ceiling, giving out a yawn that was more of a growl. The crowd loved it. Harley, Tai and Melissa yawned pointedly. Wimmiper finally turned to Jamie and smiled.

“So, Jam-mee, are you ready for your pounding? Come on!”

“Can’t yet,” Jamie replied, not looking up. “Ref’s not here yet. Relax, Wimp. Won’t be long, now.”

As if on cue, the gym doors opened. A Workblack Major wearing a referee’s sash walked into the gym, flanked by Major Copeland. The two men strode purposefully toward the center of the circle.

“Hey, what’s this?” Wimmiper exclaimed, pointing to the Majors. “Copeland and Dako are buddies! This won’t be fair!”

“What’s a matter, Wimp?” Jamie grinned. “You think it’s going to be close enough to call on points?”

“No! I’m going to wipe up the floor with you!” Wimmiper glared.

“Then shut up and get ready!” Copeland said as he passed Wimmiper’s side of the circle. The referee took up a position in the center of the circle, as Copeland walked over to Jamie’s side. He squatted down just behind Jamie’s ear and spoke, loud enough for Jamie to hear only.

“Jamie, I just thought I’d let you know that I could have refereed this match.” Jamie stopped stretching and looked around at him. “‘Course, if I did, and you lost, everyone would look down on me for not protecting my own men. And if you won, they’d say I was impartial. So I decided not to bother.” Copeland smiled at Jamie and shrugged his shoulders. “Give ‘im hell, Jamie.”

Jamie regarded Copeland for a moment before replying, “Gee, thanks, Boss.”

“Don’t mention it.” Copeland stood up, reconsidered, then bent back down again. “Of course, if he does mop up the floor with you, I’ll make sure he gets a busted kneecap for his trouble.”

Now it was Jamie’s turn to smile, and repeated sincerely, “Gee, thanks, Boss!”

“Don’t mention that, either. I mean it.” Copeland stood up and stepped away from the circle. Mel stepped up to take his place, as Jamie stood back up.

“Jamie, are you sure you can take him?”

“Such confidence from my Wing,” Jamie whispered back.

Mel cuffed him lightly over the head. “I’m serious, Jamie. Don’t do this if you’re just going to get the stuffing kicked out of you.”

Jamie looked back at her. A smile crept out of one side of his mouth, and his eyes sparkled with confidence. “I’ll be fine, partner. Thanks for asking.”

Then he turned back to the center of the circle, where Wimmiper and the referee waited for him. “Let’s go.” The referee looked over both opponents, then stepped back and rang a hand chime. The crowd went silent, waiting for the first sign of action.

Jamie immediately put up his hands and extended his arms, to erect a defensive shield and slowly push it outward towards Wimmiper. Wimmiper did the same, a standard opening to any Druller’s match. The two Workblacks stepped slowly around the ring, as their fields probed each other. Where the fields met, an impossibly thin floating surface looking like the meeting point of two bubbles, a barely-noticeable sparkle of light danced and outlined. The feedback systems in the unitard allowed Jamie to feel Wimmiper’s field as if his hand was against it, reacting to every shove. As the two moved around each other in a slow motion ballet, the crowd began to shout colorful encouragements. Jamie tried to ignore the taunts as he examined Wimmiper’s shields.

As he expected, he discovered a weak shield point at Wimmiper’s mid-thigh. It was a fairly common place to find a weak point, since there was so little that could be done to disable an opponent from there. Fortunately, Jamie knew something that worked wonders through that spot. He formed a tight needle of force with a hand and pushed. He felt the needle slip almost undetected through Wimmiper’s shields, and Wimmiper’s brow knit; the sensation caused by the needle’s penetration would have lasted only a moment.

Jamie bent a finger. The needle bent, wrapping itself behind Wimmiper’s knee. Jamie yanked back his arm, and suddenly Wimmiper was toppling backward, bellowing in shock and anger. The crowd roared.

Jamie immediately tried to push his advantage, looking for a weak point caused by Wimmiper’s distraction to push a blow through. He found one at his midsection (the moron’s wrapping his shields around his block head), and punched through. Wimmiper doubled over at the blow, throwing his arms forward like a rebounding rag doll...

And Jamie was suddenly slammed on either side of his head by Wimmiper’s shield-arms. His own shields buckled enough to take the pounding, but Jamie’s vision exploded into stars. He was vaguely aware that he was going over sideways, and before he could react, he was flat on his back on the mat, and Wimmiper was holding him down. Jamie reshaped the shield over his head into a wedge, just in time to deflect a direct downward blow to it. The mat beside his head flattened as if an invisible fist had landed, and the thud that resounded made the crowd jump. Wimmiper was clearly not holding back in the slightest.

Wimmiper tried to climb directly on top of Jamie, putting urgency into his efforts. If he managed to get close enough and synch their shields together, Wimmiper would be able to create holes between the shields, allowing him to drive his fist through both shields directly to Jamie. Besides the points that would cost him in the match, it would probably result in Jamie’s decapitation, and he had serious reservations about that. Jamie pushed up and sideways with his shield, sliding it over Wimmiper’s to prevent synching in, and was back on his feet before Wimmiper could stop him.

Jamie’s head was still ringing (he could just hear it over the yelling in the stands), but at least it looked like Wimmiper’s fall and gut shot had taken a toll on him, too. They circled each other again, probing for good attack points. Wimmiper tried just wearing Jamie down, regularly pounding on his shields and waiting for him to stumble or lose concentration. Jamie returned the tactic by stabbing at Wimmiper’s shields, hoping to similarly annoy him into carelessness.

Wimmiper sent a treetrunk-sized blow at Jamie, aimed at toppling him out of the circle. Jamie caught the blow and quickly threw a shield-buttress behind. The buttress wedged itself between his shield and the ground outside the circle, holding himself in place against Wimmiper’s shield. But instead of retracting the shield, Wimmiper kept it pressed against Jamie’s, and enlarged the contact point. Jamie saw before he felt a sudden void in his shields, a small hole surrounded by the sparkle of a field edge, and his skin went cold. Wimmiper had synched in while he’d been distracted trying to fight his thrust. He briefly considered giving ground and falling out of the circle... after all, it would be far less painful...

The space between them widened in spurts, a bit, then a lot, then a bit. Wimmiper pushed to the front of his shield, almost within reach of the opening. Another few seconds would give him a clear shot at Jamie’s head, and Jamie didn’t seem to be able to halt his progress. Wimmiper’s right arm came up, cocked, and waited for the hole to open enough to swing through.

Jamie decided to give it to him. He immediately dropped his shields, dropping to the floor himself as he did so. Without anything to push against, Wimmiper found himself lunging forward. Because he’d been ready to throw his punch at the first sign of opportunity, he let fly, not realizing until too late that Jamie’s head was no longer there, and his momentum was carrying him forward and over him. Their eyes met as one passed over the other.

Jamie immediately threw his shield under Wimmiper’s raised heel, and pulled. His effort forced Wimmiper to sail completely over him, totally off-balance. Wimmiper’s arms windmilled as his massive body arced over and tumbled towards the edge of the circle.

Jamie threw the buttress back up. Wimmiper struck the shield head-first and unprotected, his entire body seemed to compress with the impact, and he fell directly downward onto the mat with a loud smack.

Jamie lunged at Wimmiper before he could recover. He grabbed the dazed ‘black and hauled him off the mat with a groan. His thin legs strained… it looked patently impossible for anyone of Jamie’s thin build to be able to lift someone as large as Wimmiper, and there were quite a few amazed gasps as Jamie stood upright. Then Jamie swung him around and bodily threw him out of the circle. Wimmiper’s body tumbled over in the air, and landed almost exactly flat on his back with a resounding boom.

The massive body didn’t move from where it landed, and the referee stepped forward finally. He bent over and gave Wimmiper a sharp look in the eye. Then he straightened up, triggered his hand chime, and pointed to Jamie. It was over. The stands erupted in a bedlam of noise.

Harley, Mel, Tai and Copeland all entered the circle and crowded around Jamie, who gratefully leaned into their supporting arms. Copeland lightly clapped him on the back, grinning ear to ear. “I knew you could do it, Jamie. Good work.”

“No problem, boss.”

“Jamie?” Mel asked. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”

“Like going out and buying a case of Carder’s,” Jamie immediately replied.

“I thought you have a case—”

“Not for me,” Jamie said. “For Wimmiper.”

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