SPACE CADET

Book 1

The Methuselan Circuit

A Novel by

Christopher L. Anderson

For my son Nathan whose spirit of adventure and quest for knowledge will always inspire me! Thanks for being my son!

CHAPTER 1: Service Day

The rain beat down on Alexander’s hat. He really hated having to go out and feed the animals when it was raining, which was often. It still rained in twenty-third century Seattle—a lot. Alexander lived on the island of Vashon was in the middle of Puget Sound, only a two minute anti-grav scooter ride from the emerald green population center of SeaTac. SeaTac wasn’t a city anymore thanks to global warming, but rather a charming, rural population center at the knees of the Cascades. Like much of the planet, SeaTac was very different than it was a few hundred years ago. The blaster bombardments of the Ascension Wars, the Methuselan Invasions and the Caliphate Wars not only leveled many of the huge cities of the pre-Interstellar Empire they changed the climate. The Terran population suffered enormously through the wars, but now it was on the rebound thanks in part to global warming which actually increased Terra’s arable land areas and allowed the decimated population to support themselves without the benefits of technology.

Unfortunately, global warming made the Pacific Northwest’s gloomy, muddy and depressing winters even more gloomy, muddy and depressing. Alexander hated it. He lived on a ranch, and just like every other morning in his twelve years of memory, he had to get up early and feed the animals before school. That meant he had to do it in the rain and the mud. He gritted his teeth, recalling painfully that Terra of two hundred years ago had weather control. Ah, the good old days! “We’re so backward,” he grumbled. “We feed the animals so they can poop and make us walk through poop soup—yuck!” he grumbled.

“Quit complaining and hurry up Alexander,” called his sister, Kathy, scrunching up her face against the fat raindrops. “You know how Dad gets when we’re late.”

“All right, all right,” he grumbled, slogging through the ankle deep muck. They passed through the gate and crossed an open stretch of mud to the barn. Kathy ducked inside the door, Alexander close behind, and reached up to hit the light switch. The bar flickered weakly, illuminating nothing. “The solar batteries must be close to dead; we’ve had rain for a week now. I suppose we better charge them up, otherwise they might be ruined.”

“Yeah, if the barn batteries are low the house batteries must not be far behind,” Kathy agreed. “Dad won’t be happy; electricity prices have skyrocketed cause of the greeners.”

Alexander laughed, “Can you believe some people want snow again?” He reached inside his two sizes too large oilskin duster and took out his phone. Hitting the mike button, he called, “Hey Dad, the barn batteries are low; do you want us to charge them up?”

There was a pause, and then a baritone voice said, “Yeah, the house batteries are low too. We can’t afford the power bill and I don’t want to fire up the generator; go ahead and use the ship’s APU. I’ll charge the fusion lattice on my next trip.”

Alexander turned to Kathy. “I’ll do it if that’s O.k.”

“You’re the one who wants to go into space,” Kathy said, already climbing the barn ladder to dole out hay to the horses and cows; feed the chickens in the loft; and give grain to the dozen ornos. The ornos, ostrich-like dinosaurs properly called ornithomimus stretched their necks high so that Kathy could pet them. They squawked and chirped hungry for attention and food. “You can go out in the rain with your space ship; I’ll feed the animals.”

It was a fair deal. Alexander walked down the short dirt floor corridor between the stalls and opened the barn’s side door. Lightning struck, illuminating the rain slick silver-white metal of the space ship. He smiled and sprinted through the rain to get under cover of the ship. Pressing a button on the landing gear lowered the gangway. The whine of the hydraulic motor could hardly be heard above the pounding of rain on metal. With a soft plop the foot of the gangway slid into the mud. Stepping onto the metal ramp, Alexander plodded up into the dark ship, shaking off as much of the mud from his boots as he could—Dad hated his ship smelling like manure. Traversing the dark tube of the fuselage, Alexander entered the cockpit and sat in his Dad’s command seat. He switched on the Auxiliary Power Unit, the APU, and settled back to the hum of the motor. The display next to him traced the power lines. He linked the APU to the batteries in the house and the barn, and then he closed his eyes, thinking as he always did when he sat there, of the day he would go to the stars.

“Alexander!” It was his father over the phone. “Wake up boy; you don’t want to be late for school. Remember, it’s Service Day, the biggest day of the rest of your life!” A daydreaming Alexander nearly jumped out of his skin. Service Day, he’d almost forgotten! Switching off the APU, he hustled out of the ship and back to the house. The rest of his chores and breakfast were a blur. Forty standard Terran minutes later, Alexander sat in the auditorium at school with barely contained excitement. Really, all the kids in the 6^th grade class were excited. It wasn’t just the last day of school, it meant Grammar School was over and this was the first day of their adult lives.

It was true, of course, that he wouldn’t really be an adult until he was eighteen and graduated from High School. Then he’d have to decide on a career and whether or not to take on a vocation, continue schooling, or maybe even become a settler on one of the far-flung planets of the fledging Terran Empire. For now, though, it was quite enough to be starting on that road. This was important enough. Today, he would see his options for the next six years of his life.

“I hope I get to be a legionary,” exclaimed Jonathon from the row in front of Alexander. He was playing a game on his holopad, a current version of the Absolute War series. He was maneuvering half a dozen squads of legionaries to attack an equal number of black robed Fanatics, but he was doing it all wrong. Instead of covering his advance with artillery and attacking their weak flank he was channeling all his troops through a narrow gap between buildings—they’d be slaughtered.

Although Jonathon was athletic, bigger and stronger than Alexander, he had to laugh. The bigger boy glared at him as the slaughter began. “You think you can do better?”

It was too late to pull the squads back, but Alexander reached over the seat and touched the holographic squads anyway. He couldn’t stand to see good men, even holographic men wasted. “Set your lead squad to a holding action; they can’t retreat anyway. Let these two squads give covering fire and this one can fire mortars from behind the building on the right.” He gave the appropriate orders to each squad by touching them and designating first their destination and then their duty.

“What about my other squads Napoleon?”

He meant the rearmost squads. Alexander shook his head and designated both of them, dragging them through the ruins and onto the left flank of the Fanatics. The mortars began to land as the covering fire pinned the Fanatics down. As Alexander explained, “A frontal assault simply wastes men, even if you’re going to win. Hit them where they’re weakest. The Fanatic’s right wing is up against higher ground; our squads can climb the cliff using their gravity assist packs and flank them.”

Sure enough the two hundred men of the flanking squads covered the broken ground and took up positions on the Fanatics flank. They poured down fire on the Fanatics, who broke and ran like they always did. The legionaries shot them down. It caused Alexander a momentary flutter. The game programming didn’t allow for prisoners and he knew why, every kid did. At first the Northern Alliance of America, Europe and Russia took prisoners as prescribed by the rules of war. However, no legionary was ever taken prisoner—anyone who surrendered to the Fanatics was tortured and beheaded—every single one. After years of brutality the Alliance stopped taking prisoners. It caused him to shudder.

“Thanks,” Jonathon said grudgingly, taking control of the game back. Alexander mentally shook his head. Jonathon might want to be a legionary, but he’d never be more than a trooper. That in itself wasn’t a bad thing; he respected and admired the hard-bitten swaggering legionary troopers. After all, it was the legions that kept them safe and allowed him to go to school. It wasn’t that long ago, in his grandfather’s time back in the 21^st and 22^nd centuries when going to school was a rarity. During the Caliphate Wars most kids were either pressed into service or scratching out a living in war-torn lands. Alexander appreciated that, and he wanted to take advantage of his good fortune. His Dad was a Serviceman and an Officer; Alexander wanted to be an Officer someday as well.

The kid sitting next to Jonathan had other ideas. His head wagged back and forth, and he admitted, “I don’t know; I think I’m going for the medical corps. I don’t really have the stomach for lugging around a blaster-rifle and a pack all day—even with gravity assist. Give me a portable scanner, a few micro-robots and some virtual wands and I’ll be good to go.”

“Well we need medics,” Jonathan replied without any sign of needling. “I’ll need someone to put me back together after a hard day on the frontier or in the Indian Ocean!”

They all laughed, but the mention of the Indian Ocean gave Alexander the willies. It was the last bastion of the Fanatics after the war. The Northern Alliance was so exhausted after winning the seventy-five year world conflict they didn’t have the desire to root out the Fanatics from their island hideouts, so they bombed the area into a cratered moonscape of smoking islands. No one had been back there since. Satellite data showed some people survived. There were human habitations but no cities, no roads—nothing but small villages. Who knew what had happened there since then?

“What do you want to do Alexander?” A pretty brunette girl with an olive complexion asked as she sat next to him.

“Hi Lisa,” he said, turning red. He thought for a moment, not that he really doubted what he wanted to be, but he couldn’t just tell everyone he wanted to be a famous General or Admiral. “Oh, I think I want to go to the Space Academy; I really like science and space and all that.”

Jonathon turned around and looked at him. “You want to go in the Space Academy? Look how small you are!” He was right. Alexander was quite a bit smaller than the boy, indeed he was smaller than most, but it only made him more determined.

“Napoleon wasn’t big and neither was Eisenhower,” Alexander protested angrily. “What’s size got to do with it?”

“Listen to the great general,” the boy teased. “You may be good at hologames, but I’m not going to take orders from someone I can beat up!” The other boys laughed.

Alexander glowered, angry and frustrated. He was probably right. Why would they choose him for an Academy slot anyway? Most of the other boys played soccer and lacrosse better than he did, they ran faster and they punched harder. He sunk back into his seat and wrapped himself in gloom.

“Don’t worry about them Alexander,” Lisa smiled. She flashed a smug little grin at the boy. “I’m hoping to serve in politics. Maybe someday I’ll be in the House or the Senate, or maybe even the President.” She smirked at the bigger boy. “Then I can tell you where to go to get shot at Jonathon Brae!”

“You would too, wouldn’t you Lisa?”

“At least Alexander wants to serve,” Lisa said. “You shouldn’t give grief to anybody willing to serve their country.”

“You mean like Willy?” Jonathon sneered. They all looked over to a pale boy with long greasy black hair.

“Why should I care,” Willy Jameson shrugged. “I’ll just take whatever trade job they give me and skate. I’m not going to get myself shot at and I’m not going to knock myself out—why? My Dad’s got it all figured out. Unioneers get a free house; three squares a day and allowance for pizza and beer. When I’m ninety-five I get a government pension. Unioneers got it made. We have no risk, no taxes and no responsibility other than five and a half days of community service a week; we don’t even have to go to church. Fact is, I’d be stupid to want anything else.”

“Don’t you want to make something of yourself,” Alexander asked. He really couldn’t understand Willy. “If you were around in my Grandfather’s time you’d have been kicked out of the haven and either starved or been made a slave by the Fanatics.”

“Look who’s so smart, the future General,” he sneered.

“I’m with Alexander on this one,” Jonathon replied, looking darkly on Willy. “If you’re just living off government handouts, what good are you? At least be a settler. Then you can make your own rules.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Willy started, but a voice cut him off.

“Oh give it a rest Willy,” said another boy. He looked like Willy, but his hair was cut short, his shirt was tucked in and he looked as though he bathed. It was Willy’s twin brother Jimmy, but he insisted everyone call him James. “I’m going to do something, even if all they let me do is be a settler. I’m getting out.”

“You’re an idiot, Jimmy. Dad always said you were an idiot and he was right.”

He shrugged, “Why should I care what Dad thinks. He doesn’t care what I think.”

“That’s alright by me,” Willy said, leaning back and putting his feet on the back of the seat in front of him. The girl sitting there turned around and scowled at him. “We need go-getters like you to support guys like me. Knock yourself out.”

“What happens when Citizens get tired of paying for you to be lazy? You might actually have to support yourself.”

Willy lifted his finger to say something else but a strident voice cut him off. It was the principle.

Sister Mary Katherine was at the podium, her high scratchy voice made to sound even scratchier by the loudspeaker. Many schools had principals or headmasters that were nuns or priests. Just like the dark ages, the Churches kept education going when society broke down during the wars. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please!” She only had to say it once. James took a seat in the same row as his brother but not next to him. Then he paid attention; it was something Willy made a point of not doing. Still, Willy shut up and put his feet back on the floor when she looked his way. She gazed over the assembled kids, over six hundred in all. Alexander felt her eyes roving to and fro, gauging the attention of every single student. It was an amazing thing, but Sister Mary Katherine knew every single student by name—all of them.

She was one of those singular adults like his parents. Any word of praise from her was noteworthy. Even a head nod would do. That was the thing, no one, absolutely no one wanted to be on her bad side. Alexander would go through a week of detention rather than one of her scowls of disappointment.

“Shall we stand and say the Pledge of Allegiance?”

It was not a request.

In a thunderous chorus, all six hundred voices said, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of Pan America and to the Republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

Alexander had a feeling of unity when he said those words every morning. It was especially poignant on this day in the assembly. He could only imagine the power behind the words as every kid in school said the pledge from the northernmost island of the Canadian provinces to the southernmost tip of the Argentinean states. Wow! To think that every 6^th grader was sitting in an assembly hall just like he was at this very moment; it was really, really cool.

“Welcome to Service Day,” she said. “As you know, for the past seventy-five years it has been mandatory for those who wish full Citizenship and voting rights in our great country to serve in one way or another for a period of sixty-five years and to be active in their respective Reserve corps throughout their lives. This is a small price we must all pay to our country; it is a price that very few paid in my youth and as a result we very nearly lost this blessed world of ours.” She paused to let her words sink in. Alexander listened, but this wasn’t the first time Sister Mary Katherine had told the story. After the Ascension Wars and the Methuselan Invasion of the 21^st century, Galactic civilizations were in tatters. The ensuing weakness of an exhausted society led to the religious Caliphate Wars. Alexander shuddered. It could not be allowed to happen ever again!

Sister Katherine continued. “You have all finished a week of testing to see what it is you are adept at, what you enjoy and where it is the country can use you. As with everything else the final decision is yours,” she gave them that stare of hers. “I cannot make you a legionary or a doctor any more than the State can. In the end, it’s up to you to apply yourself and become a useful member of society.” She looked directly at Willy, who withered under her gaze. “If you choose sloth than a sluggard you will be. I’d just as soon let you starve in that case,” she shook her head, “but there are other voices in the palaces of policy other than mine.”

She paused, and turned aside. A line of representatives from the various services climbed the stage. All wore uniforms of different fashion and colors. There was the scarlet and gold of the Legions, the sky blue of the Medical Corps, the white of the Clergy, the sober gray suits of the Republic, the black and silver of the Space Fleet, the green of the Peace Corps and the brown and bronze of Settlers Corps. The students applauded them all.

“Thank you,” Sister Mary Katherine smiled. She turned back to the students, and told them, “Please turn on your individual screens and synchronize your retinal patterns to the sensors.” She said “please” but there was really no choice involved.

Alexander leaned forward and pressed the glowing green button on the back of the seat in front of him. He could hear six hundred other kids go through the same motion. A small video screen popped out of the seat back. It brightened, showing various icons. Alexander touched the icon that looked like an eye. Immediately the screen showed his face and then centered on his right eye. The image expanded until all he saw was his eye. The screen highlighted the structure of his iris, the maze of his blood vessels—“Stay still please”—and took note of the reactions of his pupil by lightening and darkening at random. After twenty seconds it flashed—“Synchronized to Alexander Thomas Aquinas Wolfe, Security Number 989-75-2069-013, address Washington State, Vashon Island, 107^th Street, South end. Is this correct?”

He touched the word “Correct.”

Alexander looked up. Sister Mary Katherine was studying her podium screen. After another minute she looked up with an irritated expression of consternation. “Mr. William Jonah Jameson, are you having a problem synchronizing?”

Willy smiled nervously as six hundred pairs of eyes turned toward him. “My dad said I don’t have to do this. I’m free to choose what I want.” His words sounded more certain than his voice. Alexander got the feeling he’d been told what to say and that for all his bravado Willy would rather not have said it.

The Principal left the podium. She walked slowly from the stage down the steps and up the ramp of the assembly, her shoes making sharp echoes in the large hall. She stopped next to Willy’s seat and looked down upon him. He didn’t look back until she gripped his chin and turned his head upward.

“Hey you can’t do that!”

“Young man, I will do what is necessary short of harming you—permanently that is.” There was a hushed chuckle around the assembly. “However, seeing as you believe it is necessary to waste our time, it is well within my rights to ask you why.”

“Because I don’t have to do this,” he said.

“No, you are absolutely right, you don’t have to do this,” she replied. “Do you understand the implications of your decision?”

“Yes,” he said defiantly.

“The answer is actually no,” she said sternly. “When you are eighteen and considered an adult—though by God I’ve met few enough at that age that act like adults—then and not before, you may decide the course for the rest of your life. You are twelve years old young man. You’re far too young to throw away over a century of existence.”

“But my father said,” he began.

“Your father doesn’t get to live your life Willy,” she said more softly, “and you don’t have to live his life. This is about you, not him. This is about your service to our country.”

“What if I don’t want to serve this country or become a Citizen?”

“You will have that choice when you are eighteen, but until then we are setting the course for your next six years. Think of it this way, Willy. The education you get until you’re eighteen will take advantage of what you are interested in and what you like to do. It will enhance and build on your talents. If you decide to use your skills to serve the country afterward wonderful! If not, then you will have become a more talented person for whatever you wish to do—it’s free.”

“Oh all right,” Willy relented and he allowed the screen to synchronize.

Over the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, Alexander and his classmates watched presentations by all the Republic agencies that fulfilled the prerequisites for Service that would qualify them for Citizenship. After the presentations they took a break and came back for “Familiarization.”

This was what Alexander was waiting for. He thought the presentations were fine, especially the one from the Fleet and the one from the Legions. Now it was his turn to actually meet some of the men and women from the Services. He went to the Fleet room first. There were literally hundreds of kids there and dozens of officers.

He went to the buffet table and got a glass of juice and a donut—donuts, he hadn’t seen one for years! Alexander tried to worm his way in close to one of the officers, but there was a lot of jostling and shoving going on. Eventually, he just ended up wandering around on the fringes of the groups, listening to one officer and then another, but generally accepting that he wouldn’t get to actually talk to anyone.

“You’re listening,” said a baritone voice from behind. He turned to see a Legionary Officer standing there looking at him. He wore a scarlet tunic with black trousers and high topped boots. A red, white and blue sash crossed his chest. On his collar he wore the golden leaf of a Major. He nodded and smiled. “The first rule of command is to listen.” He looked at all the other boys and sighed. “Most of these boys are too busy jabbering away at how cool it would be to do this or that, without having the first clue of what they’re talking about.”

He bit his tongue. Would he be doing that if he had the chance? Alexander didn’t want to say it, but maybe if he were brave enough or rude enough to put himself forward. The officer seemed to be reading his mind.

“Talking has nothing to do with courage. Standing up for what’s right; that’s what takes courage.” His eyes narrowed. “Believing in what’s right even when your peers say otherwise—that’s what we look for.” He held out his hand. “I’m Major Gardner, I’m very happy to meet you.”

Alexander shook his hand as firmly as his own father taught him to. “I’m Alexander Wolfe. I’m honored to meet you sir.”

“Very good,” he smiled. He thought for a moment, and finally asked, “Why is it you want to be in the military Alexander?”

“I want to serve my country. My father served,” he said.

“He did, and with distinction,” Major Gardner said. “This is about you. I see you’ve done projects on Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar. History interests you then?”

“Certain types of history, but not all,” he admitted. “We just finished the Mayan and Chinese cultures. I didn’t like them very much. The Mayans were bloodthirsty and the Chinese rulers were cruel.”

“Did you learn anything from them?”

“Yes, you can even learn from your enemies,” he said, no longer intimidated by the officer. This was stuff he knew. “I read about Napoleon. The English and everyone else thought he was a tyrant, but he established schools for everyone and government systems that we still use—that doesn’t sound like much of a tyrant.”

The Major laughed. “You’ve a good head on your shoulders, Alexander. You know, however, that the military isn’t easy. We’d push you hard. It’s not an easy life but it is a proud one.”

“I would be proud to serve,” Alexander said, meaning every word of it.

“Would you be willing to take another test or two,” the Major asked. “I know you’ve been up to your ears in tests, but that’s the way it is.”

“Sure, I don’t have to be home for a while and I don’t want to go to the other places.”

“You don’t want to check the Clergy out; you’re an Altar Server aren’t you? Have you considered the Priesthood?”

Alexander was surprised. How did they know all that? Still, he shook his head. “I don’t think so, not now at least. Even though I believe really strongly I think I’m more suited to the Legions or the Fleet.”

“Well then why don’t you follow me,” the Major said, leading the way through a door. “We’re going to test a bunch of you kids who are really, really interested in this. Go in there, someone will administer the test. Good luck Alexander, it was nice to meet you!”

“It was nice to meet you sir,” he said, politely shaking the Officer’s hand. Alexander went obediently through the door. There was a short hallway and another door at the end. He opened it and stepped inside. To his shock, he realized he wasn’t in the school anymore.

CHAPTER 2: Rocket Ride

He wasn’t in another room and he wasn’t outside. Alexander was in what looked to be a very nice bus. It wasn’t nice in that it was comfortable or well appointed; actually it was quite the opposite. The interior was austere. The metal ribs showed through the smooth insulating panels of the walls. In between each pair of ribs was a small window and next to each window was a row of seats. A central aisle gave access to ten rows of two seats each, one on either side. Each seat was pseudo-leather, liked the stripped down economy version of an airliner.

“It’s got to be a military shuttle,” he mused aloud. “Why, where am I going?”

There was no answer. Alexander thought about it. He had two choices: either sit down or turn back and leave. He didn’t want to turn back. He went up the aisle. Each row of seats had a panel. At first he assumed it was a training shuttle, something that a lot of kids could ride and practice the same things, except that each seat had a different setup. He wandered up and down the aisle inspecting each one. None of them were the same so he gave up and chose the most complicated panel he could find with the most display screens. He sat down.

An opaque energy screen closed around Alexander’s station. He could see out the window, but he couldn’t see any of the other seats. He waited for direction. Nothing happened. He looked around, not wanting to touch anything he wasn’t supposed to. There weren’t any reference checklist, labels, signs—nothing. Finally, curiosity got the better of him and he touched a screen. Alexander jumped as all the displays and control boards came to life.

There were seven display screens in all, three smaller screens on either side of a single large screen. The large screen had a menu, just like his hologames. Without wasting any more time he got right to it. There were start up routines, system routines, questions, problems to be solved—he went through them all, except for one. On the first page of the first start up routine was a caution that read,

Pushing the Red Button will begin the Main Sequence, use only when called for by set criteria.

That made no sense to him. He wondered what the Red Button did, but he resisted doing anything about it until he found out when and under what conditions he could use it. He had other things to do regardless.

After about half an hour, Alexander heard a whirring sound. He scanned his displays. On the upper left bank he saw the colored ribbons and digital readouts for four engines. They wound up, settled down and stabilized. A minute later the shuttle moved. He looked out the window and saw that they were rising straight up into the air. He started. He’d forgotten his seat belt! He dug around his seat but there weren’t just two straps. There were five straps and a central buckle. It took some experimentation to figure out, which was made all that much tougher because the shuttle started to bounce around either because of turbulent air or by design. Eventually he got strapped in, but the shuttle kept bucking around like a wild horse. The air grew hot and Alexander began to feel a bit queasy.

He tried looking out the window, but the sight of the ground moving away faster and faster only made him feel worse. He turned back to his displays, picking up the last routine where he left off. Maybe, just maybe if he kept himself busy he’d forget about throwing up. If only it were cooler.

Then it struck him: he had engine displays! Wasn’t the air conditioner a system just like the engines? He looked around, paging through one display after another until he found something labeled “Pneumatic Air Bleed System.” Well, it said “Air” at least. At first all he could make out were a bunch of thick green lines going from some objects to other objects. He thought hard. Is that air moving from one place to another? He couldn’t tell, but one of the objects at the top of the page said “Pressurized NO2” and the object at the end of the lines said “Air Conditioning Pack.” Next to the “Pack” was a number: “35 degrees C.”

“No wonder it’s so hot!” He touched the bar next to the temperature readout and moved his finger down the screen until it read “17 degrees C.”

At once cool air began to blow on Alexander and he felt much better. A surge of accomplishment brought a smile to his face. He’d actually done something! His sour stomach disappeared, and Alexander dared a look out the window to see where they might be. The window was black with a sprinkling of bright stars. It can’t be night already! He leaned close to the window, so close he could feel the chill from the Plexiglas. Looking down he saw the bright blue and white limb of the Earth.

Alexander was in space.

The view was mesmerizing. It was one thing to see it on his visiplate at home, but here, even through the small window it was a completely different experience. He was actually in space and not watching it. Alexander pressed his hand against the window. It was cold. Wow!

A buzzer began to sound, on and off. He looked to his board. The borders around one of the secondary screens flashed red; and a message on the main screens read, “Primary Power Coupling Failure.”

He was twelve. He had no idea what a primary power coupling was. What was he supposed to do? He looked around, but there was nothing to see beyond the opaque energy screen. He took a deep breath. “I guess I have to do something about it.”

The first place to look was obvious. He studied the secondary screen with the flashing red border. It appeared to show energy routing through the engines and out the thrusters. Yes, there was the matter—anti-matter convection chamber. Fuel flowed into the chamber where it was converted to anti-matter and then routed through magnetic manifolds to the engines. Everybody knew that much, even kids his age. He’d learned about it by reading National Geographic. They always had articles on space flight, the frontier planets in the adjoining solar systems and all sorts of other stuff. He’d even read about the Space Academy.

“Ok back to the problem, this is really cool and all, but I’ve got a job to do,” he reminded himself. What to do, that was the problem. His Dad always told him to focus. He studied the screen and followed the energy flow. There was a blockage in the flow. One piece of equipment flashed red, and the label read, “Primary Power Coupling.” Next to it was a similar piece of equipment. It was gray on the screen and had no energy flowing either into it or out of it. The label read, “Secondary Power Coupling.”

The ship rocked and began to shake wildly. Alexander looked out the window. The stars and the earth spun around, disappearing from sight only to reappear seconds later. The ship was out of control! He began to feel sick. Steam hissed out of one of his vents, clouding his view of the screens. Then the screens began to go dark. “I have to switch to the Secondary Power Coupling and fast!”

How?

He touched the image of the Secondary Power Coupling. It brightened. The word “Armed” showed beneath it, but no energy flowed into or out of it. The shaking grew worse. He looked back at the main screen. The message describing the failure was now flashing with a bright red box around it. Instinctively he reached out and touched it.

Beneath the message a checklist came onto the screen. He looked it over and saw where it told him to activate the Secondary Power Coupling by selecting it on the Engine Display. “I did that,” he objected, but even as he said that he noticed that was step two and not step one. That read,

“Step 1: Deactivate the malfunctioning Primary Power Coupling by selecting the icon on the Secondary Engine Display.”

He groaned. Rule number one—don’t hurry. Rule number two—follow directions. Alexander reached over and deselected the Primary Power Coupling by touching it. The icon changed color to a dark gray. The energy stopped flowing into it and rerouted to the Secondary Power Coupling which was now armed and ready. Energy went through the coupling and into the engines. The ship stopped shaking.

Alexander relaxed and looked out the window. The view of the earth and stars steadied. The emergency was over. He relaxed. Leaning back in his seat, he glanced at the main screen again. The checklist was still there. It had five steps, and it occurred to him that he’d only done two. Everything seemed to be working, but he couldn’t help but think they wouldn’t have made it five steps long if two steps would have done just as well. He finished it.

When he completed the final step the secondary screens went dark. The main screen changed to show a distinguished looked man in a black and silver uniform. The man had silver hair that matched his uniform and a full mustache. He looked at Alexander from beneath bushy brows, and said, “I’m Admiral Sten Augesburcke IV, the Commandant of the US Space Academy. Congratulations Alexander, you’ve completed the first phase of testing for a probationary year at the Space Academy. Now I don’t want to get your hopes up too high, because there are other steps that need to be taken before you are accepted as a Brevet Cadet, many of these steps depend on you and some depend on your parents.

“As you know, the Academy is located in Earth Orbit, 100 miles above the planet” The screen shifted to show the silver-white complex of the Academy built around the mottled metal monstrosity that was a mile long captured Methuselan ship. “Part of the reason the Academy is there is so that the students can gain an appreciation for just how fragile our existence is, and how important it is for the military, that might mean you, to uphold our traditions of honor and service to country. Less than a hundred years ago we almost lost all of that, but we persevered, we kept our faith in our nation, ourselves and in our God and we persevered.”

The image returned to Admiral Augesburcke. “Our world and our people have been through a great deal in the last two centuries, from the rise of Alexander and the Ascension Wars, the Methuselan invasion and finally the painful Caliphate Wars of seventy-five years ago. Through that turmoil and through the challenge of expanding into space, dealing with extraterrestrial cultures and the like one thing has kept us steady—the resolve and honor of the military. It is at the Academy where you will train and learn to be a soldier, a centurion and perhaps even an officer, if you have the merit. The Service is the greatest force for peace in the galaxy! We think you have this inside you Alexander. You are now set to begin your six week break. We need a decision in two weeks so that we can begin to prepare you for your Probationary Year at the Academy. Congratulations and good luck!”

CHAPTER 3: Attitude

Alexander could barely contain himself. He was so excited he never felt the shuttle land. It was only when the opaque screen around his seat disappeared that he realized the flight was over. He unbuckled and stood up, seeing two other boys and two girls. To his surprise Lisa was one of the girls and James was one of the boys.

Lisa came up to him, an excited smile on her face. “How did it go, are they going to send you to the Academy too?”

“I’ve got two weeks to make up my mind,” he nodded carefully. “I want to go, and I’m pretty sure my folks will let me; though they won’t be happy about me being gone so long.”

“My Dad will never let me go,” James said. His long face told them everything they needed to know. “I’m the one who does the cooking and the cleaning; I’m a virtual slave there. He’ll never let me go. I’ll have to wait until I’m eighteen and apply for a Settler’s slot.”

“That’s terrible, how can your Dad say no; it’s a chance for you to become a Citizen,” Alexander asked, amazed that anyone could be so selfish.

“That’s my Dad,” James shrugged. “He’s so lazy all he could get was a Government job. He had the chance to move up and maybe even become a Citizen, but he thinks that’s for fools. As long as he has a roof over his head, money for beer and his motorcycle he’s fine with it.”

“That’s too bad,” Lisa said firmly. “If that’s all he wants Ok, but he shouldn’t ruin your life.”

“What are you guys waiting for; can we get off this thing yet?” It was the other boy. Alexander couldn’t remember his name, but they seemed to be in the way.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to leave. It was so great to actually fly into space! I can’t wait to tell my folks,” Alexander was still hopped up on the adrenaline of the experience. The other boy felt exactly the opposite.

“I don’t ever want to get near one of these things again,” he exclaimed. “Things are blowing up; alarms are going off—no thank you!”

“None of that was real,” chided the other girl. Alexander didn’t know her either; the Vashon School had a lot of students. “It was all fake. We never even left the ground.”

A wave of disappointment hit Alexander. Was she right, was this a simulator? He filed out of the back and stepped out the door back into the school. He was back in the room where he’d `been before. The Major was waiting for them.

“Well, I see three of you had a good time,” he smiled. He turned to the boy. He was just getting his color back. “There’s nothing to feel bad about son; some people just don’t acclimate well to space flight. There are plenty of other things you can do. With your test scores you should certainly concentrate on the sciences—only I think you should stick to research here on Terra Firma!”

“That’s fine with me,” he said and scooted off to collect his pack.

The Major looked back at the second girl, and said, “You appear to have questions Miss, is there something about the flight I can answer for you?”

“You don’t have to say that for my benefit,” she informed him, as if she knew better, which she apparently thought she did. “We didn’t go anywhere and we weren’t doing anything on the controls. It was all a fake to try and scare us.”

“You are somewhat right as far as trying to put some stress into the situation,” the Major said, crossing his arms over his chest. She smiled her best Miss–know-it-all smile, but he shook his head. “However, we take slots at the Space Academy far too seriously to simply “fake” things. Each of you was given a very real malfunction. In the case of these three potential Cadets you solved them. It wasn’t necessary for you to solve the problems, but it was necessary for you to try and solve them.” He looked very sternly at the girl who was now looking quite crestfallen. “You are an intelligent and capable young girl; otherwise you’d never have gotten this opportunity. Think of it, out of six hundred young people,” Alexander was glad he didn’t say children, “We selected five, only five to take this flight. This is going to sound harsh for someone your age, but if you learn this lesson now you won’t repeat it. The fact that you didn’t think highly enough of the opportunity the Fleet and the Legions gave you does not speak very well about your dedication—we need dedicated people. Think about that next time you apply yourself to your career and things will no doubt turn out much better.”

“You mean I don’t get to go to the Academy,” she asked in a very small voice. Tears began to gather in her eyes. All the false pride and superiority was beaten out of her in a few seconds. Alexander felt sorry for her.

The Major was unimpressed. “I’m sorry young lady, but this year at least, the Academy cannot use you. You will be able to apply for formal entrance into the Academy next year if you so desire, but I warn you the road is much harder. We will look at everything you do next year in great detail. If you really want to continue down that road you will have to take your failure and learn from it. You are free to go.”

The girl ran out of the room, crying. The Major turned back to them. “We do not take people with trust issues into the Academy. The training is so expensive and important that when we tell you something or give you a situation to handle you must analyze it and act. We cannot allow someone in who has a predisposition to ignore things because of prejudice, real or perceived. Do you understand?”

Alexander thought he did, and he said so. James wasn’t so sure why he was even there, and he said so. “I worked hard to get ready for the tests, so I’m not surprised I did Ok, but I’m not even a Citizen’s son. Am I really supposed to be here?”

“Does the fact that your father is not a Citizen have any bearing on your abilities James? Do you think the Academy would really care whether you’re a Citizen or whether you’re wealthy?”

“No, but you seem to know all about us; my father will never let me go to the Academy.”

“It’s not his choice to make,” the Major said firmly.

“Really, but he told me,” James was confused, and the Major put a hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to me son, Pan American Code 987-04011C states quite explicitly that the offer of Citizenship to a minor via any manner of volunteering for Service shall not be denied by the minor’s parents. In other words, this is your life now, not your father’s. He cannot prevent you from joining the Academy if that’s what you want to do.”

“I do, sir.”

“Then we’ll have a couple of legionary storm troopers escort you from your home if necessary,” he smiled.

“Actually, that would be pretty cool, sir,” James smiled.

The Major laughed. “Well then, that’s settled. I will personally visit you each in two weeks to sign you up. Congratulations and good luck Brevet Cadets!”

“Thank you sir,” they said together.

Alexander got home as quick as he could. Mom was out back with the horses, but Dad was in his office checking his flight schedule. A retired Fleet Officer, he now ran his own transport company to the asteroid belt and outer system, running miners, supplies, and even contracting work for the penal colonies. It gave them a comfortable life. They were one of the few families that could afford to own land on Vashon Island. Most Citizens owned private homes, but acreage was hard to come by, especially with the thousands of non-Citizen unioneers on the island. They lived in government supplied apartments. Dad would always shake his head when they drove by them, “It doesn’t take brains or skill to get out of these things, only the desire to work hard and to try to make something of yourself—that all it takes. I just don’t get it.”

He looked up from his computer screen. “Hey there son, how was school?”

“It was fantastic,” Alexander exclaimed, and he proceeded to tell his father every detail of the day.

Dad smiled and held out his hand. Alexander shook it. “I’m proud of you son. This is your first step into manhood and Citizenship. Major Gardner called. He was very impressed. You’ve made a great beginning—congratulations!”

“Thanks Dad,” Alexander beamed. “Does Mom know?” When his father shook his head, he asked, “Do you think she’ll be upset? She won’t try and stop me will she?”

He smiled and patted him n the back, “Oh you know how mother’s are. Kids always grow up too fast, but she’ll support you in whatever you decide to do. Why don’t you go tell her, she knows it’s Service Day. She’s been on pins and needles all afternoon.”

CHAPTER 4: Life on the Ranch

Alexander walked out back. They had thirty acres and stables for a dozen horses and interior feeding pens for the rest of the animals, including the domesticated dinos. It was hard to believe that animals were a necessary part of life but they were. After three destructive wars, people found themselves cut off from the conveniences of a space-faring society. There simply wasn’t enough manufacturing capacity for luxury items such as cars, lawn mowers and other appliances from the old world. Much of the world reverted back to a mixture of high technology and animal power to survive. It seemed strange that Alexander should ride into space on a rocket and yet need to ride a horse to get into town and buy groceries, but that’s the way it was.

Mom was dressed in her leathers and a battered old straw hat. She saw him, finished taking the harness off one of their two stallions and gave him a hug. She didn’t interrupt as Alexander told her all about his amazing day. She simply said, “I’m very proud of you son. If this is what you truly want then I’ll support you a thousand percent!”

That night they sat down to dinner with the entire clan, twenty-three in all. They weren’t all there, of course. His Aunt and Uncle and two of his cousins were in Portland, and his other cousins were off at college or wherever, but they coordinated for dinner and everyone gathered via hologram. Alexander picked at the salad Mom harvested from the garden, trying not to look envious as his college-cousin Kinley ate pizza across the table from him. He’d wanted pizza, but there was a shortage of cheese on the island and their last homemade batch wasn’t ready yet.

Despite this, the dinner and the next two weeks flew by. The Major stopped by as promised and Alexander signed his admission papers. He was officially a Brevet Cadet.

“Report to the gym at school tomorrow morning at 0800 to have your uniform fitted. You have two weeks of indoctrination classes and then two weeks’ vacation before the next semester begins.”

A whole month before the Academy started. That was forever!

It wasn’t. The first two weeks flew by. He started by getting fitted for his uniform. Since they were in space, his uniform functioned as an emergency survival suit. Even with all the redundancy built into the Space Academy accidents did happen and space was an unforgiving environment. His courses addressed that in great detail. There were classes in Space Survival, Space Station Basic Engineering, Code of Conduct, Academy Regulations and Cadet Expectations. It was a lot to take in, but it was all so exciting Alexander didn’t even realize he was supposed to be on vacation.

Before he knew it the two weeks were over and he had two weeks before reporting for duty at the Space Academy. What was he going to do? Unfortunately, his Mom had some very un-Spaceman-like things for him to do around the ranch. One of those was harvesting and selling the second cut of hay for the year. Alexander felt this was all beneath him, but he couldn’t say so when his father, a Captain on his own ship, was back there in boots, a flannel shirt and a cowboy hat helping out. They loaded the wagon full of hay and set off to market. It wasn’t really a wagon but an old pickup truck. It dated back to the Ascension Wars. Like everything else back then, ships, planes, cars and even trains were given a tritanium energy bath that made the metal and glass nearly indestructible. Back then they replaced the old internal combustion engines with surplus fusion generators supplied by the Scythians. The generators were self contained and made to last hundreds of years with routine maintenance. Most still worked, but it was a hundred years or more since anything resembling normal trade existed throughout the galaxy. During the Caliphate wars Terrans almost lost touch with the rest of the Galactic Community. The old fears of Terran expansionism rekindled as the Fanatics tried to seize power. Only now, decades after the war, were trade routes being re-established.

Like everyone else, they nursed their machines along and did what they could with what they had. The truck, for instance, despite being a hundred and fifty years old, was really nice with leather seats and a working radio. The anti-grav motors still worked, unfortunately, the drive coupling was broken. It was only a small, simple part—Alexander would have no problem fixing it himself—but he hadn’t seen spare parts for anything in his lifetime. That all added up to the truck being able to hover about two feet above the ground—which was a good thing since its rubber tires were long since gone—but it couldn’t move under its own power. The old diesel was still in the engine bay, but it was for emergencies. They fired it up once a month for fifteen minutes to make sure it would still work. This was no emergency; therefore, Alexander set out for the back pasture. He caught two of their horses with a handful of grain and led them to the truck. They dutiful stood by as he hitched them up using leather harnesses. Once that was done, Dad showed up. Alexander got in with his Dad and drove to town. It was eleven miles to the market in town, barely an afterthought in the spaceship but two and a half hours when pulled by a two-horse team.

When they got to the market, Alexander experienced a new level of humiliation. He was going to the Space Academy in less than two weeks! Yet here he was selling dried grass and watching his Father, a spaceship Captain, haggle over trading hay for textiles and kerosene. He tried to hide away by standing behind the open door of the truck, hoping no one he knew would see him.

“Hey Alexander, how are you doing?”

He turned to see the girl from rocket ride, the one who didn’t make it to the Academy. She looked completely different without her self-assurance. He said hi, but he didn’t remember her name.

“I’m Katrina,” she reminded him sheepishly. “I was wondering how things were going; with you getting ready to go to the Academy and all. What have they been doing to get you ready to go?”

He told her everything. She nodded here and there, but mostly she listened. “I’d like to do that someday,” she told him. “I’m going to try again next year, but I was wondering if it would be Ok to trade e-mails? I’d really like to hear how your year is going.”

“Sure,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “I’m sorry you’re not going.”

“I am too, but maybe I’ll see you there next year.”

“That would be nice,” he said, trying to think of some way to extricate himself from the uncomfortable situation. He knew she’d never get in next year, and she knew she’d never get in. He admired her tenacity, but he couldn’t help but remember how much of a know-it-all she’d been—it was too bad, she was pretty and smart. He pointed to his Dad, “Sorry, I’ve got to go help.”

“Alexander?”

“Your e-mail address?” she held up her phone.

He blushed, and took his phone out. They synchronized their phones by pressing the auto-data relay on their screens.

“Alexander the Great,” she said, meaning his icon. It was a picture of a tile mosaic of the great conqueror. “That’s pretty cool. Do you like famous generals?”

“Yeah,” he said, surprised that she should recognize the mosaic for what it was. He checked her icon out. It was the image of a flying horse. He didn’t hide his surprise. “That’s the Pegasus from Greek mythology; I love the ancient myths.”

“So do I, especially the story about Perseus. It’s my favorite. It’s amazing how similar the myths are to real life. Maybe we can talk about them some time,” she smiled.

“I hope so,” he said, and he meant it. Katrina was getting a lot more interesting.

“I’ll see you around Ok?”

“Ok, and Katrina, I really do hope you get in next year. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Thanks,” she smiled sweetly and punched him on the arm. Then she disappeared in the market.

“Is that a new girlfriend,” Dad asked, coming around the end of the truck, hay sticking to his shirt. Alexander gave him a sour expression but he told his father the story of the rocket ride and Katrina’s problems. Dad nodded, and told him, “You should stay in touch with her. That’s very mature for a person your age. How we handle failure is much more important than how we handle success. Anyone can be a good winner!”

Alexander thought about that for a moment and realized his Dad was right. After all, how would he feel right now if he had messed up his ride? He doubted he’d handle it as well as Katrina.

“Come on, we need to get this load across the island, you’re an Altar Server for the evening mass.”

“What did we get for the hay?”

“Here you drive,” Dad said, handing Alexander the reins. He got out his computer pad and dictated the data from the sale into a holographic spreadsheet. “Ten tons of hay in exchange for seventeen yards of cloth, five spools of thread and twenty gallons of kerosene.”

“Doesn’t it ever seem weird selling hay one day and flying a spaceship the next? I mean are we ever going to get back to the way things were before?”

“Do you mean before the wars?” Dad said. He shook his head and explained. “The history books are sketchy on it, but you have to realize that we didn’t invent our space technology, at least not the technology we use today. We were given this technology by the Scythians during the Ascension Wars against the Galactic Alliance. They didn’t want us in space, and they were after the Scythians as well. The Scythians armed us and we became an interstellar empire. That lasted under the leadership of Alexander, who eventually united us with the Galactics. He became Galactic Overlord and for a decade or so things were fine, but the Methuselans invaded. The only reason any of the Galactic empires survived was due to Alexander’s leadership, the Terran Fleet and Terran Legions; he chased the Methuselans all the way back to the galactic core!” He shook his head. “Alexander himself disappeared on the way back to Terra. His ship returned, but no one knows what happened to him. Had he returned the Caliphate Wars never would have happened.”

He sighed, looking around at the hodgepodge of advanced technology and primitive pre-industrial age practices. “All at once, we were leaderless, and every culture had suffered greatly in the wars. Without Alexander we began to fracture again. The Fanatics tried to implement their religious empire, destroying everything we’d done in coming together. They tried to force their culture, their religion and their supremacy on the world. We beat them in the end, but the Caliphate Wars destroyed much of what was left in the world. We went from a world of eight billion people to one billion over a span of seventy years.

“They were hard times. We’re only just now beginning to catch our breath again.” Dad sighed and looked back at the hay. It rocked back and forth in the bed of the truck. He grimaced, making it plain that he didn’t like this any more than Alexander. “Of course I didn’t have to resort to this a few years ago. The cargo runs to the mines gave us a comfortable living. The new Administration hit businesses hard with taxes though. An extra twenty-five percent may not sound like much, but it was our leisure money and part of our food money. I had to make it up somehow. That’s all part of the brave new world, I suppose.” He patted Alexander on the back. “You’ll be part of that son, but be mindful of the past. You’ll see an important part of that in two weeks. The Academy is built on the wreckage of a captured Methuselan ship, but Alexander’s flagship, the Iowa is moored there—still operational.” He whistled. “Now there’s a piece of history. Listen up when they talk about it. The sacrifice of every man on that ship and in Alexander’s fleet is why we’re still here today. It’s why Terra isn’t a glowing hunk of slag in space. Always be mindful of your history Alexander or you’re doomed to repeat it!”

CHAPTER 5: Leaving the World Behind

The buzzer on his alarm sawed insistently on his slumber. He succeeded in ignoring it for a while, but eventually it forced him to open his eyes. It was still dark. The clock said 4 am. That couldn’t be right. He didn’t have to get up until 5am to join his sister in feeding the animals. He hit the alarm button, silencing it, reminding himself to throw the blasted thing away when he got up.

“Alexander are you going to go to the Academy or not?”

It was his mother’s voice, and he was immediately awake. The Academy, of course it was today! He had a 6 am takeoff at the school and it was already 4:15. He had to get ready. After taking care of the necessities, Alexander ran back into his room to pull his uniform on. It was smart, very smart. The material was a thick pearlescent white. There was a white coverall that enclosed him from ankles to wrists and halfway up his neck. It was comfortable, temperature controlled and doubled as a pressure suit in case of a loss of cabin pressure in space. Over it went a white tunic with a naval scarf. He wore high black boots and gloves. Topping it all off was a white cap with a trailing black ribbon.

Alexander admired himself in the mirror. He looked good.

“You’re not going to wear that out to feed the animals are you,” Mom asked. “You look very nice and I’m sure the horses and dinos will be impressed, but you don’t want the spaceship to smell like a barn do you?”

“Oh Mom do I have to,” he complained.

His sister Katherine walked out of her room rubbing her eyes. “If I have to get up early to see you off the least you can do is to help me feed the animals!”

Grumbling, Alexander took off his uniform and put on his “grubbies” as he called them. This is the last time I’m ever going to work on a farm again, thank God! To think they’re making me do this now. I’ll be in space in two hours, but now I have to walk through the muck to feed farm animals. I’m not going to miss this at all!

They walked through the mud room and onto the back porch. The rain beat down mercilessly on the roof. It was one of those Seattle days where it would rain and rain and rain. The mud was already ankle deep off the gravel walkway. Alexander put on his leather hat and oilskin coat. He heard that legionary battle gear had an automatic anti-water setting on the uniform. You could go under water or walk into a hurricane and never get wet—the military got the best stuff.

The rain pounded down on him and his sister, making them hunker down in their coats and hats. It was a relief to get into the barn where it was dry and musty. Most of the animal were already there waiting for breakfast, smelling like wet manure.

“I’m not going to miss this at all,” he muttered.

“Thanks a lot,” Katherine told him scathingly. “I won’t miss you either.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Alexander said quickly.

“You’re going off into space and leaving me here to do all your chores, as if we don’t have enough to do to keep this place going,” she said. “It’s not fair.”

Alexander hadn’t thought of it that way. He hadn’t thought of how his leaving would affect anyone else but himself. Kathy was right; he’d be pretty sore if he were in her shoes. “Listen, I know it’s not fair, but I can’t change my mind now. If it makes any difference, I’ll do all your chores when I’m down here on leave.”

“All of them; you’d be willing to do that?”

He didn’t want to, but he forced himself to say, “It’s only fair. I should do something extra when I’m back and give you a break.”

“That’s nice of you,” she said, but she shook her blonde head. “I think it would be enough if we did the chores together like we always have.”

“Deal,” he said as he divided out the hay, one flake to each animal. They finished up and ran back inside. Mom and Dad were waiting for them with breakfast.

“The first thing you’re going to miss is real food, so let’s enjoy this,” he smiled. They sat down at the little farm table together and held hands. Mom said grace.

“Oh Lord, thank you for all the blessings you’ve bestowed on this family. Keep Alexander safe on his new adventure. Amen.”

“Amen, Thanks Mom,” Alexander said. He dug in. There was scrambled eggs, bacon and blackberry muffins. After what Kathy said, he ate breakfast with his family with a little bit different point of view. Everyone was silent, and he felt he needed to say something. “I just wanted to let you all know how much I’m going to miss you. It’s pretty selfish of me to leave you with the farm and all, and well thanks; it means a lot to me.”

Fifteen minutes later he was in his uniform again. Everyone piled into the truck, which Dad started. “This is a special occasion.” The diesel ran the drive motor. It wasn’t nearly as efficient as the small fusion generator but they were going to drive not fly, so it really didn’t make much difference. Pulling away from the house, Alexander looked back one last time. He couldn’t see much through the rain smeared glass, only a brown blob against the green grass.

What was once an asphalt street was now a grass-grown lane. The wild herds of goats, deer, cows and dinosaurs kept it mown down. There wasn’t any hunting on the lanes, so the animals weren’t afraid of humans. It did cause some problems, like this morning. A half mile from the house, they ran into a herd of triceratops munching on the grass and ferns. Dad honked his horn, but the dinosaurs simply looked at the truck with indifference. They had every right to; they were bigger than the truck.

“At least we don’t have any sauropods on the island,” Dad said. Dinosaurs were everywhere now. They’d been exported to the Galactic zoos and zoological planets millions of years ago, and re-imported back a hundred years ago. Unfortunately, the wars broke open many of the zoological preserves. The dinosaurs took advantage of it, as did many of Terra’s former species. One could find mammoths up north alongside saber tooth cats, gorgons in the deserts, even massive Great Whites, Megladon in the oceans. The last few hundred years had been interesting ones on Terra to say the least. Fortunately, the island had no big predators. The Peninsula had problems with Tyrannosaurs—the Cretaceous dinosaurs had no problem with the mild winters—and sometimes sections of Seattle would close down when one got into town, but the island was free of them for the time being.

At the moment, however, Alexander was more interested in the more advanced aspects of Terra’s tumultuous years. He looked at his watch.

“Don’t worry son, we’ll get them out of the way.” Dad reached back for his rifle. He cocked the lever, but before he got out he reached over and turned the energy shields up to full power. They were originally designed for safeguarding the occupants during a crash but they worked just as well against an angry triceratops. The diesel motor increased its RPM to handle the load.

“Do be careful,” Mom said.

“I always am,” he said, but then he stopped. “Looks like I won’t need to do anything after all, the unioneers are here. Someone must have called a while ago.”

A troop of men and women dressed in yellow rain slickers drove up from behind in an open bed truck. The foreman, who drove the truck and stayed in out of the rain, waved them toward the truant dinosaurs. They trudged through the rain with lassticks, metal rods with energy bulbs at one end. The bulbs could deliver a nasty stun to even the largest animals through the thickest fur or hide; they respected them. The ten unioneers were motivated to get out of the rain. They approached the triceratops herd waving their sticks. The energy bulbs glowed bright orange in the rain, looking like a flight of will-o-wisps flying at the dinosaurs.

The herd turned and trotted off the road and into another field. The unioneers formed a line along the road to make sure their truck would pass. Dad honked a thank you and drove past, dialing down the shield. The sound of the engine faded as did the unioneers in the rain. “That’s one good reason to serve and become a Citizen. You don’t have to work in the rain or snow—unless you’re in the Legions of course.”

“But Dad we work in the rain; I was in the rain this morning.”

“True, but we choose to do that. We do that because we own our animals and they are our responsibility,” he reminded them. He uttered a strangled laugh, which meant it wasn’t something that was funny at all. “That’s where part of our tax increase went. The unioneers got a ten percent leisure money increase. Why I don’t know; I can’t help but wonder what this President and his Administration are up to.”

“Now dear don’t get yourself all worked up over politics,” Mom said, and she looked over her shoulder. “You get to ride your horses for fun. That’s a big deal. Union children don’t get to do that. Those men and women aren’t herding triceratops in the rain because they own them; they’re doing it because someone from the county told them to do it. Later on they may be digging ditches, clearing paths, whatever. They don’t know. They’ve traded responsibility for a guaranteed job, three meals a day and a roof over their heads. That’s the difference.”

Three minutes later they were at the school. A silver gray shuttle waited on the school lawn. Like many things it was once something else. In this case, it was an old Boeing 737. Its wings were cut short and two matter-anti-matter engines replaced the jets. A covered stairway led up to the cabin door. At the bottom was a small tent. An officer stood there with the Sister Mary Katherine.

Dad got out with an umbrella and hustled over to the other side of the truck. He opened Mom’s door and handed her the umbrella. She stood next to the back door as Kathy and Alexander slid out. Dad stood in the rain. The water streamed off the wide brim of his hat. They hurried across the muddy lawn and under the pavilion.

“Hello Alexander!” Sister Mary Katherine greeted him with a big smile. “We’re all very proud of you. I just wanted to wish you good luck this next year and I hope I’ll be doing the same for you Katherine! We have high expectations for the Wolfe children!”

Alexander shook her hand and mumbled something, embarrassed at the attention. The Officer scanned his facial features and his retina. Then he asked, “Are you Brevet Cadet Alexander Thomas Aquinas Wolfe?”

“Yes sir,” Alexander said.

The Officer stared at his compad and nodded. “Everything checks out, welcome aboard Cadet Wolfe. Here are your orders.” He handed Alexander a Government Issue compad and waited.

Alexander took the compad and hesitated, wondering what to do next. His Dad whispered, “Salute the Lieutenant Alexander!” Alexander did so, snapping his arm across his chest and thumping his fist as he clicked his heels together, just as the legionaries did two thousand years ago.

“Excellent!” the Lieutenant smiled, returning the salute. “You are free to board, as long as you’re quick about it. We depart in five minutes!”

Alexander turned to his sister and his parents and his sister. “Well I guess this is it.”

Kathy hugged him first. “Don’t get into trouble up there.”

He grimaced when she kissed him on the cheek.

“Oh my little soldier boy,” Mom said with tears in her eyes. She hugged him close. “We’re so proud of you!”

“Mom!”

“It’s my job to be upset when you leave home!” she told him, wiping her tears away and giving him his rosary, which he’d forgotten in the rush. He blushed and tucked it in his pocket. She kissed him on the brow. “Take care, and take our love with you!”

Dad shook his hand. “This is your first step into manhood son. We’re very proud of you.” He leaned over and whispered into Alexander’s ear, “Thanks for being my son!”

“You’re welcome Dad,” he whispered back.

That was it. He strode up the gangway, stopping at the top to wave one last time. They waved back. Then he stepped inside and left the world of his childhood behind.

CHAPTER 6: The Academy

The interior of the ship was different than he expected. It was a transport. It had row after row of seats and open storage bins above the seats. There was no carpet on the floor or any decorative paneling on the walls or ceiling. Everything was stripped down to the bare necessity of practicality. The ship looked empty, but he presently noticed ten other kids, all in uniform—Cadets, he corrected himself, not kids. Among them were Lisa and James.

He went and sat by Lisa. She was in the aisle seat. He stepped by her and sat by the window, saying, “Hi, where’d all these Cadets come from?”

“You didn’t think they’d send a ship for just the three of us did you?”

“Oh, of course not!” he said quickly.

The Lieutenant closed the hatch and came forward. He reached the cockpit door and took the microphone from the wall. His voice came over the loudspeaker, sounding tinny and echoing through the metal tube. “Strap in Cadets, we’ll be taking off momentarily. Turn your phones off and study your orders. You’ll be expected to hit the ground running as soon as we get to the station. You’ve got a full day of duty ahead of you, and that won’t change for another fifty years!”

Alexander took out his phone with the intention of turning it off. His finger almost touched the power icon on the smooth surface, but then it lit up with a message. He thought it was his folks saying a final goodbye, but to his surprise it read,

Wait, how did she know he was taking off? He looked outside just as the ship’s engines began to whine. There were his parents and Kathy all huddled under the umbrella waving at him. He waved back. There were other families there as well, waving; he hadn’t even noticed them when they got there. He looked through them, and then he noticed a small figure standing alone in the rain. It was Katrina. She didn’t have an umbrella, but she stood there anyway watching the ship depart—the ship she was supposed to be on. As they took off, rising slowly into the gray rain, she saluted and came to attention. Alexander returned the salute.

The last thing he saw before they disappeared in the rain was his family stepping up to her and taking her under the umbrella. Alexander turned back to his phone and typed in, “I expect to see you up there next year!”

He turned the phone off and turned to Lisa, but she was already studying her orders on her compad. Alexander endured a flash of guilt and put his phone away. He picked up the compad. It was a silver pad about ten inches by five and less than a quarter of an inch thick. It was silver on the back and a shiny black on the front with a single cyclopean eye peering at him from the top. He touched the face. The eye glowed red, scanning him.

“Identity confirmed!”

The screen brightened. There was a short welcoming paragraph followed by a schedule for his first day. The first thing he noticed was that every minute of the day was accounted for. This didn’t really surprise him; actually it was rather a relief. This was a new world and he didn’t mind that things were going to be set up for his first days—at least until he got his space legs.

Space legs, the very thought almost made him giddy. He had to clench his teeth hard to keep from whooping with joy. The image of Katrina standing alone in the rain helped. There was nothing happy about that. It showed just how thin the margin of success was, but then again it also showed how strong the human spirit could be. Alexander was afraid that nothing and no one could ever have gotten him to come see Lisa off if he didn’t make it. That said a lot.

The very thought was a big dose of humility.

Lisa started talking in a soft voice.

“Why do the Legions and the Fleet both start in the same Academy—why in space? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have the Legionary Academy start at West Point and end at West Point?” She was asking herself, it seemed, as she read the history of the Academy in her orders.

Alexander hadn’t got that far, but he replied automatically, “Because the Legions fight all over the galaxy. They want to impress on the cadets that we’re not just a Terran Service; we serve wherever Humankind requires us to serve. It also gives a good vantage point to show how small and fragile Terra is.”

“Wow, did you read that somewhere?” Lisa exclaimed.

“No, but my Dad might have said something about it,” Alexander said. “We talked a lot about it,” he laughed. “I don’t think we talked of much else over the last month.”

The Lieutenant’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “We’ll be landing multiple times and picking up cadets from all over the Pacific Northwest. You’re the lucky ones. You’ve got time to study your orders. The last cadets on board will have about ten minutes to go over their orders. I advise you to take advantage of this opportunity.”

Lisa looked at Alexander and Alexander looked at Lisa. They each turned back to their compads. Alexander paged through his schedule, his list of classes, the dormitory rules and the layout of the station. He realized that he couldn’t absorb it all.

One miracle at a time, Mom says.

He went back to the beginning and memorized how to get to the auditorium. Only after he had that down did he begin to look at what happened afterward. First, they scheduled him for briefings in the auditorium, then lunch. He memorized how to get to the mess hall. After lunch, they had their first class, Space Physiology in lecture hall AP Port Deck 5 23. After a bit of looking, Alexander figured that meant the Academic Pod, Port quarter, deck five and hall 23. He looked up where that was on the station map and worked out how to get there from the mess hall; thirty minutes for lunch and it looked like a long walk, he’d have to eat fast.

“We will be docking in five minutes.”

Alexander looked up in surprise. The cabin was somehow full of cadets. He didn’t remember landing again, not even once, but here they were. All he’d succeeded in doing was finding his first class. Dejected, he sighed and looked through the window. They were in space. The view didn’t give him the same visceral reaction as his first flight gave him; in fact, the sight was one of surprise not wonder. Then he saw the Academy. It was an amazing sight. Terran engineers built the Academy on the enormous hull of a captured Methuselan ship. The gray-green torpedo shaped mass formed the backbone of ringed structures, towers and rotating blaster turrets. As impressive as was the station it paled in comparison to the majesty of the Iowa.

Forever docked on Starboard Station India, the U.S.S. Iowa remained as she was on the climactic day Alexander and the Seventh Fleet fought off the Galactic invasion force led by the Golkos. Scars from that battle scored the Iowa, but some parts of the planet remained that way as well. Preserved as International Parks, vast areas of gray and black slag ensured that Humankind would never forget what it was like to be brought so close to extinction.

Alexander pressed his face so close to the window Lisa had to tell him to pull back so that she could see. The Iowa was a World War II era blue water navy battleship. Yet here it was in space. The idea itself was so preposterous that if Alexander wasn’t looking at it with his own eyes he’d never have believed it.

Lisa looked over his shoulder and said, “The Scythians had all the components for a fleet of warships: engines, blasters, navigation systems—everything. They didn’t have any ships to put them in though. They hadn’t manufactured the military hardware; they salvaged it from wrecks. It was the Australian, Admiral Augesburcke, who figured they could seal up the navy ships and use the hulls for spaceships. The Galactics never expected us to have a fleet, but we did.”

“You’re right, and this transport is one of the survivors of that era. It used to be an airplane, but with new engines, avionics and a tritanium energy bath it could handle the stresses of space flight. We did that to virtually every jet and ship on the planet,” Alexander said, and he looked at her with a quizzical expression in his green eyes. “How do you know so much about the early military?”

“It’s not only boys who read about battles,” she smiled. “I heard that the Academy has the actual holographic battle footage from the bridge of the Iowa; I hope so, that would be awesome.”

“That would be awesome,” Alexander agreed.

The ship came to a gentle stop. The clang of the docking clamps shivered along the hull; he put his hand against the metal and felt it. The loudspeaker said, “Please retrieve your bag and proceed down the gangway to the terminal.”

Alexander waited for Lisa to get her bag and then he took his own down. They stood in line and shuffled down the aisle, moving like a long white centipede toward the exit. The gangway was shorter than he anticipated with long narrow windows that revealed nothing unless you put your face right next to them. It was only wide enough for two people, so cadets and duffle bags filled it up completely. If you had claustrophobia this is as far as you’d get; maybe that’s what they had in mind. He shook his head at the thought. Considering the time, money and resources the Academy took to bring a single cadet up here for a year, booting them out wasn’t realistic.

The media touted the need to take money from the military and put it toward social programs. Alexander could understand that. There were still large areas of the planet without basic services. Some areas were still uninhabitable because of radiation levels or because blaster bombardment turned the soil into fused slag twenty to thirty meters deep. Those people had a point, but the military kept the peace and Humankind simply could not afford another war—not now. Still, the new Administration didn’t seem to be listening. He’d heard his Dad complain that the military wasn’t getting the budget it needed to keep the planet safe, but the government was making sure the unioneers were happy and even talked of giving the unioneers the vote.

The cadets spilled out into the terminal. From the cramped gangway they came into a wide rotunda with a twenty meter roof. The air was fresher here, especially after the full transport and the gangway. It was a good thing the rotunda was big. Transports disgorged cadets from a dozen other gangways. The place was noisy, busy and confusing. Alexander looked around, wondering if the Lieutenant was going to come out and give them directions—the excitement of the moment drove the schedule he’d memorized only a few minutes ago right out of his head.

Fortunately, a balcony overlooked the rotunda. It ran around the entire loop of the terminal, curving away from him and disappearing from sight to either side. Along the balcony rail were large visiplates. Each one repeated a message for the cadets. The message read,

“Welcome cadets! Drop your duffel bags under the seat in the terminal corresponding to the designated number on your orders. You will then proceed down the terminal hall toward the center rotunda for a lie detector test and indoctrination. Welcome aboard!”

“I thought we did all that already,” he said aloud.

“So did I,” Lisa said as she checked her compad. Alexander did likewise, as did every cadet in the terminal. He found his designation and looked around for his seat, but he quickly discovered it wasn’t as easy as all that, nor apparently was it meant to be.

“I’m assigned to Stern Alpha-23,” he said, looking around at the seats nearby. They were all designated as “Bow Golf-XX” locations. He looked up at the docking designation over the gangway and sure enough it read “Bow Golf.” He scratched his head, thinking something must be wrong. “I’m on the wrong side of the terminal or something’s messed up.”

“I’m assigned to Stern Alpha-17,” Lisa said, looking around.

James was next to him and he checked his compad. His brows rose, and he announced, “We’re all in the same place. I’m Stern Alpha-12. Does that mean we’re in the same squad?”

“I think we’re in flights during our time up here,” Lisa said, but she didn’t sound very certain of it. They looked around, seeing a lot of shoulder shrugs and scratching of heads. “It’s a test. I guess they want to see how we handle this; we are on probation this year.”

“I suppose we better get going then,” Alexander said a bit sheepishly.

“Let’s go,” she smiled.

Alexander slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and they headed in the shortest direction to where he guessed the Stern Terminal would be. That should be through the corridors emanating radially outward from the central rotunda. Guessing from the general flow of cadets he wasn’t the first to have the idea, but he, like everyone else was disappointed. The pressure doors for the corridor were closed. That meant he had to go around the entire tube of the terminal. He checked his station map. The quickest way was to the left, clockwise around the terminal tube. Strangely enough, all the cadets around him turned that way as well.

Shouldn’t half of us be going one way and half going the other way? This doesn’t look right. There must be something more to this.

He joined the sea of cadets as they marched clockwise around the terminal. Everyone was shaking their heads, thinking and saying the same thing. After passing Bow Uniform there was something of a stir going on ahead. One cadet, a tall dark haired, olive hued girl wasn’t following the crowd. She was not human. Her eyes were a luminescent blue with no pupil. Although she was tall, she was willowy, maybe weighing half what a human girl would weigh. What’s more, she was going the wrong way. Other cadets were asking her where she was going, but she only smiled and continued on her way, like a singular salmon swimming downstream instead of upstream. She said nothing to anyone; she didn’t make eye contact. She just went about her own way.

“I wonder how the Academy will see that?” he asked Lisa. She shrugged. Alexander admired her for her conviction, and he questioned his own. He knew this was a set up, but there was no logical reason to question the obvious outside of distrust for the Academy. He’d seen what that lead to, and there was no way he was going to follow that course. So, set up or not Alexander was going to do what he thought was logical.

That still didn’t stop him from wondering why, but a few minutes later he thought he realized the reason. The cadets ahead stopped. The terminal blast doors were sealed. It was a dead end. Like a big grumpy snake everyone turned around and headed back in the direction they came from. There was nothing else to do, so on they went. It took ten minutes to get back to a point where some cadets started to drop out and stow their gear. Alexander and Lisa went on, but after a few minutes there was a bottleneck again. This time, though it wasn’t because the corridor was blocked. Instead all the cadets were bunched up on the outer bulkhead of the terminal. They gathered at the windows, their young faces pressed up against the transparent aluminum. More cadets were gathering. Many were taller than Alexander, so he climbed up on a seat to get a better view. Then he saw why everyone stopped.

There it was—the Iowa. The blaster scarred derelict was only thirty yards away. Blaster holes were everywhere. The thick tritanium steel plates of the aft superstructure and engine room were twisted into fantastically grotesque shapes. The left superluminal pod was gone as was the aft main blaster turret. The forward superstructure and bridge were relatively intact, but everywhere on the silver-white metal of the superstructure were small mottled spherical shapes. It looked like the Iowa had been attacked by parasites. It wasn’t parasites, of course, but they were the signature of a brutal attack—boarding pods. Alexander knew that each boarding pods carried ten Galactic warriors. There were hundreds of them.

Despite her damage the Iowa was an imposing, awe inspiring sight. He could stay there all day, but a voice came from the loudspeaker. “Cadets are to report on the double to the central rotunda—enough rubber necking, hop to it!”

It was like stirring an anthill with a stick. Those who’d set their bags down scrambled for them along with everyone else nearby. Since the bags all looked alike this wasn’t as easy as it looked and there was momentary confusion. Fortunately Alexander had his bag between his legs. Snatching it up, he tried to step down into the boiling sea of cadets but he landed on someone’s foot.

“Ouch!” They pulled their foot out from under his and Alexander tripped, falling over his bag. Someone fell over him and there was instant bedlam. He tried to get up but someone bowled him over. He cursed, trying even harder this time, but he stumbled forward and would have fallen if someone hadn’t reached out and caught him.

CHAPTER 7: Indoc

“Steady there cadet,” exclaimed a girl’s voice. Alexander regained his balance and looked up to see the tall alien girl from earlier. “Thanks,” he gasped.

“Come on, you’re going to the same place I am,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the windows. “Everyone is heading back to the terminal corridor; there will be fewer people here by the windows.”

She was right. “Thanks again,” he said, trying to remember to be gracious where pretty girls were concerned, another lesson from his Dad. “I’m Alexander by the way.”

“I’m Treya, I’m from Chem,” she smiled.

He followed her along the windows. They made much better time than the majority of cadets. After they were in the clear, he asked, “Sorry, but how do you know I’m going to the same place?”

She laughed, “We’re all going to the rotunda aren’t we?”
“Well yes,” he admitted.

Lisa stepped up, a frown on her face. “I see you already making friends Alexander. I’m Lisa, Alexander and I grew up on the same island.”

Lisa tried to change the subject which was fine with Alexander. “You’re in Stern Alpha too, so I guess we’ll all be in the same,” she stopped, and Alexander got the impression she didn’t want to sound ignorant in front of Treya.

“We’re all in Kilo flight,” Treya said, pointing out the designation at the bottom of the set of orders. Lisa blushed, but Treya graciously smiled and explained, “My Dad’s a diplomat and the rest of my family are Fleet so I’ve seen these government forms before. They’re dry as a Golkos desert but once you know where to look everything is always done the same way.”

“Are we going in the right direction,” he asked, not shy about being lost in this new place. “This is like nothing I’ve ever seen or imagined. I think they goofed.”

“All of you are from the same place; it must be a big island. I’m Treya, and I’m from Chem City. I’m the only one from my planet in this class.”

“Chem,” James exclaimed. “You’re really from Chem?”

The Chem were allies of the Terrans. It wasn’t always so, but the Chem and Terrans discovered they had far more in common than they realized. After a short time of rough relations, Terra and Chem became fast friends. It was the Chem who rescued Alexander from the Methuselans. It was in repayment for the Terran First Fleet, the Flagship Fleet, which emerged out of superluminal at the last possible moment, outnumbered and unafraid to defend the Chem Homeworld against the Methuselan invasion armada.

“Yes, but I’m part human; my parents and grandparents served in the Fleet, all the way back to my great grandfather and great grandmother. It’s in my blood, so to speak. We better get going, we’ve only got a few more minutes.” As they walked Treya asked if any of them had relatives in the Fleet or Legions.

James simply laughed, and Lisa told her about her own parents, who were Citizens after serving in the Peace Corps. Then they reached the Stern section of the terminal. The Alpha section was first. Alexander found Alpha-23 and slung his duffle bag onto the seat. “My Dad served in the Fleet as an Officer, and now he has his own ship. It’s just a freighter though.” He was kind of embarrassed now. His family didn’t have anything like that kind of history. His father served for thirty years as a Watch Commander. He served with distinction, but he retired early—for the first time Alexander wondered why—because instead of finishing his Service his Dad now trundled out to asteroid mines and drove hay across the island. He had a sudden chill settle in his stomach. To try and salvage the situation, he added, “His last post was fifteen years on the Enterprise. He went to the core of the galaxy. It sounds pretty cool, but all he ever said about it was there were a lot of old, old stars.”

“I’m sure my father knows him. He was the Chem Liaison Officer for that cruise,” she said with a feral smile, showing her sharper than human teeth.

“Maybe,” he said, not wanting to delve into it any further.

“I’ll check with my Dad, he told me to be on the lookout for cadets of his shipmates.”

Alexander wasn’t so sure he wanted her to find out how anonymous his Dad was, but what could he say? He heard his name. He looked back and saw Lisa. She was standing there looking at him, then at Treya and then back at him.

Alexander felt his face flush and tried to stifle a grin, but that only made them giggle. Fortunately, a strident voice accosted them over the loudspeakers. “Cadets, assembly is in ten minutes!”

That settled it. They dashed to the rotunda via the radial corridor, following everyone else. Passing through the large entrance revealed a curved amphitheater. “Cadets take your seats; we haven’t got all day.” Alexander, Lisa, James and Treya sat together, finding a group of seats as quickly as they possibly could amidst the confusion. Alexander felt patently uncomfortable between the girls. James gave him a grin and a thumbs-up, but Treya told him not to worry.

“It’s because you’re such a nice boy that we wanted to be around you. You’re not like those boys who are all full of themselves. You’re a good guy.”

“Usually that means I’m only good at getting beat up during lacrosse games,” he muttered. As if to make the point, someone took a swipe at the back of his head.

“Ouch!” Alexander turned angrily around. It was a large red headed boy. He leaned over the back of Alexander’ seat and nodded at Lisa. “Hey what’s the big idea?”

The boy knocked his hat off. “Why don’t you come back and sit with us. You can bring your friend here,” he nodded at Treya. “Just leave the little guy. He’s going to be a Fleet scientist locked up in his laboratory—I can tell.”

Alexander bolted to his feet, fists balled up; ready for a fight.

“Lay off,” James said, standing up next to Alexander. He’d had his share of fights because of his brother and was well able to take care of himself. “He’s a friend; leave him alone.”

“He needs your protection, is that it?” The boy smiled.

“Cadets, Atten-tion!”

Alexander automatically spun around and sprang to attention. Everyone else did the same in one mass rush of sound. A nervous silence followed. He looked down to the center of the rotunda where there was a podium. A party of three officers marched to the podium, two men and a woman. The woman stepped up to the podium, and said, “At ease cadets; I am Rear Admiral Hinohosa, and I will be your Academic Director. Everything having to do with academics goes through me. You will not graduate from the Academy, or even from a single class without my concurrence. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Welcome to Indoc; that is, Indoctrination. You are about to embark on a rigorous six years of academic work,” she continued. “For some of you, the work will progress on this station through college and graduate school before moving you on to your specific mission training. Others will transfer to West Point for their legionary education.”

The large cadet gave Alexander a poke from behind. Alexander refused the desire to turn and glare at him.

“Cadet’s take your seats please,” she ordered, and they did so. As soon as they were seated a visiplate popped out of the seat in front of them and scanned their identity. The Admiral watched her compad, and when everyone had passed the identity scans, she announced, “You will now be asked a series of questions. A lie detector will gauge the veracity of your statements. I must impress on you that the truth is more important at this stage than being politically correct. Even if you were to say you were a Marxist you would not necessarily be kicked out of the Academy today—we’d most likely wait until tomorrow so that our Legionary Interrogators could pump as much information as possible out of you first!”

She laughed.

The cadets tried to laugh, but the thought of a hard-bitten legionary grilling them was not something a twelve year old wanted to consider—even in jest.

The visiplate brightened, but before any question appeared one of the three, a silver haired mustachioed Fleet Admiral, probably the Commandant, spoke in hushed tones to Admiral Hinohosa. She looked surprised and displeased. He nodded sympathetically and shrugged his shoulders.

“Cadets, apparently we are not to use the lie detector anymore. By an Executive Order the President has decreed that use of a lie detector in non-judicial matters is an invasion of privacy.” She stopped, as if considering what she could say and what she couldn’t. At length, she told them to take the test. “It is not the same test you’ve taken previously. This test will gauge what you want to get out of the Academy. When you graduate you will take the same test. The comparisons are interesting and quite useful for all concerned. You may commence.”

As the first question appeared on the visiplate, Alexander noticed that a stasis field surrounded him so that he couldn’t hear any of the cadets around him and they couldn’t hear him.

“I’m afraid I won’t be do so well at sports, no it’s not so much that,” he said, trying as best he could to tell the truth of it even if the lie detector was off—which he didn’t quite believe. “I think I’m afraid of failure.”

There were more questions like that, some personal and some general. It took about fifteen minutes and the stasis field dissolved. When everyone had taken the test Admiral Hinohosa passed the podium to Centurion Fjallheim, a tall red headed man with a large mustache and an impossibly square jaw. He wore the scarlet and gold of the Legions.

He looked as if he could tear a man in two, and Alexander wouldn’t be surprised if he had done it for real. “I am Centurion Fjallheim, and I will referee the competition between the flights. There are twenty-six flights of forty cadets each, Alpha through Zulu.” He stepped off the podium and began to pace around it, his large hands clasped behind his back. “You will compete in academics, in leadership drills, in combat drills, in disciplinary statistics and in sports. In other words, you will compete at everything. You will drive each other to be better than you could ever be by yourselves. That’s the point to all this, and history tells us that it works. So don’t think we’re doing this because we enjoy watching you suffer just like we did when we were cadets!”

He smiled and allowed a moment for the nervous laughter to dissipate.

“At the end of the year the first place flight will get their names inscribed on the Academy Station itself—for all to see for as long as our civilization lasts.” He paused, and it felt like he looked at every single cadet. “The flight that finishes last will have the honor of repeating the year. If they finish last again every member of the flight is expelled. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir!”

“Look at yourselves, look within yourselves,” he told them forcefully. “Forty of you will be standing at the pinnacle of glory at the end of the year; however, forty of you will be cowering in shame. Think of which way you want to apply yourself!” He stepped aside, and his voice boomed forth. “Cadets of class 2207, I present the Commandant of the Space Academy, Fleet Admiral Sten Augesburcke IV, Atten-tion!”

Admiral Augesburcke wore the sable and silver of the Fleet. The trim of his uniform was silver and he wore four slashes of silver on the left sleeve of his tunic. He stepped forward and after surveying the group of cadets for a moment, like a farmer surveying a field of young wheat, he started to climb the stairs between the rows of seats.

His eyes were fixed on Alexander.

CHAPTER 8: Academia in Space

Admiral Augesburcke stopped opposite Alexander, looking down on him with sparkling blue eyes that barely peeked out from beneath his bushy white brows. He clasped his hands behind his back and cocked his head to the side.

“Cadet Alexander Wolfe!”

Alexander leapt to attention as if bitten by a spider. “Sir, yes sir!” Alexander said instinctively, as if blocking a punch; why him out of a thousand cadets? He tried desperately not to tremble or to pass out.

“Cadet Alexander Wolfe, in the terminal you observed Cadet Treya proceeding in the opposite direction as the rest of the Cadet Corps. There is no right or wrong answer, cadet, but give me your opinion: why did she do so?”

Alexander thought furiously. Originally, he thought Treya realized they were being set up, but that meant she didn’t trust the Academy. He remembered Katrina—that was bad. Still, he couldn’t say he didn’t know without looking like a fool. Why else would she go the way she did? Then he remembered what happened when they all turned around and marched back the other way.

“Well cadet?”

“I can’t say for certain sir,” he replied quickly, trying to sound as calm as possible. “I think she wanted to walk by the Iowa.”

“Do you think that was a worthwhile walk?”

“Yes sir, I do—it was amazing.”

“At ease cadet,” he said with a smile. In a lower voice, he told Alexander. “It’s good to see you here; you’re dad is the best shot in the system. He got me and some of my best friends out of some seriously sticky jams!” He turned to Treya and smiled. “You’ve grown in the last few months. How are your folks?”

She shot to attention next to Alexander. “Fine sir!”

“Excellent, I’ve been waiting a long time for you to be here!” He turned to the rest of the assembled cadets and his gruff voice filled the rotunda. “You have been chosen from among millions of applicants. It doesn’t matter where you came from, whether your parents were Citizens, laborers, Ambassadors or anything else. You are here—you! So it’s up to you as to what you are going to do with this opportunity.”

He walked down the stair and looked up again when he reached the center of the space. “The Officers and faculty will do everything in their power to ensure you have the opportunity to succeed, but only you can make that happen. Keep your eyes open, keep your ears open and take advantage of every moment. I wish you the best of luck, Godspeed to you all!”

General Stewart shouted, “Atten-tion!”

“You have them Centurion, let’s start whipping them into shape!” waved Admiral Augesburcke as he exited.

“Yes sir!” Fjallheim glowered at the cadets, looking like he took the Admiral literally. Alexander got the idea he’d like nothing better than to start the day off with a few lashes from a cat-of-nine-tails followed by a twenty mile hike with full packs—he’d heard that sort of thing about the Legions. “Take my advice. Be five minutes early to everything; do not be late! You may proceed to your next scheduled activities, dismissed!”

A thousand pairs of eyes looked down at their compads. Alexander read the orders aloud, and by the growling buzz that filled the rotunda, so did everyone else. “We’ve got lunch and then Space Physiology.”

A hand touched him from behind; Alexander turned and saw the red headed boy. “Sorry about giving you a hard time,” he said nervously. “It was all in good fun—right?”

“Yeah sure,” Alexander said, and the boy hurried off, leaving him mystified. “What was that all about?”

“Contacts Alexander,” James said, shaking his head. He brushed a lock of his black hair from his eyes. “You can’t have any better contact here than to know the Commandant. Your dad seems pretty tight with the Commandant there; how’d that happen?”

“I don’t know,” Alexander insisted.

“It’s obvious they served together in combat duty, Alexander,” Lisa said. “He said your dad was the best shot in the system; that he saved Augesburcke’s life several times.”

“Dad flies a freighter when he’s not selling hay,” Alexander said, at once ashamed that he was making light of his father’s vocation. “He did serve in the Fleet as an officer, but he never says anything about it. I figured he never did anything interesting.”

“Sounds like he was a Spook,” James smiled, giving Alexander a dig in the ribs.

“He was not!” Alexander said vehemently. The Spooks, or Space Rangers as they were unofficially officially known—there was no official recognition that they existed but everyone knew they really did—they were almost mythical figures in Service lore belonging to both the Fleet and the Legions. Supposedly they were assassins, spies, lawmen—whatever the powers that be needed them to be. They kept the peace in nasty places, but they kept it violently. The military would neither confirm nor deny their existence, but the mere rumor of a Spook or a Ranger on a frontier world or even in a backwater town on Terra was enough to make the bad people melt right back into the shadows.

“Alright, sorry Alexander, I was just kidding,” James said and he shrugged. “Thing is, at least you have a Dad that Served. I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m not officer material. I’d be happy just to be a Settler—really. This is for kids like you that have big ideas, or kids like Lisa with big brains. I’m not going to get too comfortable. Pretty soon they’ll realize their mistake and send me packing, but it’s not going to be on Terra! I’ll go anywhere, just not there.”

“Well you’re here now, and you’re in our flight,” Alexander said, pointing to his compad. We’ve got to twenty minutes to eat and forty minutes before we’re due in class, so we better get going.”

Indeed, they were among the last to leave. Realizing this they hurried out of the rotunda and headed for mess hall. On the way out the starboard corridor they passed beneath the watchful eyes of the Commandant, Admiral Hinohosa and Centurion Fjallheim. Out of all the cadets leaving the auditorium the three officers picked them out and followed them with their eyes, muttering under their breath.

#

“What are the odds that three cadets from the same small town would end up in the same class?” Augesburcke asked the question as if talking to himself. His voice was barely above the rumble and the buzz of the exodus of cadets.

“Astronomical,” Centurion Fjallheim said, his perpetual scowl deepening.

“Less than that,” Admiral Hinohosa added gravely. “I checked the records. There haven’t been any more than two from the same town of that size in the last seventy-five years; that happened only twice, and each time the students had parents who graduated from the Academy.”

“Alexander Wolfe’s father did serve,” Augesburcke reminded her.

“Yes and young Alexander fits the Academy profile very well. He has some confidence issues because of his size but his leadership quotient is quite high. However, the parents of the other cadets have no such history, at least no history I can find. One has a mother in the FBI, but he doesn’t stand out academically. He’s got a high determination profile more suitable to a Settler—he’d stand a very good chance of being a Community Leader. The young lady scores extremely high academically,” Hinohosa told him. “Even more intriguing to me is the fact there was a fourth candidate. She lost her slot because of attitude problems in the First Flight ride, but she was by all the data the most qualified candidate from the town, maybe even the most qualified candidate in the entire class.”

“If she is all that then we may still have to deal with her next year,” Augesburcke growled. “For now, we have these three; three cadets that shouldn’t be here—not all at once.”

“Should we separate them,” Centurion Fjallheim asked. “If there’s something behind this other than coincidence perhaps we should make complicity that much more difficult.”

“No, as the great warlord Lincoln said of his cabinet; let’s keep all the dangerous people in one spot where we can keep an eye on them!”

“Should we perhaps send someone to question Commander Wolfe and gauge his intentions?”

“No!” Augesburcke turned and looked directly at the Centurion. His voice was sharp and forceful, leaving no room for any doubt. “I have the utmost respect for Commander Wolfe; however he travelled farther than any of us, farther than any other man in this man’s Fleet. He saw things out there we can only guess at; if one of those things is coming to roost now I don’t want to let him know that we know—not yet.”

“I could have him watched.”

Augesburcke laughed. “We might as well tell him all of our suspicions then. He’d know, believe me he’d know. That farm of his is probably locked down tighter than the Vatican or the White House. If he suspects we suspect we’ll be answerable for it.” He gritted his teeth, and growled. “Something’s going on, but until I’m desperate or certain he’s not actively involved I won’t tip him off.” He watched the sandy haired Alexander disappear with the throng of cadets down the corridor. “Besides, the key is not Commander Wolfe but his son and I’ve already got someone watching him, someone even the Commander himself would never suspect!”

#

Space Physiology was almost as boring as it sounded. Professor Cantor was very knowledgeable, but seemed on the verge of falling asleep during the lecture. It was only when he showed a particularly gruesome presentation of what happened when the unprotected human body was exposed to the vacuum of space that he perked up. He got off his chair and shuffled to the base of the huge visiplate. “Ah now, here’s one of my favorites, very demonstrable about everything we’ve been discussing for the last half hour.”

“Discussing,” Lisa whispered, “we haven’t discussed anything. He hasn’t even taken a breath!”

Alexander stifled a laugh.

“I hope the rest of the classes aren’t this bad,” James grumbled.

“He’d make a very bad diplomat,” Treya observed. “He has no voice inflection at all; he sounds like a bumblebee.”

“You have bumblebees on Chem?”

“Of course,” she said, looking with surprise at Alexander. “How else would the Terran roses get pollinated?”

Professor Cantor cleared his throat, the most demonstrable thing he’d done all day. “Now if I may direct your attention to the screen, I want you to watch in detail,” He turned from the screen and scanned the class. “Those of you with weak stomachs, the bags are under your desk. Please use them; otherwise you get to clean up the mess.”

There was nervous laughter. Alexander and James exchanged glances of male bravado. Still, they and everyone else checked under their desks. There were small plastic yellow bags with sealable tops.

The screen brightened to show two legionaries holding a man by the arms. Without any explanation they threw him into a white airlock with red stripes. One of the legionaries held the small rounded power pack normally attached to the uniform belt. The power pack powered the uniform’s emergency sustaining field. The grim legionary held the pack up to the airlock window so the man could see it and laughed at his shocked expression. He clutched at his belt and finding the bracket empty, he leapt at the hatch, clawing at the window. The legionaries laughed that much harder, and Alexander felt himself cringe. The man in the airlock wore the coveralls of a Fleet technician his eyes were wide, bulging with fear.

Using a laser pointer, the professor pointed out the various physiological details. “We’ll run it through full speed first and then go over the same file with more exactness. At this point the pressure is released as the outer doors open. Loss of pressure is instantaneous.” A warning siren wailed and a red light flashed. There was a loud whoosh drowning out the screaming madman. To their horror, the man began to bloat. The next sound was almost as terrible as the sight. With no atmosphere to carry sound waves everything went silent but for the commentary by the legionaries.

“Whoa there he goes, like a bloody balloon filled with tomato juice!”

The man’s body puffed out and exploded outward, leaving the bloody wreckage of what was once a man.

“Do you think he’s far enough out?”

Alexander had no idea what that meant until—boom! The image on the visiplate showed a bright flash where the man had been. Did they shoot him? The image rocked for a moment and then the stabilizers cut in and there was nothing to be seen except the inside of the white and red airlock, which was now only a mottled, disgusting red.

“That was close. Is everyone alright? Someone get me a damage report!”

The Professor stopped the film and went back to the beginning. Surveying the class, his smiled thinly and said, “Got about a third of you did it, well I’ll see what I can do about that.” Alexander, who felt a bit queasy, looked around. The professor was right. A third of the class had their heads buried in the yellow bags. The smell of vomit drifted through the air. That just about set him off right there, his stomach tightened and he felt the bile rising in his throat. He fought it back, but just barely. He was sweating.

James looked disdainfully at Lisa and Treya. “They can’t handle it; it’s a man’s world in space!”

Alexander bit back the foul taste in his mouth and nodded, crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat as if he saw this sort of thing every day. James did the same, purposefully moving as far away from his bag as possible. The girls glared at the boys from their sick sacks.

“Let’s go over this again in a more clinical fashion,” the professor said. He zoomed in with the image until the man’s eyeball almost filled the visiplate. “Now we’ll go forward in super slow motion. I want you all to take special note, here we see the capillaries of the eye bursting first, giving the pinkish effect to the iris just before it starts to tear from the lack of pressure. Now here’s the really good part, as the retinal fluid burst through,” but Alexander heard no more. This time there was no stopping that horrible volcano in his stomach. He tossed all bravado aside and dove for his bag; he didn’t make it. With one hand he reached for the bag. With the other he tried to stop the torrent of vomit spewing forth. The remnants of his last breakfast on the farm, eggs, bacon, sausage, strawberry pancakes and toast—a special farewell breakfast—sprayed his desk and the backs of the cadets sitting in front of him.

Alexander was horrified and sickened at the same time. Still, as bad as he felt it was nice to know that James did exactly the same thing. Nor were they alone. The Professor continued on, apparently oblivious of the carnage, and he didn’t stop until he’d exhausted the last second of the file. Only then did he turn to the class and say, “You’ll find cleaning supplies in your desks. Spic and span please, you have fifteen minutes before I have another class—they should be breaking from lunch right about now! Do you have any questions while you clean yourselves and my classroom up?”

“Who was he?” James asked. “It looked like they just threw him in the airlock.”

“And just in time too, didn’t you see him blow up?”

“Well yes, but I thought,” James started.

“My dear boy, you don’t think we threw him out in space just for your academic entertainment, do you?” The professor shook his head and his voice turned quite serious. “Ladies and gentleman, this tape is from the Caliphate Wars. The Fleet Technician was a man by the name of Cain Mahmud. He was a traitor. The Fanatics implanted a small iridium bomb in his femur. On the medical scans it looked like a plate of the type used to repair bone breaks. He served on the hospital ship Mother Theresa, and he served with distinction for two years before this event. The ship had taken on board five thousand colonists from the ravaged settlement on Achaea, men, women and children—all non-combatants. He left his post and headed for the reactor core of the ship. If he’d succeeded the Mother Theresa and all the families on board would have been destroyed.”

Alexander swallowed hard. How, he wondered, could any human being commit to slaughtering innocent civilians? He’d heard stories about the Caliphate Wars, a purely human war. No one said anything brave or honorable about that war, instead they said little or nothing at all.

The Professor said, “We don’t have to worry about that now.” He stabbed at a switch on his control board. The ventilators started to hum and the sickening stench of vomit began to dissipate. “What I do have to worry about is the next class. The mess hall is serving fish today. I don’t know what I did to get them mad; Lord, I hate the stench of vomited fish!”

Ten minutes later, Alexander filed out of the class with the rest of Kilo flight. Alpha flight passed them, wrinkling their noses at the smell and making various smug comments. Alexander simply smiled. No one let the Alpha’s know what they were in for.

Fortunately, they had the next period free. It was obviously to get cleaned up. His afternoon schedule was a microcosm of his daily schedule: Space Physics, Military History—his favorite—Math, PE and finally Weapons Training. As everyone in the flight was going to the same place it was simple or it should have been. They started by following the signs posted on the ship’s walls. The nomenclature was straight forward; i.e. everything had a vertical designation of deck 1, deck 2, deck 3 and so forth. That was easy. Furthermore, the cylindrical pods were divided into ninety degree wedges designated Bow, Starboard, Stern and Port. Even for those who knew nothing about ancient nautical terms it wasn’t that tough a concept. Then things began to get complicated. As with the terminal the ninety degree sections were subdivided into Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and so forth. That was fine, and it worked out quite well considering there were eight different classes of students. For instance, Alexander was a brevet cadet in his probationary year. As a member of Kilo flight he was quartered in the Cadet Pod, Bow Deck 1 Kilo. A third year cadet from the same flight would be in the Cadet Pod as well, Aft Deck 1 Kilo. A fifth year cadet would move up to deck 2 and be quartered in Bow Deck 2 Kilo. It all made perfect sense. They were in the Academic Pod. All they needed to do was to get to the lifts and head down to the Cadet Pod and get off at Deck 1. However, when they arrived at the lift it didn’t work. There was no sign saying it was out of order, but it didn’t come when they punched the button.

They tried various ways of calling the lift, speaking, yelling and hand signals. It never showed up. After three fruitless minutes it was decided that the flight should proceed to the next lift. That would be the most logical way to go about it. They were quartered in the Bow Section so they walked around the curving corridor from the Port Section, where they were, to the Bow Section. That ate up five minutes, so it was doubly frustrating when the Bow lifts didn’t work either.

Another flight arrived. It was Uniform. After them came India and Foxtrot. The area was getting crowded, and everyone was getting frustrated.

“What kind of ship is this, nothing works?” said a cadet.

“It’s not meant to work, they want us to find another way to the Dormitory,” Lisa said, stating the obvious.

Alexander was already in his compad. He brought up the ship’s diagrams and pointed to the central axis of the ship. “The only other way up or down the ship is through the central corridor in the middle of the old Methuselan ship. It says here, that’s the preferred route from one pod to the next during emergencies.”

The lifts were all outboard so they turned around and headed inboard from the lifts. A long axial corridor ran all the way from the outer hull and the lifts of the Academic Pod to the central corridor in the middle of the old alien ship. It was a walk of 300 yards. They started down the corridor and the other flights followed. The first hundred yards went through the pod. There were various classrooms and auditoriums on either side, and the corridor was wide enough for two flights to pass each other without jostling. They reached the interior bulkhead of the pod and passed into the spoke that held the pod onto the Methuselan ship. There were windows along the entire length of the spoke, in fact, for fifty yards the spoke was completely transparent except for the structural ribs and stringers. It was a magnificent sight. Over their heads was the North American continent. It gave Alexander the unsettling feeling that he was walking upside-down. Ahead of them was the mottled metallic green, gray and amber Methuselan ship.

Passing from the open spoke to the interior of the Methuselan ship was a marked contrast in environment. From the bright immensity of space, they walked into to the strange interior of the alien ship. The corridor was slightly concave, made of seemingly raw steel hexagonal plates fused together. The bulkhead walls were held up by huge looping arches of steel. Power couplings were bolted onto the framework, and Alexander could imagine the living energy traversing the ship through these conduits, glowing with the fire of every imaginable color—energy streams in the open instead of cables and conduits.

“They must have used magnetic fields to control the energy streams, I see burn marks by the couplings,” Lisa said.

Alexander saw what she was talking about. Near a group of damaged power coupling the bulkhead was twisted and buckled. The neutral gray color of the metal was charred black. Treya nodded, and said, “The containment fields failed during the battle. The resulting energy release on the interior of the ship killed the vast majority of the crew. It was a significant design flaw. The Methuselans had no concept of what kind of power a Terran battleship or dreadnought could bring to bear. This ship was disabled by a single broadside from the Missouri.”

They continued down toward the center of the ship, trying to guess the function of the pieces of equipment or where a side corridor led or why the corridor suddenly opened up into a wide gallery and then closed again. It was very exciting to be inside an actual alien ship from the core of the galaxy, but nothing prepared them for what they were about to see. The Methuselan ship was vast. It was a mile long and a thousand feet in diameter. It was no wonder the Methuselans discounted a Terran battleship! After walking a hundred and fifty yards into the Methuselan ship the corridor ended. It ended abruptly, and the cadets crowded at the edge of the corridor wide eyed with their mouths hanging open.

CHAPTER 9: Zoots, Zoards, Zikes, Zanks and Zoot Suits

Alexander had never imagined anything so big and empty in his life. Even space didn’t seem so big. Maybe it was because space was too immense to comprehend, but this space, on the inside of the Methuselan ship was mind bogglingly big. It was what looked to be a hollow cylinder running through the center of the ship. It was about two hundred yards wide, or so he guessed, and it ran the entire length of the ship—over a mile from end to end.

The sheer immensity did make Alexander somewhat queasy, but what gave him even more trepidation was the fact that the space wasn’t really empty. There were literally hundreds of people in the space. Some were engineers and scientists working on the ship—they were always discovering knew things about Methuselan technology—most however were cadets. Cadets could be seen jetting through the ether presumably on their way to and from classes. They were also riding or driving various vehicles, but most interesting were the groups of cadets competing at various games as far as the eye could see. There was one group just to their right playing on a spherical “field” with a net in the center. Around the net swarmed two dozen cadets in red or white uniforms. To Alexander’s surprise everyone carried Lacrosse sticks. It was soon clear to Alexander they were simply playing a zero-gravity version of lacrosse! He played lacrosse, but not like this. The cadets zoomed around in jet boots, playing in a spherical set of boundaries instead of within a set of lines painted on a field of grass. Still, he could hardly wait to try it.

“Well cadets what are you all standing there gawking for?”

Five instructors jetted over to the hundred and sixty cadets standing on the edge of space. One was out in front of the others; he wore the eagle insignia of a centurion. He was a brooding, glowering, menacing officer with flaming red hair, brows to match and a long handle-bar mustache—it was Centurion Fjallheim. He put his hands on his hips, gritted his teeth and thrust his lower jaw out so far it looked as if he’d dislocate it. He turned a slow corkscrew before stopping perfectly in front of the cadets, albeit upside-down. “Welcome to your first zero-gravity class. Welcome to the largest zero-G facility inside of space itself. Its designation is the Central Methuselan Axial Zero-Gravity Training and Docking Facility, but we call it the Tube. Got it?”

“Sir, there must be some mix up, we’ve got this period free—our schedule says so,” said one bold cadet, showing him her schedule. There were various nods and assents from other cadets, including one who added, “We’re all covered with throw-up, we need to get in clean uniforms.”

Centurion Fjallheim looked at her in mock surprise and addressed his fellow instructors. “What on Terra could have happened? Could we, the instructors, actually be wrong?”

Alexander grimaced, girding himself for what he knew must happen next, nor was he disappointed.

The Centurion’s face grew beet red, and he shouted, “In all my days of commanding you lackluster so-called cadets I’ve never heard the like! Never, I tell you! Such cheek, such blatant disregard for authority; I’m glad my father isn’t alive to see what’s become of this man’s Legions! You’re all on probation—no—you were on probation, I say ship the whole lot of you back to Terra and have you raking muck the rest of your lives!”

Some of the cadets had no military background whatsoever. They were shaking in their boots, white as ghosts. Even Alexander, who recognized the set up, was dismayed. Then one of the other instructors jetted over to Centurion Fjallheim and whispered something in his ear. Fjallheim nodded, but he looked mightily put out. Grimacing, he addressed the shaken cadets in a more moderate tone of voice. “I’ve been reminded that I can’t send you back to Terra as of yet because no transportation is available. You’ll just have to stay and we’ll be forced to work hard to make something out of you.” He clasped his hands behind his back and began to slowly jet back and forth, up and down, side to side, sometimes addressing them upside-down or while turning slow corkscrews.

“The reason you are scheduled for a free period is to demonstrate the concept of disinformation; that is, we want you to think every time you do something. Just because you’re told you have a free period doesn’t make it so. You need to put away the teachings of Aristotle; instead, Non-Aristotelian, Null-A, thinking goes, “The map is not the territory, the belief is not the fact.” In other words, accept reality as it is, not as you think it is or want to think it is, and adapt to the situation. During your time at the Academy you will train to adapt instantaneously to the requirements of any and every situation no matter how far- fetched it may be.” For some reason, Centurion Fjallheim looked directly at Alexander when he said this. It wasn’t by chance. He whipped himself around and looked right at him. “You must train yourself to accept the requirement of the situation and act on it!” He turned back to his former manner, his tone becoming more congenial. “There is another less nefarious purpose for you being here directly after Professor Cantor’s infamous space physiology class. The most important physical training you will receive at the Academy is zero-G training. Whether you go on to the Legions or to the Fleet, zero-G training will form the foundation of your survival in space and your ability to fight anywhere in the galaxy.”

He smiled and laughed. “Of course it’s a new environment for your body, so if you’ve got anything left in your stomachs you’re about to lose it! No sense in having you go clean up when you’re going to get messed up again is there?”

Alexander laughed nervously as did most of the others.

He rubbed his hands together in glee, beaming, “From now until the day you graduate the only way to get from one pod to the next will be through the Tube. As you can see, there is no gravity here. Gravity itself is simply energy transmitted in the form of gravitons. Gravity can be generated through mass as with any celestial body or conglomeration of matter; mechanically through centrifugal force; or artificially by the generation of gravitons. The floor you’re standing on emits gravitons of a certain polarization creating an artificial gravity field. The gravitons allow us to bend space in any way we want by altering the spin. We could just as easily generate that field from the wall or the ceiling. Everything is relative.” Again he looked at Alexander. “The floor is only the floor because that is where the gravity field is generated; the floor could just as easily be the ceiling.” He looked away again, and it struck Alexander forcibly. His father used that analogy, in fact, his father often talked of the Non-Aristotelian way of thinking. He said exactly the same things to Alexander as he grew up. Dad, how can you be a cowboy one minute and a spaceship captain the next? Son, I am what I need to be according to what the situation dictates—I adapt.

It was too strange to be a coincidence, but what on Terra could it mean?

“Now, you will adapt, and soon zero-G will become second nature to you. You’ll see why presently. Let’s start with the basics. Cadets, put on your gloves please.” Alexander took out his pair of black gloves tucked in his belt. He put them on. They were soft and malleable, like the softest suede gloves he’d ever seen on the farm—no good for hard work. These had long cuffs climbing almost halfway up his forearm.

Centurion Fjallheim nodded and held up a hand. “There are jets in your gloves that fire when you squeeze your hand into a fist.” He made a fist with his right hand. There was a sharp puff of gas and he started to wheel away from the direction his hand pointed. He opened his hand and steadied himself by making his palm flat. A reverse jet fired and he reversed his direction and then stopped.

“Now you try it.”

Alexander made a fist with both hands and jets of air obediently puffed out of the knuckles of the glove. He flattened his hand and the jets came out of the cuff at his wrist. There were lots of “oohs” and “aahs.”

“The jets in your gloves are stabilizing jets. Your primary source of propulsion is in your zero-G boots or zoots for short. You activate them by pointing your toes.” He did so and began to move upward. “The more you point your feet the more thrust you get, but the tricky thing is that there’s no reverse. To stop, you need to bring your legs forward like this and hit the brakes!” He tucked like a diver doing a reverse gainer and thrust his legs out in front. The jets roared to life, slowing him down to a stop and then propelling him back toward them.

“That’s basic zero-G maneuvering, which you will start momentarily. During your probationary year and your first year you will be restricted to zero-G maneuvering via zoots. So let’s get started. Everybody out here, come on, on the double!”

No one moved. Despite the obvious fact that Centurion Fjallheim and the other instructor’s weren’t falling, to Alexander who stood uncomfortably close to the steel edge it sure looked like a cliff. He knew there was no up and there was no down. His senses and his experiences as a land-locked sentient being all told him there was an up and that was fine, but there was also a down and that meant bad things. He tried to tell himself that this was the exact thing his father talked to him about, the exact circumstance that Centurion Fjallheim reminded him of. The map is not the territory; the space is not a fall. I’m not going to fall! He couldn’t move.

“No takers eh?” Centurion Fjallheim laughed. Inexplicably he jetted over to Alexander. “How about you Cadet Wolfe; you look like the adventuring type. Come on, take a step away out here and try it out.”

Alexander had no choice, he couldn’t even hesitate. Screwing up his face to look as unconcerned as possible he took a step out. He expected to fall at least a little. Instead, his momentum carried him out and away from the edge of the corridor. His left foot landed on nothing, it was like pedaling a non-existent bicycle. His foot, however, was programmed to reach for the ground, but when it found nothing a burst of adrenaline shot through him—fear. Even though he wasn’t falling, his body knew that he must be falling because he wasn’t in contact with terra firma. Alexander automatically looked down and the feeling of fear grew worse. There was nothing below him for over half a mile. Even the knowledge that he wasn’t falling wasn’t enough to make up for his bodies instinctive reaction to the new environment. Still, he didn’t panic. He wanted to, but the chuckles and laughs from the other cadets steeled him to the task. His abortive first step had him turning a slow somersault and drifting forward. That meant he should fire one of his glove jets—for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. I hope Newton was right!

Carefully, Alexander fired his left glove to try and stop the somersault. It stopped the somersault alright, but he began to twist around to his left. Of course, I have to fire both gloves otherwise I’m firing off my center-of-axis, so that’s what Doctor Strauss meant in science class! He fired his right glove and slowed to a stop. That left him cockeyed. Slowly and very methodically he maneuvered himself upright again and jetted over to Centurion Fjallheim.

“Don’t be afraid to use your zoots, just use your gloves to stabilize your flight!”

He did so, and for some reason it felt very right.

“Outstanding,” Centurion Fjallheim applauded. “You’re a natural!” He waved at the other cadets, and called, “Everybody out, come on!”

After seeing Alexander do it, the cadets spilled off the steel edge of the corridor like lemmings into the sea. Of course, a good number were still squeamish. Their fellow cadets pushed them into the Tube in their eagerness to try what Alexander had already done.

“Now everyone spread out, we have this whole section of the Tube. Give yourself some flying room!”

The cadets tried to do as he told them, but there were four flights of inexperienced fliers, one hundred and sixty cadets all vying for flying space. They ran into each other, ran into the walls of the Tube or simply spun out of control. To make matters worse, the inevitable disorientation of zero-G made many if not most of the cadets sick—again. Streams of vomit began to circulate around the Tube. Instructors were dashing in and around the whirling bundle of cadets, trying to give instruction, prevent injury and avoid the vomit minefields. With that in mind, Alexander pointed his toes and jetted away from the danger zone, intent on practicing. He was only about twenty yards away when he saw Treya rise out of the mess and head toward him, perfectly under control.

“Treya, you can fly,” he exclaimed.

“I can zoot,” she corrected him, laughing. “Of course, they teach us zero-G maneuvering in grammar school; it’s always been that way. You’re doing well, very well, are you sure it’s your first time?”

“Yes it is,” he said quickly, a bit stung that she might think he was trying to show off. “I never had a chance to do this on Terra. The closest I came to flying was riding a horse.”

Her eyebrows went up and she smiled widely, showing her sharp Chem canines. “You rode a horse, how wonderfully barbaric! I never got a chance to ride any animal on Chem.”

“Yeah I guess it was kind of cool,” Alexander said, not really knowing how to react to something he saw as backwards. He began experimenting with his jets again. “I got a long way to go before I really know what I’m doing, so I better start practicing.” He moved up using his zoots, then by judicially using one glove and then the other he began a few lazy turns.

Treya kept right with him, calling out encouragement. She flew around him effortlessly, like a mother bird with her fledgling flyer. It was very irritating. “Do you mind?” Alexander exclaimed angrily.

“No, not at all, I already know all about zooting! I can’t wait to try out the other things you humans have invented though. They look like loads of fun.”

He looked back at her, “What are you talking about?” While he did that he forgot to look where he was flying. Wham! He hit something hard. It knocked the wind out of him and sent him tumbling. The Tube whirled around him so fast Alexander had no idea how to stop his spinning. He tried a few cursory blasts but he spun faster not slower. The whirling lights and blurred objects started to make him feel ill. Pride gave way to panic, “Treya!”

A hand closed around his wrist, and her reassuring voice said, “Got you!” She brought him under control and the Tube came into focus again. “You’re going to have to learn how to recover if you’re going to start playing sports,” she told him.

“Thanks, but what happened; what did I run in to?”

“Me!” The voice was harsh, and Alexander twisted around to see a dark skinned humanoid that was definitely not human. He was taller than Alexander, but had something of Treya’s features; he was either another Chem or their bellicose cousins the Golkos. He zooted over to Alexander and thumped him in the chest. “What’s the big idea?”

“Sorry, I didn’t see you; I’m just learning to zoot,” he replied quickly, half angry, half flustered because it really was his fault.

“What are you doing over here,” he demanded. “We’ve got this space for practice. Get back where you belong.”

“Cool your jets,” Treya snapped, her eyes turning purplish red. “You’re a cadet just like us. You can’t tell us what to do!”

He got right into her face, baring his teeth in a snarl, and Alexander saw that they were just as sharp as Treya’s. “You Chem are so high and mighty,” he said viciously. “I don’t bow to you effete snobs; I’ll put you in your place!”

He grabbed Treya’s uniform by the collar and tossed her over his shoulder. Alexander erupted in anger, something he inherited from his father—much to his father’s dislike. He curled his toes and pointed his feet. His zoots came to life, sending him flying at the taller boy. He grabbed the Golkos but his momentum carried him and the alien boy whirling away into the space of the Tube. Pushing and shoving in zero-G was different than anything Alexander had ever experienced, but their wild flight was largely lost on him. He was too busy fighting the alien boy to notice how they careened all over the Tube. Despite the vast interior space they managed to get in the way of a lacrosse game, of course called Z-Crosse for the special environment in which they played, careening through the players and directly into the net. That didn’t stop them but it slowed them down.

This didn’t go un-noticed.

Large hands and bodies grappled them, slowing down their flight and then stopping them altogether. One set of hands pinned Alexander by the shoulders but he noticed with satisfaction that another pair of hands did the same to the alien boy.

“This isn’t over between us Terran!” the boy snapped, his canines clicking together menacingly.

“That’s enough out of both of you,” growled a stern voice. Alexander looked up to see Centurion Fjallheim. The Centurion was not happy. “If there’s one thing we won’t stand for in the Academy it’s fighting amongst ourselves,” he glared at the alien boy, cutting him off. “I don’t care who you are or who you’re related to Cadet Khandar,” and he turned back to Alexander, “and that goes for you too, Cadet Wolfe!”

“Wolfe,” gasped the alien boy, as if someone shot him. He glared with bestial fury at Alexander. “Your father assassinated my father!”

Alexander stared at him in dumbfounded disbelief.

“You two were bound to run into each other, but let me make myself perfectly clear, you will not kill each other while Centurion Fjallheim is the Officer of Discipline in this Academy!” He glared at them both until they shrank away from his volcanic eyes. Finally, he pounded his fist into his other hand in anger. “I don’t care who killed who in your families, you two will get along as brother officers! To start you down that long path of brotherhood you’ll stand watch together from 2200 hours to 0200 hours while all your classmates are asleep. Report to me on the Bridge at 2200 hours for briefing—dismissed!” Fjallheim turned in mid air and jetted away.

The cadet behind Alexander let him go, whispering, “Hey buddy, don’t get on Centurion Fjallheim’s bad side, we don’t call him “Centurion Pain” for nothing. As for the Golkos kid, watch your back! He’s got diplomatic immunity. He could kill you, but they wouldn’t dare kick him out of the Academy. Watch him; the Golkos don’t play fair at anything. Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Alexander said weakly, realizing that he’d somehow he’d started out about as badly as he could. He jetted back toward his classmates and Treya joined him.

“You sure know how to pick enemies,” she said shaking her head.

“Do you know him?”

“That’s Janus Khandar, son of Grand Admiral Khandar of the Golkos. He was the one responsible for bombarding Terra in the Ascension Wars.”

“He seems to think my dad is responsible for,” he stopped, he couldn’t even say it. How could his dad be responsible for the murder of Janus Khandar’s dad? Sure, his dad served in the Fleet but that was it. There hadn’t been war in the galaxy since the Caliphate wars ended seventy-five years ago—his dad wasn’t even born!

“I don’t know,” she said. “What did your dad do? I assume he was a Fleet or Legionary Officer.”

“He was a Fleet Officer, but not a Captain or anything,” Alexander protested. “Now he has his own freighter and he runs our ranch. Khandar’s got me confused with someone else!”

“He’s a Golkos,” she shrugged. “He’s not likely to let truth or logic get in the way of revenge. You’ll be better off staying away from him.”

“Great, I’ve got to stand watch with him tonight!” Alexander sighed. They reached their flight and none too soon. Centurion Fjallheim was ordering everyone to line up. His sharp eyes rested on Alexander for just a second. It was long enough. He hurried into place next to Lisa and James.

“Where have you been?” Lisa said, giving him a withering glance. Alexander couldn’t tell whether it was for being absent or being with Treya. Treya jetted expertly up and hovered on the other side of Alexander from Lisa.

“I’ve been making friends; the wrong kind of friends, it seems!”

“That’s for sure,” Treya nodded.

Lisa was put out. “Well you need to stop doing whatever you’re doing. Centurion Fjallheim and the other instructors were talking about you. Alexander, I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to lay low!” She whispered the last words so emphatically that Centurion Fjallheim noticed.

“Cadet Miller!” he barked, and Lisa straightened up with a jerk. Unfortunately, the automatic reaction caused her to point her feet and she involuntarily jetted up above everyone else. Alexander reached for her, grabbing her foot as she whooshed by, but this wasn’t on dry land. She pulled him right out of line, and his weight caused her to begin to tumble to the side. They ran into each other, cart-wheeling out of control for about twenty feet before they fired their jets to stop—much to the amusement of Centurion Fjallheim and the rest of the flight. “That’s a very pretty demonstration of how not to do it!” the centurion announced. “Now if you don’t mind, we have a simple hands-on demonstration of the various modes of transportation you will use in the Service. Of course, you’re progressing from one to the next depends on mastering what you’re doing now. Your basic form of transportation in zero-G will be zoots, but when you master that the next step up is the zero-G board, or zoard, as demonstrated by Ensign Meir.”

The Golf flight instructor Ensign Meir, a petit brunette with a bowl-like haircut, displayed a meter long piece of plastic with two straps for boots. She stuck her toes in them and began to zoom around the Tube. The Centurion gave them a running commentary. “As you can see, a zoard is just as maneuverable as zoots but faster. Zoards come in several sizes and configurations ranging from this basic model to the combat scout zoots used by the Legionary cavalry.”

It was a good question, but Alexander didn’t know the answer. He’d always been disappointed in what his dad did for a living. That wasn’t to say he didn’t look up to his dad—he did, but being a rancher and a freighter Captain wasn’t very impressive stuff. What if he was a Spook? The Rangers were a prestigious group, if they were real, but there was a dark side to them that Alexander didn’t feel comfortable with at all. He’d rather believe his dad was nothing than his being something that was so—he couldn’t find the word to describe what he was feeling. He ignored James’s remark and focused on Centurion Fjallheim, anything to avoid the subject.

“Looks like fun eh? Well those of you lucky enough to have skiing or snowboarding experience should pick this up quick. Ensign Meir is the reigning 3D slalom champion of the Service and competed in last year’s Astro-Olympics.” Next he demonstrated the zero-G bikes or zikes. Like the zoards they came in basic models as well as armed Legion models. The zanks were logically zero-G tanks and strictly legionary weapon systems. They carried a crew of one to three legionaries, depending on whether it was a scout sized vehicle with rapid fire blasters or the hulking Tiger class zank with the level eight blaster projector mounted on a rotating turret.

“You will be proficient in each one of these weapon systems before you graduate from the Academy, and indeed before you are designated for either the Legions or the Fleet.” Fjallheim waved the Tiger over to the next flight. “Are there any questions?”

Alexander was eager to make up for his mounting list of mistakes. He’d talked all summer about the Academy with Dad. One day Alexander remembered him talking about the various zero-G vehicles. “It doesn’t matter how good you get on the zoard or the zike,” he said seriously, trying to give Alexander a head start. “You concentrate on your zoots. When everything else goes to hell and a hand basket that’s what will save your bacon—that is, unless you get a zoot suit. That’s a whole ‘nother ball game.” This was his chance to make up for his screw-ups.

“What about zoot suits,” he asked.

Centurion Fjallheim turned white.

CHAPTER 10: Academy Ups and Downs

The centurion stared at Alexander, but then suddenly he laughed. “Good one, Cadet Wolfe, that’s very funny—Zoot Suits!” He turned to the rest of the flight and laughed again. “For those of you who don’t know what a zoot suit is it’s early twentieth century clothing; a very fancy and flamboyant suit worn for dancing. There’s no such thing now, of course, but thanks for the bit of levity Cadet Wolfe. That’s a perfect way to end things!” He put a whistle to his mouth and blew three blasts on it. “That’s all for today. Class, atten-tion!” A full quarter of the flight did exactly what Lisa did and jetted upwards. There was a general amount of repressed laughter. After everyone was back in line, Fjallheim announced, “Diiiiismissed!”

Alexander couldn’t help but notice Fjallheim gave him a long dark glance before he left.

“What was that all about?” Alexander said, more to himself than anyone else.

“What do you mean,” Lisa asked, astonished at his naivety. “You go and blatantly ask about something that probably doesn’t exist, and if it does it’s so impossibly secret that even the Commandant wouldn’t joke about it! Zoot Suits are supposedly what Spooks use to get around; they don’t even need ships within a system, just the Zoot Suit. They’ve got another nickname, but it’s not so nice—it’s ‘the Angel of Death.’”

“Lisa’s right Alexander,” James added with a very serious expression on his lean face. “Leave it alone. We’re cadets. We’re not even supposed to know the rumors of stuff like that—unless your dad really was a Spook.”

“He wasn’t, so stop saying he was,” Alexander growled under his breath, throwing James a furious glare.

“Alright Alexander, I won’t say it anymore,” the boy shrugged. “For God’s sake I wasn’t trying to dis your dad; I mean, if he was that’d be cool—really cool. I won’t say it again if it bothers you though.”

“Really Alexander, you shouldn’t take it so seriously,” Treya told him. “People may be afraid of the Terran Rangers, if they exist that is, but they think they’re around to do good not bad. They keep the peace in the frontier where there’s no other law or justice. Why does this freak you out?”

“I just can’t picture my dad blasting people away like the stories say,” he said in a low, hardly to be heard voice. “I can’t see him as that bloodthirsty. He’s my dad, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry about it Alexander,” Lisa told him. “We won’t say anything more about it; will we?” She looked scathingly at the other two.

“No we won’t,” they promised.

Classes were both exciting and sobering. The first day of any class was always exciting for Alexander. This was even more so. Military History was his favorite, nor was he disappointed. The instructor was Commander Gauge, a tall aristocratic looking woman who nonetheless had a flair for the dramatic events of history.

“You have already been part of the privileged few to see with your own eyes the USS Iowa, the flagship of Alexander Galaxus, the first and thus far the only Overlord of the known galaxy.” She paced the room, gazing at every student with her sharp gray eyes as if estimating how attentive they were, or worse, how well they would do in her class. It seemed to Alexander that she was already handing out the final grades before there was even a test. The thought caused him to sit bolt upright. She smiled slightly. “Some of you may simply think the Iowa was a neat old wreck, but I assure you, you will think much differently of her by the time I’m through with you.”

Alexander didn’t know whether he worshipped Commander Gauge or feared her; perhaps it was both.

Every Instructor referenced their homework, already loaded in their compads. Privately, Alexander wondered how they were going to do their homework and sleep—then he remembered detention, and groaned. Forget about everyone else; for him it would be patently impossible.

His last class was Weapons Familiarization. The Instructor was Lieutenant Sheur, a Chem. He was tall and lean like most Chem and Golkos, but his eyes lacked any pupils so it was exceedingly difficult to tell what he was thinking. Alexander never realized just how much you could tell from a person’s eyes. He strode up and down the classroom in silence for a full five minutes before he said a single word. At length he sighed, “There will be no levity in this classroom—is that perfectly understood? First of all, we Chem have no sense of humor. Second, weapons do not care whether they are used against enemies or friends; they do not care if they are used accidently or with deadly purpose. There will be no—how do you humans say it—no, Tom foolery. There will be no inattention. If I have to write your parents a letter telling them how you had your bowels blown out through your ear, I will be seriously displeased.”

He stopped and looked them over, his luminous blue eyes turning reddish-purple. Alexander figured that meant he was mad. That was a color to avoid, but he’d have to ask Treya about it.

Lieutenant Sheur began to stalk about the room again. “I will instruct you on the care, maintenance and employment of all Fleet and Legion weapon systems. To ease your misgivings, I must inform you that I am outstanding at my job. If you listen and follow my instructions you will all be competent in weapons employment from the proper use of the combat knife to the use of a long range express rifle. In addition, you will receive a basic familiarization with every type of weapon we employ and many weapon systems of alien,” he smiled at the word, showing his sharp platinum colored canines, “cultures. Before you graduate some of you may even have the opportunity to fire a broadside from a battleship.”

There was a chorus of excited gasps, including Alexander. That seemed to please Lieutenant Sheur. His eyes turned a slightly lighter shade of blue. Alexander took note of that.

“Very well, we have fifteen Terran minutes left in class. Before dismissal I want every one of you to have fired ten shots from a blaster. Follow me to the firing range!” The firing range was conveniently located next to the classroom. There was a long line of firing platforms and each one had the name of a cadet above the platform. Alexander found his and stepped into it. A small gray blaster with a bulbous end waited for him. He didn’t touch it.

“Cadet Johansen, Scott, Barret . . .” the Lieutenant ran through a list of a dozen names. “I did not give you permission to pick up your weapon. You will stand down from your firing platforms and watch. Each of you take two demerits for failure to follow instructions!”

Alexander breathed a sigh of relief. At least this time he hadn’t been the one to mess up.

“Don’t be too sure!” Alexander jumped. Somehow Lieutenant Sheur was right behind him. The Chem looked down at him as if reading his mind, and said, “Don’t be so sure that you won’t be next.” His gaze stayed on Alexander for a moment. “I do not put up with any lack of discipline in this class or on this range. Stay attentive and you will almost assuredly learn something that will save your life one day!”

Lieutenant Sheur left Alexander’s firing platform and began to instruct the cadets, those that would fire that day, the basics of shooting a blaster. Alexander took special care to do everything the Lieutenant said and nothing more. When it came time to fire, he was surprised at the lack of recoil. He didn’t know why he expected it, but maybe it was because firing the blaster was nothing like it appeared in the movies. There was no kick, but he did feel a flash of heat on his hands and there was an acrid odor of ozone. He hit the target at ten meters all ten times, not always in the center, but still he hit the target. Lieutenant Sheur stopped by his platform and studied the target. Nodding his head, he said, “Not bad Cadet Wolfe, not bad at all. Have you ever fired a blaster before?”

“No sir.”

“Really,” he replied, seemingly surprised. “You mean your father never taught you to shoot?”

“I’ve fired ballistic weapons, sir,” Alexander answered, wondering whether the question was generic or meant that the Lieutenant had heard of his father as well. “We hunt on the island. I’m familiar with both a rifle and a pistol.”

“It has transferred to energy weapons, which is all to the good,” Lieutenant Sheur smiled. “You have the eye of your father.” Alexander gasped at yet another instructor who seemed to know of his father. The Chem turned to walk on, but stopped. Quickly, in barely a whisper, he said, “Be alert tonight on the bridge. There are many ghosts wandering around there, and some spirits that are not wholesome at all!”

Alexander had no idea what Lieutenant Sheur might mean. What spirits could there be on the bridge of the Academy? He put his blaster back in its cradle and left with the rest of his flight.

At the cadet’s mess they ate as a flight. The mess hall encompassed all of Deck 14, the uppermost deck of the Dormitory Pod. It was arranged like a huge wheel with the food dispensers in the center around the hub through which the Tube ran. Radiating outward like spokes on a wagon wheel were the twenty-six flight tables. The other members of Kilo flight were there as well, all seven years worth. The more senior the cadets the closer they sat to the food dispensers. That meant that Alexander was about as far away as he could get and he and his tablemates had to carry their trays a full hundred meters to their table.

There was something of a reward for eating in the mess hall, however. The panels between the spidery support structures were made of transparent aluminum. It gave the cadets a wondrous view of Terra with Luna rising over the blue Pacific Ocean. The best view was from the outermost seats, which was just as it should be. The more senior cadets lived with this wonderful vista for years and they didn’t appreciate it nearly as much anymore.

The food was good. Actually, it was excellent. Alexander had pot roast, mashed potatoes, corn, cornbread and chocolate cake. It was a welcome change from venison. At least they weren’t going to starve him to death. Between mouthfuls they all reflected on their day. Alexander sighed, “It’s hard to believe I was slogging through the mud to feed the horses this morning and now I’m here.” Looking up over his head he could see Puget Sound. He could even pick out the green irregularly shaped form of Vashon Island. He imagined the old farmhouse they lived in, and though he couldn’t see it, he could see where it should be. There, so close he could reach out and touch it with his finger, that’s where his parents and sister were sitting down to dinner right now. They’d be saying grace. That reminded him that he’d forgotten. Quickly he crossed himself and said a silent prayer.

“You religious,” asked James, wolfing down a double cheeseburger as if he’d wanted one for a year but couldn’t afford it—which was probably true.

Alexander never considered the question before. He was Catholic. He’d always had faith. He never even considered why, but he felt pressured to respond. His dad had always said, when you don’t know the answer just relax and say the first thing that comes into your head, that’s usually as right as you’ll get. He shrugged back, and said, “I don’t feel so alone, especially in a place like this.”

James took another bite out of his burger and nodded. “Makes sense,” he mumbled through stuffed cheeks and pushed in some French fries for good measure.

“Are you nervous about tonight?” Lisa asked.

He forced himself to say “No, I’m more nervous about getting my homework done and getting through tomorrow on a half a night’s sleep.”

“We’ll help with the homework,” Treya said, and she looked between the four of them. “We’ve all got the same homework. We should all do it together.”

They all nodded and finished up. Everyone had the same idea, so they all returned to the dorm to do their homework. A few senior cadets showed up to welcome them to the Kilo flight. They said a few things that no one remembered and then advised them to break into groups to do their homework. Each group took a few questions from each class and when everyone was done they shared and/or debated the answers. That advice was really worth while, but the most important thing the senior cadets did was to ensure everyone got in a group. Alexander felt he was lucky. He was really lucky to already be with some friends, which was unusual for him. Left to his own devices, he’d probably have spent the day by himself, not daring to join anyone. The senior cadets made sure that didn’t happen. They took the loners or the pairs and put them in groups that needed extra cadets. “We’re all family here; that’s the only way you can get through. No one gets through alone. It’s like the credo for the Service: “Never leave a soldier behind.” It all starts here, so get to know each other and get used to it.”

So, despite the hectic, trying, strange and exciting day in the end they all settled back into a family, which was what they lost in the first place. Every cadet was ready to turn in earlier than they were used to, everyone that is except Alexander. His detention tour began at 10:00 pm; that is 2200 hours military time. That was already later than he was used to staying up, so he set his alarm for half an hour prior and turned in with everyone else, lying down in his third tier bunk still dressed in his uniform. He thought to sleep for a while, but in reality he couldn’t. The trepidation of detention, the excitement of the day, the questions about his father, all of it played over and over again in his mind. He couldn’t sleep. The clock ticked past twenty-one hundred and he decided to give up and open his eyes, but that’s when Alexander nodded off. His alarm rang a few minutes later.

He shimmied groggily out of bed, yawning as he straightened his uniform. Then he headed for the Tube. The huge open space seemed even vaster now that it was empty. There was no one in it, not even research crews, and that made it eerie indeed. The lights were sporadic, creating long dark shadows between levels and in the strange as yet unexplained voids in the Methuselan bulkheads. Holding his breath, Alexander stepped out into the empty space and jetted upwards toward the bow and the Bridge. His flight was unsteady at first but he got more comfortable as he went and his trajectory smoothed out. As he slipped through the cool air of the Tube there was no sound but the soft whisper of his zoots and his own breathing. Despite the knowledge that there were literally thousands of cadets, officers and researchers on the space station he felt entirely alone. It was literally as if he were the last person in the Academy.

After jetting past the Academic Pod, the Science Pod, the hanger bays and the barracks, Alexander reached the Bridge. It was over half a mile from his dormitory. Landing was something he didn’t quite have a handle on, and he came in too fast, tumbling to the deck awkwardly. He was glad no one was around to see. He took the lift to the Bridge because that’s what the sign next to the ladder said to do. He entered the lift and pressed the icon that said “Bridge” next to it. The doors closed with a whoosh! The lift went perceptibly up and the doors opened with the same whoosh!

He stepped out on the Bridge Deck at 2350 with ten minutes to spare!

There were half a dozen Fleet officers at the various stations on deck. They all looked at him. The one in the Command Chair asked, “Who are you cadet and what are you doing here?”

CHAPTER 11: The Iowa

Alexander plucked up his courage. “Cadet Wolfe reporting for detention as ordered sir!”

The Officers exchanged glances and chuckled. “Oh,” smiled the Commander, “you’ve got the Bridge Watch, right?”

“Yes sir,” Alexander said, but his heart was already falling. Had he messed up again? How?

“Right idea Cadet Wolfe but the wrong Bridge,” he told Alexander. “You need to be on the Iowa’s Bridge, and I suggest you hurry.”

Gulp! “Yes sir!” Alexander stammered, crushed by the realization that he’d screwed up twice on his very first day at the Academy. He wouldn’t last a week; what would his father think? He fought back a sudden misting of his eyes, saluted and turned toward the lift.

An officer stepped up to him, reading the distress in his face. “Cadet use the emergency exit,” he said, opening a circular hatch next to the lift. “It spits you right out into the Tube. When you get into the Tube use everything you’ve got in your zoots. Remember, the Iowa is docked on the Terminal Pod, take the Starboard Corridor right to the gangway. If you press it, you just might make it. Good Luck!”

“Thank you sir!” he exclaimed with renewed hope and he leapt headfirst into the emergency exit. The exit was a tube itself, kind of like a torpedo tube. As soon as he was inside he felt a rush of air and he was expelled out of the little tube into the big dark Tube. He didn’t waste time trying to orient himself. He had over a half a mile to go to get to the Terminal Pod. Alexander pointed his head to the far end of the Tube, curled his toes and rocked his feet down.

Whoosh! He heard the jets of his zoots fire. They accelerated him slowly at first, which was fortunate. He’d never tried full power right off the bat and he zigzagged wildly. Determined, Alexander didn’t let up. He kept his feet pointed and his toes curled they kept firing, using his gloves to stabilize his course as he kept accelerating. The lights of the pods began to whizz by at tremendous speeds but still he kept accelerating. Gauging his position in the Tube Alexander began to cheat over toward the Starboard corridor openings. Now he could hear the openings to the corridors whoosh as he sped by them. He had no idea how fast he was going, but it suddenly occurred to him he was going to have to stop. As he came to that realization he saw the Dormitory Pod speed by. The Terminal was right beneath the Dormitory! Alexander curled up and reversed direction, thrusting his legs out in front and continuing to fire his zoots.

The Terminal Pod came rushing up. He thrust his hands out and fired the thrusters of his gloves. Ever so slowly he began to decelerate. He pointed his feet even more, making sure he got every bit of thrust out of his zoots. He came to a bobbing halt right in front of the Starboard entrance to the Terminal corridor. He fired his zoots one last time and leapt into the corridor. He fell, tumbling to the deck, but it didn’t stop him. He got up and ran straight away, one hundred yards to the airlock for the Iowa. He could see it. Alexander didn’t wait, he didn’t think. He was looking for the mechanism to open the airlock fifty yards before he got there. He saw it, a green lighted switch to the right. He hit it with the palm of his hand before he even came to a stop.

The airlock opened with a clang and he rushed down the gangway. The airlock at the far end was similar and he opened that in the same way. Rushing through he found himself on the Iowa, but he wasn’t on the Bridge yet. His breath rasping through his clenched teeth, his side aching with exertion, Alexander looked wildly around. There on the walls, the word “Bridge” painted in red next to an arrow that pointed up. The directions were next to a ladder. Alexander flew up the rungs through one deck, two and then onto the open space that was the Bridge of the immortal Iowa.

Janus Khandar was there before him, smirking at Alexander being out of breath and tardy. Centurion Fjallheim stood with hands clasped behind his back and a frown on his face. He glowered at Alexander.

“Cadet Wolfe reporting for detention as ordered sir!”

Khandar shuddered at the mention of his name.

Centurion Fjallheim looked at Alexander, who was trying his best to regulate his breathing to something more normal. The Captain looked at his watch. “Ten seconds to spare cadet, that’s cutting it close, very close!”

“Sir, yes sir!” Alexander wheezed triumphantly. He made it!

Centurion Fjallheim paced the Bridge, shaking his head, “Do you know what this man’s Fleet runs on, cadet? Regulations, that’s what it runs on. What is the speed limit in the Tube?”

Alexander’ mind whirled. He had no idea. He could guess, but that wasn’t going to work. He paused and took a deep breath. “I have no idea sir!”

Centurion Fjallheim stopped in front of him and said, “Your ignorance is understandable; that information is in tomorrow’s PE class. I think after today we’ll brief it on the first day. After all, there’s a reason for such regulations.” He paused and stroked his mustache. “For your information cadet, the speed limit in the Tube is fifty kilometers an hour. You were flying three times that—pretty nifty flying if you ask me!”

“Thank you sir!” Alexander exclaimed, unable to squelch a smile.

“At ease cadets,” the Captain said, and his visage grew stern again. “You have the watch. For the next two hours you will stand watch on the Iowa. You will not leave the Bridge until relieved. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir!” they said.

“I have one piece of advice for you,” he said sternly. Alexander listened intently but what the centurion said made no sense at all. “Don’t call the dead to battle; you won’t realize what you have done!” He nodded as if he’d given them the clearest possible instructions. “Carry on,”

Centurion Fjallheim left down the ladder.

A moment later, the sounds of Fjallheim’s footsteps faded. Alexander looked around. He hadn’t yet had a chance to look at the famous Bridge of the Iowa, where Alexander himself directed the defense of Terra and the defeat of the Golkos invasion fleet. He knew the history of the battle well enough, and he’d seen countless pictures and film at the library and on Holo-V, but now he was here on that very Bridge himself!

It wasn’t as large a place as the Holo-V made it to be. It was perhaps twelve meters wide and deep, tapering toward the bow. The original battleship bridge was a low ceilinged room, but the overhead deck was removed to make it a more impressive space; after all, the bridge was where commanders exchanged communications with adversaries and dignitaries, it had to be more than simply functional. It was here, on this bridge, maybe even on this spot, that Alexander at once subjugated the Scythian Empire and brokered the peace with Nazeera of Chem, making Terra an empire onto herself.

In that respect, there wasn’t much left of the bridge to promote grandeur, unless it was that the forward part of the ceiling and much of the forward bulkhead were torn away. Where the main screen once showed tactical displays there was now nothing but space. An emergency sustaining field closed the void to the vacuum of space, but the ten meter long rip in the hull showed the universe vaulting across and over the bridge. The long sharp prow of the Iowa clove through a field of stars, the blaster scarred main guns still pointing threateningly into space—purposefully pointed to the constellation of Taurus where the Golkos invasion fleet emerged from superluminal one hundred and eighty-six Terran years ago.

The starlight was the main illumination for the bridge, causing the shadows to be long and stark. What remained had been cleaned up. There was no debris on the deck. There were no bodies hanging in their harnesses. Even the discarded blasters and boarding knives were long gone. What was left wasn’t the awe inspiring place where courage won Terra a place in the hierarchy of space; no, what remained was a sense of devastation. The place was a shambles. The long curving control board dominating the center of the space was ripped open or ripped apart. The station seats remained bolted to the deck but many were twisted in macabre shapes, making Alexander cringe at the thought of the men and women who’d been sitting there. The stations and displays along the flank bulkheads were likewise damaged, and what made things even more eerie, almost as if the battle had just ended, were the arcs of plasma and electricity still dancing over the control boards after over a century and a half. It made the bridge lighting flash and dim irregularly, lending the place a tense feeling, like a wound that refused to heal. It was as if the Iowa was still dying, but it wasn’t quite a dead ship—not yet.

On the upper deck of the bridge, only paces from where Alexander stood, was the chair. It leaned somewhat askew now, but that took away none of its majesty. It was a high backed seat, and across the back there was what appeared to be an animal pelt. Alexander realized that’s exactly what it was; the Banthror pelt Alexander wore during his trials on Pantrixnia and on to his ascension as Galactic Overlord. On the pelt were the badges of Alexander’s conquests. For some reason, by some trick of the intermittent light, the badge of Golkos stood out brighter than the others.

He heard the sharp intake of Khandar’s breath and remembered he wasn’t alone.

Khandar was looking at the badge as well. He stepped forward, his luminous blue eyes locked on it. They flushed crimson and he reached a hand for the badge as if to pluck it and the dishonor of defeat from the Banthror pelt.

“Stop!”

Khandar froze, looking back at Alexander with a snarl but saying nothing.

“We can’t touch anything, especially that; you know that!” Alexander told him, the danger of the desecration being greater in his reaction than the threat of the hateful Golkos.

Khandar fought for self control, his mouth twisting as if trying to form words, his hand reaching but then closing scant centimeters from the badge. He stepped back and turned away. Breathing hard, he fought for self control. He astonished Alexander by turning to him and saying, “Thank you, I almost forgot myself for a moment. That’s the one thing that could have gotten me kicked out of the Academy.” His eyes burned red for a fleeting moment. “I could kill you and that might be forgiven considering my family ties, but to desecrate something of Alexander himself here at the center of Terran power,” he shook his head, as if he couldn’t finish the sentence. “Even my father would condemn me; I couldn’t live with that.”

“Your father—why?” exclaimed Alexander, mystified by the Golkos’s venomous hatred.

“Because he led the invasion fleet,” Khandar told him. “Don’t you know who I am? Grand Admiral Khandar is my father. He led the invasion fleet to Terra, but he lost to Alexander. Still, it was Alexander who allowed my father to regain his honor and attain everlasting glory against the Methuselans. My father owed his honor to Alexander, as do I. He recalled it often.”

Alexander couldn’t help but say, “If this is the center of Terran power, we’re—all of us—in big trouble.”

Khandar laughed. It was an unpleasant sound. “You’d be right, Terran,” he spat the word out as if it tasted bitter on his thin lips. “You’d be right if things were as they once were. Fortunately, even for the Golkos, Alexander saw to destroying all of our possible enemies before he disappeared on the way back from the galactic core.” He pointed to the impossibly huge hulk of the Methuselan ship that showed in the huge breach. “That’s all that’s left of the Methuselans, and they were the most potent adversary we had in the galaxy. Everyone is trying to catch their breath as you Terrans put it. Indeed, things may not change for quite a while. When the wars started Galactic technology was incredibly old, millions of your years old, but it had been hundreds of thousands of years since we actually had to manufacture anything significant.” He shook his head as if the concept was embarrassing. “We’d been using technology we’d invented but forgot how to build. When the robofactories were bombed we didn’t know how to put them back together.” He turned and looked at Alexander again, his eyes narrowed. “After Alexander led the Galactics to victory over the Methuselans he could have easily absorbed our empires, but he disappeared, and you Terrans, thank goodness, fell back into your old ways.”

Alexander now felt angry, but he didn’t reply. It wasn’t Khandar’s fault—he was right. After the loss of Alexander, Terra fell into the Caliphate Wars. The Fanatics nearly destroyed everything. It ranked amongst the most terrible times in all of Terran history, so terrible that the names of the Fanatics who pursued the Caliphate Wars were not uttered, their origins were wiped from the history files and even their religion was treated as if it never existed. Alexander shuddered.

They stood in silence for a long moment. Finally, Alexander asked, “What do we do now?”

Khandar stared at him, his eyes flushing with crimson again. He took a step toward Alexander and then quick as a snake; his hand struck forth and grabbed him around the throat. Alexander reacted instinctively, clutching Khandar’s hand with his left hand and pushing hard against the Golkos’ elbow with the other. It was a simple hold-break his father taught him when dealing with bullies. Khandar stumbled forward, but was at the ready in an instant.

“What are you doing,” Alexander demanded angrily.

“I’m trying to think of a reason not to kill you this instant!”

Alexander forgot about Khandar’s hatred for him. “My father had nothing to do with your father,” he insisted. “He was a watch officer on the Enterprise, that’s it! Now he’s a rancher who flies freighters to the asteroid belt. He wasn’t an assassin!”

“My father was assassinated in the Seer’koh system while on a diplomatic mission; it was the Enterprise that escorted his ship. Your father was the only officer on the Enterprise who could not be accounted for at the time of my father’s death!” Khandar began to pace the deck, his thin lips drawn back to expose his sharp platinum canines. His teeth clicked together in a sickening way as he talked. He went back and forth on the shattered bridge, but his eyes never left Alexander. “My father led the invasion fleet to Terra. You Terrans have always hated him.”

Alexander was stunned. He’d forgotten the Golkos were such a long lived species, sometimes living as long as three hundred years, but still it didn’t make any sense. “What did my father have to do with it? Just because he wasn’t accounted for didn’t make him guilty of murder! If Terrans hated your father so much, why didn’t the Enterprise just blow his ship out of space and blame it on some kind of accident?”

“Because that would have re-ignited the old Galactic Alliance and Terra wasn’t ready for that after her Caliphate Wars,” Khandar insisted. “No, instead my father needed to be eliminated far away from home. There were others on Golkos that coveted his power. After he was eliminated they quickly filled the void, but they couldn’t have done it on their own. They needed help. Therefore they contracted a rogue Ranger, a Spook—your father! He took care of it.”

“My father wasn’t a Spook,” Alexander insisted, trying to make sense of all of this. “Even if he was what reason would he have to do it without orders?” Alexander felt sick even considering the possibility that his father was involved in something like this, but Khandar’s certainty was hard to fight, and what he said next shook him to the core.

The Golkos boy stopped and leaned over him, hissing, “Why would your father of all Terrans do it? Because he blamed my father for Alexander’s disappearance, that’s why!”

“That still doesn’t make sense,” he retorted. “There’s never been any suggestion the Golkos were behind it; why would my father have taken it so personally?”

“Because, young Alexander Wolfe,” he said with biting clarity. “Your father, Lieutenant Lyle Alexander Wolfe was the grand nephew of Alexander Galaxus himself! Yes, Alexander you are of the bloodline of Alexander Galaxus himself!”

He stood frozen to the deck, stunned into absolute silence. “This still doesn’t make sense,” Alexander began, shaking his head, but Khandar used the moment to close with him again, grabbing him by the front of his uniform and backing him up against the stern panels. Alexander tried to fight back but the Golkos was older, stronger and faster—he was pinned against the metal of a station, bent over backwards and helpless.

“Enough of your talk Terran!” the Golkos boy seethed, but suddenly a strident voice interrupted him. It was a commanding voice, at once threatening and enthralling.

“. . . From the pyre of Terra I spite all who would be our executioners. Learn the lesson of this defeat well and hold it close to your bosom, for you dare not push me to repeat it!”

Khandar let Alexander go, and they both looked to the center of the bridge next to the command chair. The image of Alexander himself stood there, a hologram but tantalizingly real. Alexander could even make out the fuzziness around his features caused by the emergency sustaining field of his suit. Alexander looked directly at them, and continued.

“The Golkos attack on Terra was doomed to failure from the start, yet Golkos did not heed my dire warnings. Now my prophecy is culminated in reality. The final Golkos warship has surrendered in the only manner possible, or acceptable: with its destruction. Thus falls the last of Terra’s foes, and if the galaxy is willing, thus is quenched the greater fire of Alexander’s anger. Yet what remains? For some of you the path from war has led to newfound friendship with Terra. Your choice shall not be ill founded. Though you have all, to some extent, been the bearers of misfortune for Terra in this hour I will not renege on my words, or the sincerity with which Terra views our various accords. The war of Terra and the Alliance is now drawn nearly and completely to a close. There remains only the matter of Terra and Golkos. This too will shortly be settled. Terra has emerged from this war with blood upon her lips and orphans at her breast. For that injustice there shall be a reckoning. Whether Golkos yields or whether Golkos resists is her decision. Either way, Alexander will come to Golkos and he will walk upon her soil. It is up to Golkos in what manner this may occur, but by the behavior of Golkos she has dictated that Alexander shall bear the countenance of conqueror. Be his will malicious or benevolent it is still for Golkos to decide.”

The hologram cracked and faded. There was a sizzle of electricity and it was gone.

“It must have been triggered by a plasma discharge,” Alexander breathed hardly daring to move.

The hologram seemed to disarm Khandar’s fury. He went to the front of the bridge and gazed out at the stars, motionless for what seemed like hours. As Alexander grew sleepy he tried to keep his mind occupied, studying this station and that but eventually ending up on the weapons board where the Overlord conducted the final stages of the Battle for Terra himself.

After some time, Alexander noticed Khandar approaching him, his intent interrupted, but not gone. Alexander readied himself for an attack, but something cold passed through him. He opened his mouth to warn the Golkos, thinking his suit was malfunctioning, but a horrified expression on Khandar’s face silenced him.

CHAPTER 12: Strange Goings On

Khandar’s dark face blanched white, and Alexander forgot about his misgivings. He almost asked what was wrong when suddenly he saw it. It wasn’t so much it as it was them—dozens of them. Ghostly shapes emerged from the bulkheads, the deck and the ceiling. They were transparent glowing images of Terran and Golkos sailors and marines locked in combat to the death.

Two of the figures rushed right through Alexander, chilling the very marrow of his bones, before rushing through Khandar. The Golkos emitted a shriek of fright and backed away only to be confronted by another pair of combatants. The ghostly shapes soon filled the entire room, but it wasn’t a normal melee, no, it was obvious that this combat was taking place in zero-G. The ghostly figures jetted around the deck without the hindrance of gravity, slashing, shooting and wrestling with each other. It was a wild and silent scene, unless in the background, just audible over the crackling plasma, one could hear or feel the harsh whispers that in life were bloodcurdling shouts and screams. This was somehow worse.

The two cadets ducked and dodged their way to the ladder, but there they stopped, looking at each other. “We’re still on watch,” Khandar breathed, shaking his head. “Unless the sustaining field fails and our suits run out of power we can’t leave our post!”

“What are these things?” Alexander clutched the rungs of the ladder, but he didn’t go down; he didn’t leave the bridge.

“These are the ghosts of the Battle for Terra; they’re doomed to fight over the ship until the end of time! I’ve heard of them but never seen them. I thought they were a story meant to scare cadets!”

“They’re doing a good job!”

“For once, I agree with you Terran!”

The fighting raged on all around them. Ghosts flew from one side of the bridge to the other, colliding with adversaries and disappearing into the bulkheads locked in a lethal embrace. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. The battle progressed from the bridge and into other parts of the ship, gone but not over—ever.

The two cadets looked at each other, breathing heavily, too spent from the experience to worry about their personal feud. Sounds came from the ladder below them. They leapt away as if stung.

“Jumpy are we?” Centurion Fjallheim emerged from the lower decks. They came to attention, both relieved in a way to deal with something normal; something they could understand. Two other cadets followed the centurion. They came to attention next to Alexander and Khandar, but it was obvious that they read their faces. They swallowed hard.

The centurion stood before them and shook his head. “It’s late, no lectures, get back to your berths and get some sleep for tomorrow—dismissed!”

Alexander and Khandar took their leave of the Iowa, shaken. To their joint surprise two cadets were waiting for them at the entrance to the Iowa’s gangway. One of them was James. Before Alexander could ask what he was doing there, James said, “Never leave a man behind.”

Alexander nodded, and said, “Goodnight Khandar.” The Golkos stared at him and then shook his head. He left with his Flight mate without saying another word.

James asked about it, but Alexander simply said, “I tell you tomorrow; I wouldn’t want to ruin what little sleep you’ll get the rest of the night.” Alexander couldn’t get back to his dormitory quickly enough. The darkened and empty corridors of the ship now seemed especially creepy, but nothing happened. When they got back to the dormitory everyone was asleep. He threw his uniform into his locker, but the automatic voice chided him, “Hang up your uniform properly Cadet Wolfe!”

There were more irritated voices in the dark. “Well Cadet Wolfe what are you waiting for,” the locker asked much too loudly. There were more angry replies from his Flight, and Alexander scrambled in the dim light of the locker to retrieve and then put away his uniform properly. Amidst many grumbles and mutterings he donned his pajamas and crawled into bed. Alexander fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.

His eyes snapped awake to a blinding white light and a roaring in his ears.

The light in his bunk came on, not subtly or softly but bang, it was on. The growling voice of Commandant Augesburcke came over hidden speakers. “Good morning cadets. It is 0600 and once again, you have the opportunity to build upon the honor and character of generations past. This is your time, it will not come again. Use it wisely. Your families, your friends and indeed the Terran Empire and our Galactic brethren are counting on you. You may commence to do your duty.”

Alexander thought about closing his eyes and getting a few more minutes of sleep but the light began to blink on and off. He screwed up his face and covered his head with his pillow. A muffled female voice said, “Sterilization process will begin in fifteen seconds, fourteen seconds, thirteen seconds, twelve seconds . . .” He rolled through the curtains and out of his bunk, joining the general scramble of cadets chased out of bed in just the same way.

“What a way to wake up!” the cadet next to him said, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. He wore the standard white tunic and pajama trousers to bed. Even their pajamas had the single black stripe on his right sleeve signifying their rank as a cadet. Alexander couldn’t remember the boy’s first name, but “Largent” was imprinted over his right breast pocket.

“I shouldn’t be so tired,” Alexander complained with a yawn. “I usually have to get up at 0500 to feed the animals.”

“Where were you last night?”

“I had guard duty.”
“Oh yeah,” the boy said, opening his locker and pulling out his uniform. Alexander‘s locker was the center of three. He opened it with a grimace, fully expecting to be met by the odor of his stale uniform. He hadn’t had any chance to clean it; he was simply too tired after the watch. He knew he’d answer for it today but after the fright of the late night watch he was beyond caring. They weren’t issued a second uniform, they were simply too expensive. Professor Cantor talked about the specialized material in the uniforms in the Space Physiology class. The material was extremely durable, flexible and expensive, so expensive a Terran family could live for a year off the credit; therefore, they were issued one uniform only.

A fleeting spasm of guilt struck Alexander right in the gut. A year’s worth of food and power was a lot. Was it too much to ask that he spend twenty minutes before he went to sleep to take care of it? To his surprise, however, his uniform was as crisp and clean as when it was issued. Alexander lifted the pearlescent material—he couldn’t remember what the stuff was called—and he sniffed the chest. To his surprise there was no scent and no trace of vomit. The uniform was clean, sparkling clean and pressed so that every crease was almost knife edge sharp. “What’s up, my uniform was a mess when I got in last night. Do we have robots that pick them up while we sleep?”

James chuckled and pointed to a small placard on the inside of the locker door. It read, Hang your uniform on the hanger, not the hook, or the automatic cleaner will not be effective, Regulation 7-3-10.32.

Alexander sighed as he reached for his kit. “I guess that’s why Mom kept bugging me to hang my things up, heaven help my sister; she doesn’t know what a hanger is.” His locker had a built in cleaner. All he had to do was hang up the uniform properly as the locker had directed him; the locker was apparently very adamant about doing its job correctly.

“How did it go,” James asked sleepily. “Did the Golkos kid give you any grief?”

Alexander shook his head, and replied, “No, he wasn’t a problem. He’s not the friendly type though, that’s for sure, I mean he only tried to kill me once.”

“What stopped him,” James asked.

“He’s afraid of ghosts.”

James laughed and scratched his head. “Don’t turn your back on him no matter how he acts,” he mumbled. “I’ve heard a lot of things about the Golkos—none of them good. Dad had a sore spot for them, though he never said why.” He pulled on his boots and closed his locker which was the third in a bank of three set across from their bunks. The lockers actually formed the bulkhead between their three bunks and the bunks to their starboard—Alexander was trying to think in space lingo—just as the bulkhead on their port side was made up of lockers from the next row of bunks.

“Come on, you were on the Iowa, that’s history!”

Alexander was surprised that James would be interested in history of all things, but he seemed sincere about it. “Think of it,” he said with suppressed excitement. “Alexander himself fought on that deck! He even recorded a hologram on the bridge, kind of his own epitaph, because everyone else was dead. He didn’t know whether he’d won or lost the Battle for Terra, but he recorded a last message of defiance to the galaxy.”

“I know, I saw the hologram,” Alexander told him. When James’s mouth hung open, he added, “It was pretty amazing. It came on all by itself. There’s still power to the ship, plasma arcs, gas discharges; it’s almost like the battle just ended, only it never quite does.”

Alexander lowered his voice. “Have you ever heard of anything, you know, strange about the Iowa?” When James shook his head, Alexander told him about what happened.

“You’re kidding,” he replied, twisting his face up in disbelief.

The door to the latrine slid open and they entered a metal room with a bank of sinks on one side and the latrines on the other. At the far end was a metal cave that served as a shower. There was no privacy whatsoever, excepting that the boys and girls were separated. Modesty, they’d been told, was a luxury no one in the Service could afford.

They saw to their business, and Alexander, to take his mind off his embarrassment, mused, “It wasn’t just our guys but the Golkos as well. They can be ghosts too; I’d never really thought about that before.”

“It’s just a hologram,” one of the other boys said sourly. “You guys are gullible, falling for that. They’re just doing that to freak you out.”

“If they were then they got Khandar too,” Alexander insisted. His expression turned resentful. “I can’t see a Golkos and rival acting the way he did in front of me unless it was for real.”

“He wouldn’t have,” James said with surety. “A Golkos never shows fear, especially in front of any enemy. I was talking with his Flight buddy while we were waiting for you.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Alexander said unhappily. He meant it. The Academy was tough enough without that to worry him. He brushed his teeth and headed back to the locker. In a few moments he’d hung his pajamas on the same hanger his uniform was on and he was dressed and ready to go. He scooped up his compad and joined the rest of the flight, including Treya and Lisa, as they made their way to the mess hall.

Breakfast at the Academy was a noisy affair more than anything else. Alexander looked forward to breakfast, but this morning he hardly had a chance to eat. Everyone wanted to hear about his night watch on the Iowa and about Khandar. He was on his third telling of the story and by this point he’d addressed the Golkos sufficiently to convince himself it was a great deal of fuss about nothing, when the Golkos cadet showed up at the table along with a couple of his class mates.

“Hello Khandar,” said Alexander, trying to be polite. “I was just telling everyone about our adventure last night.”

The Golkos cadet glared at Alexander, his eyes turning red with obvious anger. “Don’t be so smug, Wolfe! Just because we stood watch together doesn’t mean I’ll forget or forgive a blood debt.”

“Blood debt, what do you mean?” Alexander stammered.

“Don’t insult me with your ignorance!” the Golkos spat. “You know what I mean; if you don’t, you’ll know soon enough.”

“Is there a problem here Khandar?” It was another cadet, a tawny haired girl about fifteen or sixteen years old. Her large almond eyes were hard, staring at the Golkos cadet. Her button nose flared out and her full lips turned down in an angry way. She approached the Golkos followed by two rather brawny cadets and she planted herself right in front of him. He glared back, but she was equally as tall and because she was a Terran, she was bigger than he was. Thrusting her chin forward and planting her fists on her hips, she demanded, “Khandar, are you bothering one of our Kilo classmates for a reason or is this just another example of Golkos charm?”

“Don’t interfere, I’ve a blood debt with this Terran—this goes beyond the Academy!” Khandar was obviously not pleased at the interruption, and the three boys next to him took up positions facing the other cadets. The situation looked tense, but the upper classman just laughed.

“Beyond the Academy; you’ve got to be kidding!” She stopped laughing and glared at the Golkos. “If you want to mess with one of our newbies then you’ll have all of Kilo flight after you, just consider that.”

Khandar didn’t back down, but smiled in a feral manner. “So much the better, the little whelp is hardly worth my time. If you’re going to make it a challenge then that just adds spice to the hunt!” He grinned at Alexander, revealing his long vampire-like fangs. “Watch your back Wolfe, because I surely will be there!”

Khandar left with his classmates.

“Thanks!” Alexander told the girl and her friends.

“I’m Hawker, Jenny Hawker, Kilo class of 2203.” She held out her hand. “I heard you were on station. Welcome to Kilo flight!” She pointed her thumb at Khandar. “You sure know how to pick your friends. The Golkos are sneaky. Do as he says: watch your back. They have long memories and if they feel slighted or have a blood debt, even if it’s between relatives, they don’t care much about the rules. Let us know if he gives you any more grief.”

“Thanks again,” Alexander said, glad that some of the older cadets took an interest in him, but wondering about it just the same.

Hawker turned to go, but stopped short. “Do you think your dad is going to visit the station?”

“I don’t know why he would; he’s retired now and I don’t think they’ll let him dock his freighter here,” he replied reflexively. He had no idea what prompted her to ask.

“Just wondering,” she said, as if mulling something over in her head. “It’s cool with me; I don’t have a beef with it. If he does stop by will you tell me? My dad knew your dad, and I’d like to say hi and thank you, that’s all.”

“Thank you, why,” Alexander asked, mystified.

“Your dad is the reason I’m here. He saved my dad on Tantalus IV. He was a settler and well, you’ve probably heard the story a bunch of times, so I won’t bore you.” She smiled and patted him on the back. “Let me know if you need anything, see you around!”

“How do you know her?” asked Lisa and Treya together, not too happy about the older girl and her familiarity with Alexander.

“I don’t,” he insisted, “but this is getting weird. Everyone seems to know something about my dad but me.”

“Well we better find out about it,” Lisa told him. She took out her compad and looked at their schedule for the day. “We have Study Hall in the library between Space Physiology and Space Physics. I think we better try and find out what all this is about.”

Study Hall couldn’t come soon enough for Alexander. He had trouble paying attention to Professor Cantor in Space Physiology, but then so did everyone else. The professor’s academic manner was dry and monotonous, excepting the occasions where he had particularly gruesome or exciting subject matter. He appeared to enjoy lulling them to the point of sleep and then waking them up with something juicy. Today it was the self-sealing properties of their uniforms when penetrated by various blasters and debris. It would have been boring if the professor used test suits and the like, but the Academy had more than enough combat video to make the impression he was after.

The Academy library looked like anything but a library. There were no books, no trestle tables with uncomfortable chairs—nothing like what he grew up with. It was row upon row of cubicles and computer screens. There were half a dozen holographic projectors where large star maps or videos could be shown to groups of cadets. Otherwise, there wasn’t much else to see. There were no windows, no pictures, nothing—only silence strictly enforced by one of the academic officers. Seating himself in a cubicle next to his friends, Alexander typed in his father’s name. A picture of his father from about twenty years ago appeared on the screen. Alexander couldn’t help but smile. His dad looked very serious back then, amusingly so, but there wasn’t much more information. The general file supplied his service dates, his ships, he served on the Enterprise and the Lincoln, his decorations, there were many, and the summation: Honorably discharged to active reserve after twenty-two years of service. That was strange. The standard tour of duty was fifty years thanks to Galactic regeneration techniques. What could have prompted an early discharge? A flash of fear hit Alexander in the gut. Had his father truly done something, something that could have gotten him kicked out of the Service? He checked again. No, it said quite specifically Honorable Discharge. Was it perhaps medical? At the bottom of the page there was an icon that read, Service Record.

Alexander touched the icon, but the screen flashed red. Classified, Access Restricted.

He backed out of the page and tried a general search under his father’s name. There was nothing. He went back to the service record and cross referenced the decorations with the ships. There was a pause, and then, much to his satisfaction, a list of files appeared on the screen. Alexander smiled at his own cleverness and touched the first file.

Classified, Access Restricted.

He touched the second.

Classified, Access Restricted.

The third, fourth and fifth were all the same. He went down the list. Then he thought, “What about the incident with Cadet Hawker’s dad?” He typed in “Tantalus IV” and finally got a short paragraph. It wasn’t much.

Terran Destroyer John Paul Jones disabled near Tantalus IV. The crew was marooned on the planet and attacked by the inhabitants, a Terran colony that had severed ties with the Terran Empire during the Caliphate Wars. Apparently the majority of inhabitants had Fanatic ties and had subjugated all other Terran settlers. The crew of the John Paul Jones was taken into custody and suffered several casualties before being rescued. The Fanatic problem was dealt with. The enslaved settlers took over administration of the planet and returned to full membership in the Terran Empire.

There was a link at the bottom of the paragraph, but like everything else it read, Classified, Access Restricted as soon as he touched it. Everything, it appeared, related to his father was classified. Alexander sat back, frustrated, wondering what to do next. To his surprise, the lists disappeared and a face appeared on the screen. His first thought was that he was in trouble, big trouble, and he sprang bolt upright. It was only then that realized the face didn’t belong to an officer of the Fleet or the Legions. In fact, it was the face of a girl and he knew her.

CHAPTER 13: Taking Things Apart

“Hello Alexander,” said Katrina. Alexander almost fainted with surprise and then relief. Oops, he wasn’t supposed to have contact with anyone from Terra outside the allowed visitation calls on Sundays.

“Katrina,” he whispered, “I can’t be found talking to you. It’s against regulations!”

She looked crestfallen, “Sorry, I didn’t know. I just wanted to call and say hi, and see how things are going; but I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Alexander felt badly about that, knowing how disappointed Katrina was after her assignment was cancelled. Then it struck him, “Hey, how did you find me anyway?”

She shrugged, “It wasn’t that hard. My dad is a military historian. He has the uplink codes for the Academy because he teaches some classes there; he also has access to the library. All I had to do was use his uplink code and wait for you to log in.”

“So you have access to the library from Terra?”

“Whenever I want.”

The thought occurred to him, he was just a student, “Do you think your dad could do some research for me?”

“I don’t know, but I know I could,” she said. “What do you need? Are they giving you projects already? It must be something strange if you can’t access the information by yourself.”

“It’s about my dad.”

“What about him?”

“Everything I ask is classified; I can’t get anything at all except his picture and his basic service record.”

“Why do you need to know; is something wrong?”

Alexander took a deep breath and told her what happened with Khandar.

Katrina listened intently. When he finished she was frowning. He could see her accessing something on her screen, but it only caused her to shake her head. “All the official files that have anything to do with Khandar’s father are classified as well. We could try the Golkos ethernet records, after all he was the Grand Admiral, and infamous for his attack on Terra,” she did some more off screen work, but this didn’t seem to satisfy her either. “There’s too much stuff. This is going to take some time, Alexander. All the ethernet reports say he was killed in a hunting accident on the Homeworld of the Seer-koh, but there are no other details. You’d think for someone of Khandar’s notoriety we’d have film or something. I’m going to have to do some more digging. I’ll try and get back with you tomorrow.”

“O.k. my Study Hall period is from 0900-1000 Monday through Friday, thanks Katrina,” he said. He smiled and added, “It’s good to see you again. Thanks for calling.”

She smiled back. “Watch yourself up there, bye!”

The connection with Terra ended, and just in time. Centurion Fjallheim walked up to him, and asked, “Cadet Wolfe, who were you talking to just now?”

“No one sir, I was just talking to myself,” he replied nervously.

“Really, talking to yourself?” He asked doubtfully. His bushy brows drew together into a single orange line across his forehead. “What are you studying? It appears to be agitating you. You can’t have any serious assignments—not yet. What’s all this about?”

Alexander swallowed hard. The truth wouldn’t do, at least not all of it. Still, he couldn’t lie; any lie detector would find that out, besides, Centurion Fjallheim could easily access his computer search. “I was looking for records of my dad,” he said truthfully. “Cadet Khandar has it in for me because of my father. I was trying to find out why.”

Fjallheim leaned over his computer terminal and scanned his searches, nodding. His voice was gruff, but not angry, and he said, “We all have to live with our past one way or another. Just know that we are going to evaluate you on your merit, cadet, not the merit of your father.”

Alexander couldn’t tell whether that should concern him or not. “Sir, did my father do something that should concern me?”

The centurion stood up and straightened his uniform. “I didn’t know your father, cadet,” he said stiffly. “From this point on I suggest you concentrate on your Academy dictated studies, not on personal research,” his face softened just slightly, as if he were about to add something, but it stiffened again. He looked around the Study Hall for someone else to bother, and said, “As you were cadet!”

“Yes sir,” Alexander replied, and the centurion turned on his heel and left, leaving him more mystified than ever.

#

Z-Crosse was one of those games that the Academy pushed very hard on its young cadets. Not everyone chose to play on the team, but everyone had to pick a sport. Not surprisingly, all the sports were so designed to train the cadets in zero-G maneuvering. Z-Crosse was the most brutal of the sports, so the instructors liked it the most and took it very seriously. Their reasoning was simple: if one could play Z-Crosse with any level of confidence then zero-G combat was going to be a snap. They were right, but Alexander suspected the real reason was because it was loads of fun.

Unlike Terran based Lacrosse, a Z-Crosse match took place in a spherical bubble of space with a rotating goal in the center. Like the Terran based game the object was to put the ball into the net. The net itself was smart in that it always turned to face the location of the ball wherever it happened to be. This made it doubly difficult for the goalie, who had a tough enough job already. To make things even tougher, there was only one goal but of course there were two goalies, one for each team. The goalie turned into an attacker when his team had possession of the ball, but that meant that he had to retreat beyond the “red zone” of the goal, a bubble designated by a spherical laser shell ten meters in diameter. The goalies therefore shuffled back and forth, in and out of the goalie bubble throughout the match, but there was no rule that said they had to be polite about it.

Similar shells designated the attack zones and the midfield or “middie” zones. Middies could only jet around in the middie zone, and Attackers could only jet around in the attack zone, unless, of course, there was a change of possession and the attackers became defenders. Middies had the most ground to cover and had to be to best at “zooting.” Centurion Fjallheim handed out the assignments, but his logic was somewhat suspect, at least towards Alexander.

“After watching your zooting round last night Cadet Wolfe, I’d say you’re a natural Middie,” he smiled. Yet instead of handing Alexander the standard stick, he gave him the big net. Alexander stared at it, wondering what it meant. “You need to work on your coordination and your toughness; you’re a goalie.”

“A goalie,” Alexander repeated, mechanically taking the stick.

“Yeah, you and Sampson can fight over the net. You’re pads are over there; better get them on, you’ll need them.” Centurion Fjallheim handed the other goalie stick to Cadet Sampson, who smiled. He was a foot taller than Alexander and twice his size.

“Sorry Alexander,” Sampson smiled. “I’m not supposed to cream the guys from my own flight, but you know how it is.”

“Right,” Alexander said with very little excitement.

Z-Crosse was as much an exercise in Newton’s laws of motion as it was a game, or survival for Alexander. Alexander found that out when he tried to transition from playing attack to goalie. His team already scored twice on Sampson, who wasn’t especially quick or coordinated, but easily frustrated. The bigger boy was eager to take his frustrations out on someone, anyone, and Alexander was in the way.

The ball whizzed by Samson’s head. He missed it so badly; he whirled around and got caught in the net. As he frantically tried to disengage himself, Sampson’s teammates intercepted the errant ball, passing it out to the middies as the rules dictated, and then back on the attack. Treya, who was an outstanding zooter already, dodged several of Alexander’s teammates and got ready for a shot, only she couldn’t take it because Sampson was still lodged in the net.

“Hey Sampson, get out of there; what are you doing?”

Samson turned red with embarrassment.

Alexander’s first instinct was to help, but that just made Sampson even angrier. He punched his zoots full bore and the net finally let him go—straight at Alexander. He hit Alexander in the chest with his stick sending him cart-wheeling out of the goalie bubble, through the defense and attack bubble and careening into the middie bubble.

“What are you doing all the way out there Cadet Wolfe?” Centurion Fjallheim shouted.

Now it was Alexander’s turn to be embarrassed. He hit his zoots and sped back to the net. The rest of the period he spent trying as best he could to stop the ball and avoid getting plastered by Sampson, who made it his personal goal to try and smack Alexander all the way out of the game. Fortunately, the larger boy was a poor zooter. More than once he missed Alexander completely and zooted into the other bubble, running over someone else. It was a long and trying hour, and though Alexander couldn’t say he had any fun, he had to admit that he learned more about zooting while trying to preserve his life than he would have doing any number of drills.

After practice they hit the showers, having a full fifteen minutes before they were scheduled to be in math. Sampson searched him out, shrugging an apology. “Sorry if I got you, but man you’re hard to catch. I can’t go easy on you; you know that don’t you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alexander said. “We’ve both got to try as hard as we can.”

Sampson smiled, and punched him in the shoulder, “You’re O.k. Wolfe, but next time, try not to make me look so bad.” Alexander laughed good naturedly, happy to be in one piece and happy that he hadn’t made an enemy. Later that day, at the evening mess, Sampson sat next to him. They ate the computer processed concoction that was supposed to be meatloaf, but which looked and tasted like anything but meatloaf. There was no reason for Sampson to talk to Alexander but he did anyway. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a friend.

The next day went much like the last, as did the following day. By the end of the week, Alexander was getting the routine down. The morning reveille always sounded too early. He always had trouble staying awake in Professor Nussbaum’s class even though it was Galactic History which he loved.

In math, Lt. Mortimer never, ever, repeated herself no matter how they begged. Of course, she realized that half the time real reason was the boys simply wanted to hear her musical voice. Lieutenant Mortimer looked as though her name should be should be Lieutenant Merryweather, or Lieutenant Summerford. She had the fluffy blonde hair, bound by regulation into a ponytail, sparkling blue eyes and a large, easy smile that belongs on a bright sunny day under the shade of a great oak tree. Looks could be deceiving.

“You’ll have ample time to read the lesson again after class,” she would tell them with full knowledge that every boy there was in love with her and for good reason—she was stunningly beautiful and the uniform only made matters worse. Lt. Mortimer seemed coldly impervious to the affect she had on her male pupils. Her concept of “ample time” was a strange one, because neither Alexander nor the rest of his class could find any. Still, Lt. Mortimer had two things going for her as an instructor. Everyone listened to her and she absolutely loved what she was doing—she was obsessed with math. She sensed, however, that there were doubters in her class; students who didn’t share her obsession. James was the obvious one.

“I’m sorry Ma’am; I’m still trying to figure out Algebra,” he explained when she queried him about the confused expression on his face. There was some scattered laughter, if only because most of the students were in the same boat. Alexander couldn’t boast of being much more excited about it either.

Lt. Mortimer’s cold expression broke into a slight, very slight smile. She waved her alabaster hand as if it had magical powers and coolly announced, “That’s because you don’t know about the Frisbee.”

She made it sound as if that should break the code for everyone. It didn’t, but it was a long nerve wracking time before Alexander had the courage to raise his hand and ask, “Excuse me Ma’am, but what does a Frisbee have to do with math?”

“Everything Cadet Wolfe, absolutely everything,” she said with a smile that made every boy jealous because it was directed at Alexander. She walked to her desk and took out a red Frisbee. “This is an opportunity to show you the power of mathematics. For those of you who want to predict the world this is it.” She walked up to James and leaned over his desk. “I was once like you. I didn’t care about a bunch of numbers and symbols. I asked why we needed to use things called variables because I didn’t understand how they broadened the horizons of those terrifying things called equations.” She smiled and tapped his desk with the edge of the Frisbee in rhythm with her perfectly pronounced words. “Then I discovered the Frisbee.”

They all looked at each other, wondering what she was talking about.

Lt. Mortimer held up the Frisbee. “What is the area of this Frisbee—why it’s Pi times the radius squared of course. What is its circumference—two times Pi times the radius. Why is it red?” She went to the board and wrote down an equation, explaining, “Because it reflects light according to this wavelength. How far will the Frisbee fly if I throw it with one kilo of force, two kilos or three kilos? Which leads us to the next step; how many kilos of force do I need to apply to throw the Frisbee across the room to Cadet Coulter in the back?” She threw the Frisbee perfectly, but the surprised cadet muffed the catch. “The point is, I have the power through mathematics to not only describe everything in the world around us but the power to predict how it will behave. If you can master math; you can master the future.” She returned to her desk and sat down. Glancing at them for only a moment, she said coldly, “That’s enough for the day. Class is dismissed!”

Outside the classroom, James had to admit, “She sure makes math sound good!”

The girls gave him sour expressions, and Lisa said, “This is going to be a long semester if we have to watch the boys mooning over her every minute of every class. James, I thought you were going to faint when she actually talked to you!”

Although Lt. Mortimer made class something to look forward to, for the boys at least, the stress on algebra, geometry and trigonometry—all at once—made it difficult. Still if math was hard, Space Physics was impossible.

Doctor Strauss announced on the very first day, “I don’t expect you to understand a great deal of what’s going on here, in fact I’ll be disappointed if you do. I expect you to learn just enough to keep you from killing yourselves in the lab.” He then went on to describe what they would be learning that first semester. There were all sorts of things Doctor Strauss brought up that Alexander didn’t even know existed. He talked about orbital mechanics, energy propagation, radiation and superluminal mechanics, which Alexander learned happened in a place called “curved jiffyland” using particles/waves that neither existed in normal space-time nor had any logical purpose in Creation—“They just are.”

To make things even weirder, at least to Alexander, Professor Strauss pressed upon them that the class would pass or fail his course as a class. “Individuality is the tool of class against class warfare,” he explained. “That is the basis for our troubles on Terra. Therefore, you will work as a collective so to speak. The strong must sacrifice their false aspirations of success for the good of the class.”

Surprisingly, it was James that raised his hand and objected. “Professor, I don’t want to be responsible for dragging someone’s grade down.” He shrugged, saying honestly, “My goal is to pass; I mean science isn’t my strong suit. I don’t want to be the reason Lisa gets a grade lower than she deserves.”

Lisa, who was already reading ahead on the first day, turned bright red at the compliment.

Professor Strauss was unmoved, absently polishing a table top. “Look at it this way cadet, besides reinforcing your cohesiveness,” he stopped, noting half the class had bewildered expressions on their faces; these were 6^th graders after all. He tried again. “Besides making you work together as a unit, which is what the Academy is trying to teach you, this approach will help you in the real world. You don’t need to be bragging about how great you are because you went to the Academy; rather, you need to accept that all of you belong to a single equal mass of humanity,” he stopped again, seeing that he’d lost his audience. Professor Strauss sighed.

James raised his hand again, and reluctantly, Professor Strauss nodded.

“I’m afraid you just made my point Professor; I didn’t recognize any science in that at all.”

Strauss’s pudgy brows almost covered his small watery eyes. He huffed around the classroom mumbling to himself, and occasionally staring at the students—especially James. As he passed, Alexander caught a little of what he was saying. “There will be a time when you will see yourselves as workers in a great empire, workers who will unite for the common good of all. Then we can destroy the trappings of class and wealth.” After two wandering circuits of the class he stopped in front of them again and shrugged. “Baby steps then. For the rest of the week we will discuss our first lab—gravitation. Select your notebook tabs please!”

Friday was the first lab. Alexander viewed this with some trepidation, as did most of the rest of the class, even Treya. For the first time, the Chem girl was completely out of her element. Worse, she didn’t really understand why she had to know such things. She raised her hand and asked, quite seriously, “Why do we have to know how it works, even in theory. We have many superluminal engines. There’s really no need to build more. Why not be satisfied in knowing how to operate the engines instead of trying to recreate the knowledge of how to build them?”

Professor Strauss took off his glasses and cleaned them vigorously, shaking his head as he did so. He placed them back on his red nose and began pulling at his beard with one meaty hand while drumming the fingers of his other hand loudly on his desk.

“Then it’s time to learn,” he told her seriously. “What if your ship is trapped in Methuselan space with both superluminal engines down and your only hope is to build a single superluminal engine out of the parts from the two smashed engine pods. How are you going to do that if you don’t know how it works?”

Treya frowned. She clearly hadn’t considered that angle, which was strange. Alexander always thought along the lines of “What if this happened, or what if that happened?” It was natural. So many things broke down on Terra that you had to think ahead, and when something happened, as it always did, you had to be able to figure a way to get the job done.

“Everyone pair up with your lab partners,” Professor Strauss announced, adding, “and please, everyone remember to turn on your safety shields. We don’t want any messy fatalities or dismemberments on our first lab!”

Alexander squeezed his Academy badge. A hardly audible hum sounded and he felt a faint tingling on his skin. He paired with Treya. Every pair of students was given a small metal object the size of an old fashioned paper book. It was formed by two metal plates separated by five or six centimeters of dark gray material. Plasteel latches sandwiched the plates to the material.

“What you have before you is a small graviton generator,” Professor Strauss announced. He walked up to the unit sitting in front of James and Lisa and pressed a switch in the side. “These units are self contained, meaning the graviton generator, the fusion power source and the control board—seen here on the lateral side of the insulating Plasteel material—are all in one unit.” He touched the switch and it turned green. There was metallic buzz and then emitted a strange sound like a robotic cat’s purr. A power meter illuminated. “Cadet Jameson, use the selector to change the polarity of the gravitons by sliding it to the other end of the scale.”

James pressed his finger on a small switch and slid it across to the other end of the display. The unit trembled and lifted off the desk. It floated there, warbling softly to itself.

“Very good, Cadet Jameson has successfully reversed the polarity of the gravitons produced by the generator,” Professor Strauss said, walking about the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “The rest of the period, you will experiment with your graviton generators. A one page report is due by the end of the period. I expect you to explain how the unit works and why. Get cracking.”

Alexander and Treya began by turning their unit on and sliding the selector back and forth. The unit rose and fell obediently to their commands. However, once they finished Treya was at a loss as to how to proceed from there.

“It works by changing the polarity of the gravitons generated by the unit,” she said incredulously. “The Professor already told us as much. I don’t know how we can go any further—what are you doing?”

Alexander turned the power off. Now he was releasing the latches and lifting the top plate off the insulating material. He peered inside, saying, “I’m trying to figure out what makes this thing work. That’s our assignment. Until I open it up, all I can do is guess.”

“Rule number one: disconnect the power source,” Alexander told her. This was easy. Galactic science didn’t use wires; instead it used the Plasteel between the graviton plates to run power. Instead of disconnecting wires as he would on an old Terran generator, all he had to do was to take out the small silver cube behind the power switch. It simply unplugged and he set it aside. “There now we won’t get shocked or burned.”

“That’s why we don’t mess with the insides of these things.”

Alexander ignored her, unplugging the control unit in the same way he unplugged the power unit. “We’ll take those apart later,” he said, inspecting the remainder of the interior. Without the power and control units there was only one thing inside: a clear plastic tray that appeared to have a golden-colored gel inside. A transparent membrane covered the tray and the edges of the tray fit within a raised edge on the bottom of the removed plate.

Treya picked up the handheld scanner and pointed it at the gel. The scanner announced that it was, “Beryllax, a Beryllium compound that is used to produce gravitons. The compound can be excited using infinitesimal amounts of energy thereby efficiently producing gravitons. The spin or polarity of the graviton particles is manipulated by the use of Trans-Ferrus Beryllium plates. These plates are very durable so they can be used as decking while they accomplish their primary job of diffusing the gravitons in a homogeneous gravity field—in essence curving the space around us and creating gravity.”

Alexander nodded. “So, the power unit supplies enough energy to excite the Beryllax, causing it to emit gravitons. The control unit does something to the plates to assign a spin to the gravitons and the plates spread the field out evenly.”

“You must be right,” Treya said with surprise. “How do the plates change the spin of the gravitons?”

“Point the scanner at the plates.”

Treya did so and the scanner announced, “Trans-Ferrus Beryllax, a Ferrus Beryllium compound used to manipulate the spin of gravitons because of its inherent electro-magnetic properties. When current is applied to the material it changes the alignment of the electro-magnetic field within the crystal lattice of the material. This is used to orient gravitons and thereby control the gravitational fields set up by graviton emission.”

“I think I understand what that means,” Alexander said, scratching his head. “It sounds like kicking a soccer ball in a freshly mowed field of grass.” Treya just looked at him with her luminescent eyes. “Well, think of it this way, if you kick the ball with the grain of the grass, in the direction it’s laying, it scoots right along, but if you kick it against the grain the grass grabs at it and makes it bounce. If you kick it across the grain, one way or the other, it will spin the ball one way or the other—that’s all this plate is doing. It’s telling the particles which way to spin. The gravitons all do the same thing then, making the gravity uniform.”

“O.k. but I still don’t know what that has to do with taking apart a perfectly good graviton generator,” she said shaking her head. They filed their report with Professor Strauss, who simply nodded and pulled at his wiry gray hair. He sent them on their way and received the report of the next team, but shortly thereafter he had to vacate his desk in a hurry. James decided to take his power unit apart and the fusion generator was now eating a hole in the desk.

“This wasn’t part of the assignment!” Professor Strauss exclaimed, retrieving a pair of what looked to be barbeque tongs. He put them around the errant fusion generator which looked like a small, blue, crackling star now burrowing through the Plasteel desk. He flicked a switch with his thumb and a spherical blue field formed around the fusion generator. With a sigh of relief he lifted it out of the desk. “It’s a good thing I had these handy; otherwise, you could’ve burned a hole right through the deck and all the way into outer space!”

“I was just curious,” James scowled.

“That’s how accidents happen,” he snapped. “Didn’t you ever hear of that darned cat?” He carefully set the fusion generator back in its box and closed the lid. Looking around the classroom, he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I will tell you when to be curious and what to be curious about. Now finish up your reports. We have only ten minutes left and I want some time remaining to scold you some more!”

Treya gave Alexander a dig in the ribs. “Hey, thanks for doing all the work; I’d be lost without you today!”

Alexander blushed. He couldn’t think of anything to say but, “Sure, no problem.”

They sat down, but even as they wondered what they were going to do for the next ten minutes a loud buzzer sounded. Professor Strauss hit a switch on his desk and answered with ill concealed irritation. “Do you mind, I’m in the middle of—oh it’s you Ambassador! What can I do for you?” The change in the Professor’s demeanor couldn’t have been more dramatic.

CHAPTER 14: Government Intrigue

Professor Strauss put a communicator bud in his ear so that Alexander couldn’t hear what was being said. It was obvious that whatever it was troubled the Professor. His red face turned ashen and he began to pull at his white hair, muttering “Oh dear, I’ll be right there!”

He abruptly rose from his seat, dropping the cadet’s compad to the desk. Without another word, he left the classroom. Alexander looked at Treya, and asked, “What do you think that was all about?”

“I have no idea,” she said, getting up and going over to his desk. She put her compad on the Professor’s. She fiddled with it for a second before returning to their desk. She sat down and whispered, “I left my assignment up there, but while I was there I checked his comlink. The location code was still on the screen. I looked it up in the Academy directory. It was a location in the Tube; all the way down at the far end by the Methuselan transmitter section.”

“That’s kind of strange isn’t it,” Alexander asked. “Did the Methuselan’s only have one transmitter; why would you devote an entire section for a simple subspace transmitter?”

Treya shook her head. “No, this isn’t just any transmitter, it’s huge and what’s more it’s set up for vast energy transfer—far beyond any communications need.” She punched up a ship’s display on their lab computer.

“What’s going on guys,” James asked, coming over with Lisa. “What’s with Professor Strauss? There’s still five minutes left. Are we just going to hang out or what?”

“Something’s going on all right,” Treya said, telling them what she discovered as she brought up the schematic for the Methuselan transmitter section. She pointed at the highlighted display.

Even James scratched his head, and said, “That looks kind of weird.”

“It takes up almost the entire stern section,” he exclaimed in a whisper.

Treya traced the power conduits with her finger. “The power for the transmitter comes directly from the engines. Whatever it’s transmitting it must be potent. Maybe it’s some kind of weapon.”

Alexander looked closely at the parabolic dish that was the business end of the transmitter. Most galactic technology was built on the same principles. He pointed out the dish, saying, “Whether your building a hand communicator or a subspace radio the principles are the same; only the energy changes. This isn’t a communications device. The antenna is far too big, but it’s not a weapon either. The Methuselan ship uses blaster projectors just like we do.”

“Then what is it for?”

“The description is very vague,” Treya said. “Almost everything says it’s still being studied. They seem to have come to the same conclusions we have.”

“Whatever it is, it has something to do with the transfer of energy through subspace,” Lisa said matter-of-factly. They looked at her in surprise, but she only shrugged. “The power conduits are connected to the engines, but the transmitter itself is also wired through the subspace navicomputer.”

“Why send engine power through subspace through an antenna,” Alexander mused. “Engines are much more efficient for that, just as a crystal capacitor is more efficient for energy discharge in weapons.”

“I don’t think it was engine energy that was being transferred,” Lisa said, pointing out the energy conduits. “These are way too small. Even the tertiary blaster turrets have bigger conduits than this.”

“Then what is it?”

“No one knows,” Treya shrugged. “It’s like a lot of things on this ship. That’s why so many science teams and students work on it.”

Alexander sighed, realizing the futility of the pursuing the mystery. If the experts can’t figure it out what are a bunch of cadets going to do?

The door slid open, but instead of Professor Strauss returning it was Commandant Augesburcke. The closest cadet shouted, “Class, atten-hut!” Alexander sprang to attention so quickly he didn’t think of how he did it. Boom, instinct kicked in with what little training he had and he was there.

“As you were,” Augesburcke said gruffly, looking around the room. “Where is Professor Strauss?” He looked at Alexander.

Alexander swallowed hard. “He left when he received a call on his comlink, sir.”

“Where did he go?”

“We’re not sure, sir.”

“No matter,” Augesburcke replied, taking out his compad and punching something onto the screen. His deep scowl grew still deeper, and he asked without looking up, “He’s in the stern section of the Tube, the November quadrant. Who is your fastest zooter?”

Everyone including Alexander looked at Treya, but she answered, “Cadet Wolfe, sir!”

“Thanks for volunteering, Cadet Wolfe,” Augesburcke smiled through his thick white mustache. He held out a yellow memory card. “Get this to Professor Strauss on the double; you’ll have to hurry if you’re going to make your next class.”

Alexander took the card and saluted.

Augesburcke returned the salute. “Dismissed,” and after Alexander ran off he turned to the rest of the class. “The rest of you get back to work; there’s no such thing as idle time at the Academy.”

“Sir, yes sir!” The cadets automatically came to attention.

“As you were, look alive,” he ordered, turning on his heel and disappearing out of the class.

Professor Strauss’s class was in the outer section of the academic ring. That meant Alexander had to run to get to the Tube. He was already sweating by the time he got there. Maybe I shouldn’t have spent so much time playing computer simulations and done more running around and climbing trees! It wasn’t actually his own thought as much as it was Dad and Mom. They constantly reminded him that when they were his age working computers were so rare no one thought to play games on them. Of course, winters were longer then too and the gravity was stronger. Alexander jumped into the zero-G Tube, chuckling to himself. It was true; all the weather control units had broken down in the wars trying to clean the atmosphere of radiation and blaster plasma! Of course those few control units that were around were jury rigged; they couldn’t even handle Seattle rains!

He felt a little homesick, but the euphoric feeling of weightlessness purged him of those thoughts. He had his orders. He hit his zoots, pointing his toes and stretching his arms forward. Whoosh, the zoots let out a burst and he felt a shudder run through his body. The first fifty yards of sudden acceleration were still tough for him to control because he thought about it too much. Once he settled down and picked out his target course Alexander relaxed. His flying settled into a controlled trajectory, rock solid, with the cool air of the Tube blowing through his hair, making him squint against the wind in order to see.

He grinned. This was what he was meant to do!

All too soon the end of the Tube rushed up. He tucked and brought his legs forward, slowing his speed until he drifted slowly toward the starlit void that was the end of the station. He stopped, hovering in the Tube not twenty meters from the end. The Tube was so large that there were two frigates and a destroyer moored right next to Alexander inside the station. Crews worked on them, looking like so many flying ants swarming around the sleeping metal leviathans.

Where in all this would Professor Strauss be?

Looking around, he saw nothing out of place, but then he saw the big red letters painted on the interior of the Tube. He simply followed them to “N” and just below it there was a tan tarp rigged over a section of metal. Cautiously, Alexander flew over to it, After all, if it was covered there was a good bet whatever was underneath it was not meant for a cadet’s eyes. Still, his orders came from the Commandant himself. He took a deep breath and boldly flew the rest of the way. He heard voices and instantly recognized the stodgy, befuddled voice of the Professor. He was about to fly around the corner when another voice stopped him short, filling him with doubt.

“This must be it, but we cannot let anyone at the Academy know we’ve found it—especially the Commandant! We can’t be sure where his loyalties are.”

“What do you mean,” Professor Strauss questioned. “There is no possibility whatsoever of his interference. The Augesburcke’s place in Terran history goes back to Alexander himself. He’s hard-line Terran and always will be.”

A thin, artificial sounding metallic voice, interjected, “Do you so soon forget his grandfather, who along with Alexander orchestrated a coup for the well being of Terra? He was not above doing what was best for Terra.”

“Certainly, but the President was at that time a Hrang imposter—what else was to be done?” He paused, and then as if to talk himself into what he was about to do, he added, “I don’t question the logic of what we’re doing, only that we are hiding it from the Commandant. He would be a great ally.”

“It’s the subtleties of his logic that I question, Professor,” the harsh voice said. “He is pro-Terran, but what does that mean? He’s a military man. He’s more likely to follow the letter of the law as opposed to doing what is necessary for the best interest of humankind and Terra.”

“Surely, he knows all about this? Surely the Praetorian Council and the Admiralty have been thoroughly briefed on the Project?”

There was a laugh. “The members who need to know do. This is, however, at the very upper levels of government. The President is anxious that we succeed and succeed quickly. If we don’t act within certain constraints word will get out and then the Congress will get involved. If that happens, my dear Professor, you can kiss your dream of Terra goodbye.”

“I never considered,” he paused; “Then Commandant Augesburcke doesn’t know about the Gaia Proj—” The Professor was suddenly cut short.

“Quiet you fool,” exclaimed the harsh voice in a sharp whisper. “That information is classified beyond his need to know and your right to pronounce!” There was a pregnant pause. In a calmer tone he added, “This is beyond the Academy, beyond the Fleet or the Legions. It’s politics. Therefore, let us handle this and let the military take orders. We’re the elite; we know what is in the best interests of Terra. Indeed, Professor if this succeeds your dreams of a Terra without borders will be fully realized. With this we can remove all borders, all cultures, all languages and barriers. For the first time in the history of humankind we will all be true Terrans.”

“Yes, I see your point,” the Professor said, though it sounded like he still had some doubt.

“Very well, we need to figure out how to activate the Methuselan Circuit Professor and then we will be ready for the next step.”

Alexander felt a thrill of anxiety. He didn’t know whether this was good or bad, but it wasn’t unimportant. A thought struck him. What if it is important, and the Commandant wants me to describe this circuit to him—I’ve never seen it! But how do I do that without them catching me? He decided he didn’t have the time or the luxury of a plan. He hit his zoots and flew past the tarp and into the metallic wall of the Tube.

“Whoa,” he cried as he bounced off the barrier and tried to steady himself. Professor Strauss looked at him with a look of astonishment, but the man with him, and the two other people, one woman and a reptilian being about half their size, a Seer’koh, gazed at him with thinly veiled malevolence.

CHAPTER 15: One Square Meter of Trouble

“Cadet!” Professor Strauss turned white as a ghost, and Alexander could say that for certain after seeing the ghosts of the Iowa. He sputtered in obvious surprise, moving to block Alexander’s view of the open access panel in the bulkhead. Still, Alexander got a glimpse of what was inside. There was a square black object that looked to be a circuit board mounted behind the access panel. It had what appeared to be a series of relays, capacitors and other things he knew nothing about. Actually, his first impression was that it looked like the inside of his old style transistor radio at home. There was no way to tell whether it was powered or not, but on further inspection he guessed not. The power and control conduits were disconnected. They floated over Professor Strauss’s shoulder like the stems of flowers that had their bulbs cut off.

The man quickly moved in front of Professor Strauss. He wasn’t in uniform but wore a well cut black suit that was clearly out of place on a military station. His complexion was swarthy and his hair cropped very short. The glasses he wore were not of any civilian style, they weren’t designed for looks but for function. Alexander could tell by the slight blue sheen that the glasses were capable of displaying information on the lenses and seeing in infra-red or other wavelengths. Dad had a visor like that on his helmet—they were extremely expensive. That meant he was a government man, an agent of some kind. Civilians simply couldn’t afford things like that, and the only reason his dad had something like that was that he took it from a crew of pirates that tried to board his ship.

The woman didn’t seem as concerned over Alexander as the men, dressed in the same type of black suit. Her hair was pulled back severely and tied in a bun. She wore the same type of glasses as her partner, and though she appeared surprised at Alexander’s sudden appearance, she rolled her eyes at his suspicion.

The Seer’koh was another man; Alexander could tell by the bright colors around his head. He wore a gold mesh suit. Alexander had no idea what to make of the saurian expression, but he drummed his sharp claws against each other, creating a rhythmic clicking that sounded like the popping of shorted electrical cables. He didn’t wear boots or gloves. His zoots were strapped onto his tail, which was twitching back and forth in what Alexander took to be anxiety.

Alexander took it all in, acting innocently curious. That wasn’t too difficult. He didn’t know what this was all about, but even if he wasn’t supposed to be here he could hardly be blamed. He was here under Commandant Augesburcke’s direct order. “There you are Professor,” he said excitedly, holding out the yellow memory card. “Commandant Augesburcke sent me to give you this.” He pressed the card into the Professor’s hand. The Professor took it reluctantly, more because Alexander gave him no choice than because he was interested. As soon as the card was out of his hand, Alexander looked at his watch, saying, “I’ve only got six minutes to get to math. I’ve got to zoot; I’ll see you Monday Professor!”

The Professor blinked at him through oval spectacles, mumbling, “All right, Cadet Wolfe.” He shook his head, looking at the memory card as if it bore some terrible label, but as Alexander turned to leave, he seemed to recover his academic bearing. “Don’t forget your homework: Chapter one on post-galactic technology transfer! There’s a quiz!”

“Yes professor,” Alexander replied, but the man with the harsh voice reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Hold on there, young fellow,” he said in a most unfriendly manner. He turned Alexander to face him, staring down at him with clear cold eye. If he was trying to intimidate Alexander it didn’t work. His father had a much more terrifying stare. The man held him there for a long moment, and finally asked, “Exactly what were your orders from, who was it you said?”

“Commandant Augesburcke,” Alexander told him and he related the entire chain of events with the exception of eavesdropping. “I got here as fast as I could; the Commandant reminded me not to be late for my next class. So I can’t use this as an excuse.”

“You’re concerned about that are you?”

“Have you ever met Lieutenant Mortimer? She’s a stickler for the regulations, and I’ve already stood guard duty for detention once this term. I don’t want to do it again.”

“You’ve already gotten in trouble have you?”

“No sir, well, me and a Golkos cadet got into it during Z-Crosse, so we both stood guard duty on the Iowa.”

“Let him get to class Larry,” the woman said. “The kid doesn’t know anything.”

He eyed Alexander narrowly. “Tell me cadet, what is it you saw here?”

Alexander shrugged and said what he thought would put the man at ease—he didn’t really want to be late. It was mostly the truth, but he thought he put it in quite the clever way. “I saw the Professor and a few government people inspecting a circuit of some kind, same as in a dozen other places in the Tube. There are science teams everywhere.”

That seemed to satisfy the man. He took his hand off Alexander’s shoulder. He turned to go but suddenly asked, “Professor Strauss said you were Cadet Wolfe?” His hard stare settled on Alexander again. “Say, you wouldn’t be the son of Major Achilleus Wolfe?”

Alexander was taken aback, answering abruptly, “No sir, my father was an officer in the Fleet. He sails freighters now, but he is of course a Citizen.”

The man’s expression softened. “Really, I thought you looked like,” he shook his head and forced a smile. Patting him on the shoulder, he said, “Well good for him. You better get back to class. There’s no need for you to get any more demerits on our account.”

“You’re letting him go?” The Seer’koh said, his thin red tongue darting out from between his sharp teeth. “This area is classified. He shouldn’t have seen any of this!”

“What has he seen,” the man asked, spreading his arms wide. The smile was absolutely artificial. “Everything on this Methuselan ship is classified to one extent or another. This is just one of many circuit boards we have yet to identify.” Glancing toward Alexander, he nodded. “Get along now cadet. You’ve done your duty.”

“Yes sir,” Alexander said, and he zooted around the corner and back out into the Tube. He stopped just a few meters away, checking his watch, but in reality he wanted to wait for just one moment in case they said something interesting. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, are you going check that memory card?” It was the man in the suit.

Alexander heard the slight click of the card going into the Professor’s compad. There was an immediate gasp. “My manifesto—how did he get it? I’m ruined!” He didn’t wait, but hit his zoots as hard as he could, zooting out into the middle of the Tube as fast as he could.

#

Larry, the man in the suit, was unfazed. Calmly, he told Professor Strauss, “Get a hold of yourself. You didn’t think Augesburcke was ignorant of your fanatical youth did you? He knows who and what you were: a Gaian terrorist who has since joined the ranks of respectable people through the institutions you formerly called corrupt—so what?”

“Why reveal it now?” Professor Strauss was obviously terrified that his past was known to the Commandant. He was a civilian on a military station. It would be far too easy for him to simply disappear. He ran his pudgy fingers through his sparse gray hair, mumbling, “I should never have let you talk me into this. I’m exposed here. You promised me there was no way they’d know!”

The man laughed harshly, “I promised you what I needed to promise you, Professor. We needed you here, on this ship, helping us decipher this thing. You’ve done that so far; don’t stop now or we can’t protect you—we won’t protect you.” He smiled, but the smile was more terrifying than any threat could be.

“How can you protect me on a military ship,” Strauss replied angrily. “This isn’t just any ship, it’s the Academy! The Legion and the Fleet loyalists are here. I was a Gaiaist and a terrorist; they’d like nothing more than to take me out to Titan and send me swimming in the methane sea!”

“If that was their intent, they’d already have done it Professor, since they already know.”

The Seer’koh broke in, saying, “Therein lies the mystery, why haven’t you been exposed Professor Strauss? You are at the very center of conservative military minds in the Terran Empire. We have precious few friends here. Now it doesn’t matter how they found you out. What does matter is why your hide isn’t floating from the mast of the Iowa. There are two possibilities as I see it. Either Commandant Augesburcke is malleable in his opinion or you’ve cut a deal with him and this is your cover.” He tapped the memory card with his claw and hissed at the Professor.

Strauss shuddered, “No,” he insisted, “I don’t work for them, I swear it!”

Larry glowered at him, “You have nothing to swear on Professor; you’re the worst kind of atheist. You didn’t believe in anything because it got in the way of you doing what you wanted to do. Still, you were intelligent and arrogant; you knew better than anybody, but you don’t hold anything dear except your skin. We know all about you. You professed to have all these ideals and you planted bombs to make your point of view known. That’s the coward’s way of doing things, but that’s fine. We knew we could use that as leverage. You’re scared of prison, the mines or worse, Pantrixnia.” Larry straightened the lapels of the Professor’s white lab coat in a provocative manner. “Fortunately for you, we can use you—for now. Don’t worry Professor; as long as you serve us we will protect you. Besides, what better protection can you ask for than the President of Pan America? Play ball and you have nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t know, I’m surrounded by enemies here—even the cadets!”

“Now you’re just being paranoid,” Larry said, sounding irritated. “Cadet Wolfe’s story didn’t sound concocted. Augesburcke simply used him as a messenger, that’s all.”

“I’m not so sure,” Professor Strauss said nervously.

“He’s a cadet,” Larry said, shaking his head in disbelief. “He can’t be twelve or maybe thirteen years old. He can’t pose any sort of threat to us.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said the woman. “The Professor may be right. Our young cadet may have been more than a messenger. I just accessed the surveillance camera for this section of the Tube. He was eavesdropping on us. It’s a good bet Augesburcke knows we’ve found the circuit.”

“But does he know what it is used for?” the Seer’koh said, his voice rattling and tail twitching.

“I doubt it,” she replied. “There are only a dozen people in the galaxy who know that.”

Larry zooted out from behind the tarp and looked off through the Tube in the direction Alexander left. “We know Augesburcke is on to something and he’s enlisted the help of his cadets, though I seriously doubt he’s let them in on anything.” He thought for a moment, and then announced, “We’ll play this by ear. Leave the circuit unpowered. I don’t think Augesburcke is willing to interfere—this is his way of warning us. Download the internal scans to Washington, and Ms. Jameson—you can find out everything you can about Cadet Wolfe.”

#

“Ca-det Wolfe, I’m so happy you could join us!” Lt. Mortimer’s voice rippled with sarcastic angst. All eyes turned to Alexander. His heart leapt to his throat as her blue eyes turned from playful blue to steel gray. Her perfectly chiseled brows drew together, forming a harsh line on her alabaster forehead. “Come on then, you’re holding up the class. Get to your seat and select page seven, Theorem one-decimal-five. ”

As quickly and quietly as he could, Alexander went to his seat and took out his compad. James, who was sitting next to him, leaned over and whispered, “You lucky devil, she talked to you; she even said your name!”

Alexander stared at him open mouthed, but he knew what he meant. Lieutenant Mortimer’s hard demeanor couldn’t overcome her beauty—at least not with the boys. All the other boys in K Flight felt the same as James, shooting darts at him with their eyes before turning back to gaze on the Lieutenant and listen to her melodious voice. As James settled back with a sigh to watch her diagram the area of a circle, Lisa and Treya threw him withering glances. Treya turned her purplish tinged eye on Alexander. “You’re not bitten by her are you?”

“Oh of course not,” he lied, punching on the assignment and trying to look as disinterested as possible. “She’s our math professor. I need to pay attention to what she’s teaching and not anything else.”

“Then you’re smarter than any of the other boys in the class,” she said.

Lisa agreed. “Look at them all. They’re like puppies. It’s embarrassing.”

Class lurched on toward its conclusion. Lieutenant Mortimer was all business. The bell brought about a general groan from the boys that class was over so soon, and an answering groan from the girls that the boys should behave in so juvenile a manner. The Lieutenant announced, “Homework tomorrow, questions one through five, and don’t forget we have a quiz on this chapter on Friday. Class dismissed, except for you, Cadet Wolfe. Stay after a moment.”

Everyone glanced darkly at Alexander, the boys with envy, the girls with irritation. He couldn’t win. When everyone had gone he stood in front of the Lieutenant’s desk waiting. She continued to work on her compad until he said, “You wanted to see me Ma’am?”

She looked up. Her eyes were steely gray and he already knew what that meant. “Cadet, you were given seventeen minutes to deliver a memory card to Professor Strauss. It should have taken you only fourteen minutes to accomplish that and yet you took exactly nineteen minutes—why? Explain yourself, and please be specific.”

“They had some questions for me, Ma’am,” he replied. He didn’t have any idea how much he should or could tell her. Should he tell her about his suspicions concerning Professor Strauss? He decided not to, that wasn’t his place, but he did give her a detailed account on his interrogation by the man in the suit.

“What was your take on it,” she asked, and her eyes turned back toward their softer shade of blue.

“I don’t know Ma’am, I’m only a cadet,” he started to say, but she interrupted him, her eyes turning that steely gray again.

“Cadet Wolfe, you are a future officer of the Service! I realize you are only on your first year of training and that everything here is new to you. However, you must also understand that as a future officer we expect you to be responsible and to take responsibility when it is presented to you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Ma’am,” he said, trying to sound firm and less dejected than he felt.

“Don’t take it so hard Cadet Wolfe,” she told him in a softer tone. “Keep your eyes and ears open. I have faith in your ability to distinguish right from wrong. You come from good stock. Trust your instincts and if you need anything come to me. That’s all. Dismissed, Cadet Wolfe; go join your friends.”

“Yes Ma’am, thank you Ma’am,” he said, saluting her smartly. When she returned the salute he turned on his heel and left. Lisa, James and Treya were waiting for him outside the door. As soon as it slid closed they started talking at once.

“What did she want?”

“Are you in trouble?”

“You lucky duck; you know every guy out here is jealous of you!”

Alexander shot them a sour look, and said, “Very funny, this is serious,” and as they made their way to study hall he told them everything that had happened. When he finished, he added, “I don’t know what to think about this. I kind of liked Professor Strauss, but after what I heard I’m afraid he’s up to something. He’s working with people from the government. That can’t be good.”

“What can we do,” James asked. “We’re cadets. This Friday we have a quiz in every class. There’s homework in every class every single night. Even if we could do something we wouldn’t have time to do it.”

They were silent, all of them. James was right.

#

Commandant Augesburcke listened to Lieutenant Mortimer’s report, chewing on his mustache. His office doubled as his quarters and was immediately adjacent to the bridge. As the station didn’t move from Terran orbit, the bridge was almost a formality. Therefore, Augesburcke conducted most of the ships business from the austere chamber off his even more austere bedroom. Despite this, it was his office through and through. Behind the ancient oak desk he inherited from his father, and he from his grandfather, the Commandant reclined in a synthi-leather chair. Behind that was a bulkhead that could not be seen through the multitude of awards, medals, paintings of his ancestors and the flags of the Fleet and the Legions. Next to his desk on his right hand was a chest high bookcase. In it were hundreds of military books from all of human history. Crowning the bookcase were metal models of the various ships he commanded. Foremost, and most obviously his favorite was the wreck of the Iowa. One of the great honors of being Commandant of the Academy was being the Captain of the Iowa, the flagship of the Terran fleet. Although she was never refitted or repaired after the battle for Terra a century and a half past, Alexander, the last and only Overlord of the Terran Empire, refused to allow the ship to be decommissioned. He argued that her main forward battery still had one working gun and she still had nominal impulse power. She could therefore fight. The tradition of the Iowa became the foundation upon which the Terran Fleet built her reputation.

If any doubted Augesburcke’s hold on tradition the display on his left put to rest all doubt. There between the standard of the Terran Empire and the Iowa’s battle flag was a dramatic painting of the Battle for Terra. It caught the exact moment when the Iowa and the Bismarck caught the Golkos flagship Nived Sheur between their broadsides.

No one could enter the Commandant’s office without coming away with a deep sense of Fleet tradition in the relatively young Terran Empire. Surrounded by his personal and Fleet history, Augesburcke listened patiently to Lieutenant Mortimer’s report. When she finished, he mused aloud, “I wanted to prompt some reaction from Strauss and his confederates with the memory card. It did what it was supposed to do; that is, it put him on notice. Hopefully they’ll walk more carefully now.”

“Do you plan on letting them know where you stand?”

“What, and give them peace of mind?” he chuckled. “No Lieutenant, I want them wondering, every one of them. There’s a rule in politics and war that my grandfather used to swear by: when dealing with an enemy in your own camp, force them to make the first act of treachery. We need history on our side, because if we succeed there’s going to be someone at the bottom of this mess. If we fail, there’s not going to be any history left—none. The winners will blot out all of human history as some great mistake.” He looked around his office. “This will be where they start, but by God I’m not about to let that happen!”

“Sir, what should we do about Cadet Wolfe? He’s pretty young to be in the middle of this.”

“He is young, very young,” Augesburcke mused, stroking his mustache. “He’ll have to grow up quick. I’m beginning to think he was sent here by his father for just this reason.”

“Then Cadet Wolfe knows what all this is about?”

Augesburcke shook his head, and said harshly, “From what my mole says, young Alexander knows nothing about this and is more concerned with finding out who his father was—or is.” Lieutenant Mortimer looked confused, but the Commandant shook his head emphatically. “No, I’m convinced his father sent him up here ignorant, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a purpose.”

“He threw his son into the middle of a dangerous political intrigue?” She did not look happy. “Pardon my saying this sir, I know how highly you esteem the Commander but that is uncommonly callous.”

“I think he had no choice,” the Commandant said gravely. “Even someone with the Commander’s skills cannot fight this war alone. I’m coming to the conclusion that he is relying more on his son’s ability to figure this out and do something about it than his own, and I’m beginning to agree with him.”

“So what do we do?”

Augesburcke laughed gruffly and admitted, “We don’t even know what this circuit does—if the Commander knows then he’s not saying, or he can’t say anything without endangering all of us—remember Lieutenant, the Pro Consul is with the President.” He lit his pipe. The air scrubbers hummed and removed the wafting blue cloud rising from the bowl. “We fly high cover over young Alexander and his friends. I can’t afford to interfere. I need him to do what he was sent here to do.”

CHAPTER 16: Routine Scrums on Luna

“When considering the advent of global representation and the expansion of a fledgling Terran democracy into an empire, we must look at the inherent movement from various forms of governments to what we have now—that is, a work in progress that combines elements of democracy, socialism and authoritarianism left over from the military dictatorship of Alexander.”

To everyone’s relief Professor Nussbaum stopped to take a breath and glance at the class over his glasses. James and Alexander looked at each other. Treya and Lisa looked at each other. Treya and Alexander looked at each other, and so on.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know.”

“I haven’t understood a word he’s said since the first day of class.”

There was more of the same from every corner of the classroom. Alexander wondered how the Professor ever got on with the Academy. It wasn’t simply that he was incoherent much of the time, but he didn’t seem to like much of anything that was going on. He hated the current political system. He thought the lower classes were downtrodden and served as virtual slaves to whatever the upper class was. Alexander didn’t know who these people might be other than anyone who fell into the category of “rich industrialists,” “establishment imperialists” and to his horror, “the feudal system of mercenary aristocracy that is the Officer Corps of the Fleet and the Legions.”

Things had gotten progressively worse as the term went on. It was so bad, that students actually got up the nerve to address the problem to their officer representatives. In Kilo flight that was Lieutenant Mortimer. This caused some difficulty of course, as every member of the flight was either too intimidated by the Lieutenant or was hopelessly in love with her. It fell to Alexander, who was elected against his will as the only one who already had, and could, communicate with her.

Alexander reluctantly requested the meeting by filing the appropriate form. In due time his form came back to him with directions on how to put the previous request in the correct Fleet format. Another request was made followed by another request for clarification, and at last, after two weeks of electronic paperwork, the meeting was granted. After so much effort, Alexander felt the meeting was anti-climactic. After returning his salute, Lieutenant Mortimer hardly looked away from her screen. He couldn’t even be sure she was listening to him, but after he finished she responded.

“When faced with a problem in the field, the first thing we do is scout it out—find out what or who you’re up against. Only then do we formulate a plan of response.”

When Alexander simply sat there dumbstruck, Lieutenant Mortimer finally graced him with her alternating shades of beautiful and hard set eyes. Her perfectly arched brows rose as if to say, “Well, I’ve answered your query; what are you still doing here?”

He sprang upright and saluted. He couldn’t leave fast enough. The rest of the flight eagerly awaited his report, but they were crestfallen when he returned with so little. Despondent, they resigned themselves to a grueling semester. Alexander felt he’d let them all down, which only made him more determined to figure out just what the Lieutenant meant. He went to the library and contacted Katrina. Together they downloaded every file they could on Professor Nussbaum. Strangely, many files were recently declassified; recently as in the day of his meeting with the Lieutenant. Katrina got her father to help her on some of the sticky stuff, and armed with this information, Alexander planned his assault. The next Monday, after the Professor’s obligatory first of the week bombardment, Alexander returned fire.

He raised his hand.

Professor Nussbaum blinked in surprise.

The class stared at him in disbelief.

Professor Nussbaum shrugged, “Cadet Wolfe do you have a question?”

“Yes Professor,” he said, plucking up his courage and doing his best to recite the paragraph he memorized. “You have been teaching Harvard social dogma from the days before contact with the Galactic empires. The class structure and political structures of that time no longer exist. Political theorists discredited the Harvard school of social thought over one hundred years ago as impractical and arrogant elitism. What’s changed?”

Professor Nussbaum stared at Alexander, dumbfounded. It was the same expression from three weeks ago when he surprised the Professor Strauss in the Tube. Could it be they were all somehow clones? He sputtered and blinked, repeating the words, “Discredited?” and “Impractical?” over and over again.

The class sat back with a silent sigh of victory, and Alexander reveled in the assenting nods and virtual roar of approval. He couldn’t let his momentary victory get the best of him, however. With every attack came the inevitable counter-attack. Professor Nussbaum cleaned his glasses, a sure sign he was organizing his thoughts.

“I had no idea you were so well versed in socio-economic study, Cadet Wolfe,” he said gravely and the class fell into a deep silent hush. “Over five hundred years of learning dictate the theories of Harvard, one of the most prestigious institutions on Terra. Believe me when I say their theories are never discredited or impractical.” He paused and walked over to Alexander’s desk, planting himself in front of it. Glaring down at the student he asked with biting sarcasm, “Clearly we have a twelve year old prodigy on hand. What school of thought would you follow in our present course of expansion and integration into the galaxy?”

“I don’t know,” Alexander shrugged, and Professor Nussbaum beamed at the prospect of victory. Then Alexander said, very firmly, “I always thought the Constitution worked pretty well for the United States—Alexander himself implemented it as the basis for the Terran Empire,” he smiled and shook his head like an old college professor. “That’s a pretty good recommendation as far as I’m concerned. Of course, there were radicals who spoke against that a long time ago. They favored failed systems like communism, socialism and anarchy; I’ve read that some even stooped to terrorism, planting bombs and stuff like that. They were all exposed as nut jobs and psychos.”

The Professor’s watery eyes almost popped from his head. His lips turned red, twisting and mouthing unheard words. He strained against some unseen harness, wanting to say something, but eventually he passed his hand over his eyes and laughed weakly. “Nut jobs and psychos are hardly academic terms, Cadet Wolfe—you betray your youth.” He turned around and walked back to his desk, but he paused there without sitting down. The Professor stood there looking at nothing, and then he abruptly straightened up and left the room.

After the door slid shut the class burst out in approval for Alexander. He gladly took the accolades, but he felt guilty about it as well. It wasn’t until he slipped off with James, Lisa and Treya that he could admit, “I owe a lot of that stuff to Katrina. She found some stuff in the Island Library about the student terrorists and communist groups that popped up after the Caliphate Wars. They allied with the greeners, the environmental terrorists, and formed what they called the Gaians. Apparently the Professor Strauss and Professor Nussbaum belonged to the Gaians. It makes you wonder how they ever got here!”

“Why on Terra would two radical Professors be teaching Underclassmen at the Academy of all places, I mean the first thing they hate is the military?”

Treya shook her head, and said, “On Chem we ship such dregs to Pantrixnia, and we feel sorry for the beasts that consume them!”

The afternoon tactics class was a departure from the norm. “The Tube is restricted today, so there’s no Z-Crosse for anybody,” Centurion Fjallheim told them. There was a general groan from the class. He held up his hands, saying, “I know, I’m disappointed too, however, there are always options. We could spend extra time on the firing range, but I thought we’d shake things up a bit and give you a taste of what’s to come. We’re going to take a detour from our Zero-G acclimatization and introduce you to fractional-G training. So mount up cadets; we’re going to the Moon!”

They made their way out of the classroom and toward the Tube. They still had to transit the Tube to get to the terminal, and Alexander was very curious to see what was so important that their training was interrupted. When they reached the entrance it was obvious that something was going on. Floating not a hundred yards from the entrance to the Tube was the enormity that was the dreadnought Enterprise. The largest of the Terran super-battleships, the dreadnought class was built from the hulls of old Terran blue-water aircraft carriers. Now they sprouted five rotating turrets of Level fifty-seven blaster projectors, the largest in the galaxy. The dreadnought was so large and so impressive that Alexander had to remind himself that the dreadnought was inside the Methuselan ship. That was sobering enough, but what was the Enterprise doing here? What was she guarding? Alexander and every other cadet looked in the direction the dreadnoughts guns were pointing; only there was nothing to see. An opaque security screen blocked the entire aft end of the Tube.

“What’s that all about?” was the often asked question. They stepped into the zero-G of the Tube but there they stopped. Everyone looked at the security screen. They couldn’t help it. Try as they might there was nothing to be seen. Then, much to their astonishment, three figures zooted out of the screen and headed their way. They weren’t Fleet or Legion though; two wore dark suits like the two strangers and one was a Seer’koh. The Ambassador carried a small silver brief case in one hand. It was chained to his wrist.

“No, it’s way too small,” Alexander said. “The Methuselan Circuit was a meter square; it has to be something else—I wouldn’t be surprised if it related though.”

The three passed them, but one of them, the woman stopped and looked in their direction. Alexander thought she was staring at him but then she lifted her glasses as if to get a better look at him. She wasn’t staring at him; she was staring at James. The boy stiffened, and Alexander heard the sharp intake of his breath. Then, just as quickly and unexpectedly as it all happened, she lowered her glasses and was gone.

“Do you know her James?”

He seemed flustered, and said, “I don’t think so, but there’s something very familiar about her. Maybe she’s a relative, but Dad never said we had any government relatives.”

“Well whoever she is, she knows something about the Circuit.”

“Well we know they’re not carrying it.”

“The Circuit may be a meter square, but the control box could fit in a briefcase,” Treya said, but then she shrugged. “That’s assuming the Methuselans did things the same way Galactics do. If it were a Galactic unit the control box and the power box would simply plug in and plug out of the Circuit—you could disable it relatively easy.”

“In Galactic technology that wouldn’t matter,” Lisa replied. “All control boxes operate on the same principals. You’d simply replace it with another.”

Treya nodded, but James said, “Who knows what they have in there. They’re government agents and it’s none of our business.”

They watched the three agents enter a small vehicle. The vehicle was shiny white with only a serial number on the side and like most vehicles it was a refurbished twentieth century machine. Alexander tried to remember what it was once called. He knew it was an air vehicle, but not a plane, this was one of the transport vehicles designed to hover—a helicopter, that was it. It could hold perhaps six or eight people, but it was strictly and inter-system shuttle. Small twin impulse engines replaced the rotating rotor.

“I wonder where they’re going,” Alexander asked out loud.

As if to answer his question, the vehicle jumped forward, weaving through the docked ships and transports in the Tube and disappeared out of the forward end, heading for the silver-gray crescent of the Moon.

“I’d give a lot to know what they’re up to,” Alexander said, shaking his head, “but there’s no way to know what’s going on behind that screen.”

“Just stick to our classes Alexander,” James chided him. “We’re supposed to be curious, but not that curious.”

Treya wasn’t so sure, and she crossed her long arms with a scowl. “James this doesn’t bode well for any of us. When the Terran government messes around with the Fleet and the Legions we’re all in trouble. They’re the only thing standing between the re-growth of civilization and chaos. We on Chem remember our Civil War; we don’t want times like that again!”

“Either do I, but we’re cadets; what are we supposed to do about it?” James was adamant, and he gave Alexander a dig in the ribs. “If there’s something strange going on let the Spooks take care of it—that’s what they’re there for!”

“Very funny James.”

“I’m not so sure that James isn’t right—look!” Lisa pointed to someone coming through the security screen on a zike. He wore a spacesuit with a helmet, like someone would wear who intended on re-entering the atmosphere and ziking down to Terra, but he had the electronic visor turned on. That effectively rendered to the helmet opaque to an outside observer. The zike rider glanced their way as he passed, and as if he recognized them, he gunned the zike. That almost caused him to crash into one of the waiting transports. He recovered control of the zike and zoomed out of the Tube, following the government agents toward the Moon.

“That was weird,” they said together with a laugh. “If Spooks ride that badly we’re really in trouble!”

Other flights began arriving at the Tube, all of them with the same idea of heading toward the Terminal. The strangeness of the security screen and the mystery behind it had everyone jamming up in the space just outside the entrance. No one seemed willing to move until Centurion Fjallheim took charge. He barked at them to get going, and after a few demerits and the threat of extra time spent on breathing exercises—an especially boring drill necessary for basic sniper training—the cadets actually moved away from the security screen. When they finally got to the terminal they saw that the Enterprise wasn’t the only ship standing guard over the Academy. The full strength of the dreadnought squadron hovered in space around the station. Alexander and the cadets gasped at other famous ships from the Galactic Wars and the Methuselan War: the battleship Bismarck, the destroyer John Paul Jones and Captain Konstantinov’s famous alpha class sub the Gagarin.

“What in the world is going on?”

“Into the transports, come on look alive there cadets, we haven’t got all day!” The sudden turn of events hadn’t affected Centurion Fjallheim’s humor any. In short order, they were filing down the gangways to the transports. Once inside the transports the next surprise of the day hit them. The only transports they’d seen as cadets were the spare but relatively comfortable passenger transports. These were legionary transports, and they were a completely different animal. Built from the massive hulls of twentieth century atmospheric military transports, airplanes to use the archaic term, these machines were not engineered for comfort. The first thing that struck the cadets was the smell: oil, grease, blaster residue and legionaries. Even the decontamination scans couldn’t get rid of it. The girls held their noses.

“Terrans, oh my God, sweaty Terrans!” the Chem girl exclaimed. Her civilized sensory system recoiled in shock. “No offense Alexander but you Terrans smell like a zoo!”

They shuffled into the fetid atmosphere, but curiosity overcame their initial reaction. This wasn’t the Academy. This was a ship of the line; this was the real world. It was fascinating and sobering. The interior of the transport was strictly functional. It was a hollow cylinder divided by Plasteel grates into a central core where on an operational mission two to ten zanks berthed depending on their size. Around the zanks were long canvas covered benches running the entire length of the ship on three levels. For a strike mission or forward area deployment the transport could carry ten centuries, a full battalion or 1000 legionaries in relative discomfort with their full complement of zanks.

Centurion Fjallheim directed the flight leaders to get their flights to their designated jumpseats and get them ready for departure—that meant everyone had to don their suit. Alexander was the designated flight leader for the day. A momentary thrill of panic coursed through his breast. Where are we supposed to go? He had to figure it out and fast. Fortunately the Fleet and Legions had no time for anything but simple logic. The benches were arranged clockwise and the designations for Flights/Platoons began at the top or twelve O’clock position. Alpha sat on the first row with Bravo on the port side back-to-back with Charlie and Delta sitting on the starboard side bench. At the one O’clock position Echo and Foxtrot sat back-to-back Golf and Kilo, and so on.

“This way Kilo flight!” he said, leading the way up the metal stairs to the one O’clock rows designated Golf and Kilo. The racket inside the transport was deafening. Between the general hubbub, the tramping of boots on metal grates and the shouted orders it seemed like mass confusion, but somehow, in remarkably short order everyone got to their stations. Waiting for them was a white survival suit with bright red arm and leg bands. Above it was a helmet. Alexander and the other cadets all looked around at each other. As soon as one cadet took the plunge and started to put the suit on they all did it. Alexander had never worn a suit like this before, and he guessed that few if any of the cadets had either. He discovered that everything was fairly self explanatory. There was a zipper in the front. He unzipped the suit and stepped in. His zoots fit through the legs without difficulty and to his surprise as soon as he pulled the cuff of the leg over his calf it sealed on the top of the zoot. The same was true when he pulled his gloves over the cuff of the sleeves; the material on the outside of the cuff formed a seal with the inside of his glove. This made perfect sense. His gloves and zoots were still functional. He took down the helmet.

“Well should we put it on,” Lisa asked.

“We’re heading to Luna, I suppose we better; we’re going to need to eventually,” Alexander replied. Though he hadn’t seen anyone else put their helmet on, he boldly stuck it on his head. The helmet was a simple design. It had a hard upper shell and transparent aluminum faceplate. The neck was in two layers: an outer synthetic leather layer which was very tough and an inner lair that sealed to his uniform. That allowed Alexander to look either way as the helmet turned with his head instead of his head turning inside the helmet.

As soon as he put it on a red light came on inside the visor. After a moment, a voice said, “Retinal scans complete, welcome aboard Cadet Wolfe. All systems check out. You have seventy-two hours worth of Oxygen available. Your atomic battery power is at seventy-nine percent, giving you up to one hundred and ninety-seven hours of energy.”

“I hope I don’t need that much power,” he said jokingly. “I’ll have to go to the bathroom long before that.”

“I can brief you on the waste management protocol if you like,” the suit replied matter-of-factly.

“No that’s O.k.,” he said quickly. He strapped into his seat like the rest of the cadets and waited. It suddenly occurred to him, “How do we communicate?” Looking over to Treya, he asked, “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” she said, and other members of the flight began talking, testing their suits out, until Centurion Fjallheim interrupted them.

“Pipe down!” There was instantaneous silence. The Centurion was in his suit. It was white like theirs, but the entire left arm down to the glove was red and he had a red stripe down the crest of his helmet. “Welcome to the operational world! You will have already discovered that you can speak to each other in a normal manner. That will work in a vacuum as well. The helmets microphone picks up your voice and converts it into radio waves, transmitting it toward other suits along a narrow beam. Signal strength is based on voice level; that is, a whisper is still a whisper. Now strap in!”

The door to the transport closed with a loud hydraulic whirring and a final comforting clank as the latches locked. A low hum built up inside the ship followed by a sense of movement. The sensation recalled Alexander’s first zero-G experience and he immediately felt queasy.

Centurion Fjallheim laughed and announced, “There are no windows in the transports so your equilibrium will be out of balance initially. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. Now don’t take off your helmets! Would you do that if you were in a vacuum? No, your head would pop like a pimple!”

“But I’m going to throw up!” announced dozens of miserable voices.

“It’s gross, but it’s a learning experience,” the centurion said. “Trust me, trust your equipment, it will save your life.”

Alexander somehow held his lunch back, but then the cadet across from him threw up. A sticky mass of green and brown chunky, slime splashed across the inside of her faceplate, but strangely enough the effect on Alexander and those who saw it was completely opposite what he expected. That was because the mess almost instantly disappeared. An automatic suction pump beneath the faceplate of the girl’s helmet drew the mess into the suits waste disposal system. Cleaning fluid sprayed the shield clean, disappearing in the same manner.

“These suits are completely self contained survival suits,” Centurion Fjallheim explained. “They will not only take care of and discharge waste but provide sustenance and basic emergency medical aid. The suit is self-sealing; it will act as a pressure bandage or tourniquet for wounds, and it will even shock your heart back into beating if you suffer cardiac arrest.” There was more, and Alexander tried hard to take it all in, Centurion Fjallheim rarely said anything that wasn’t going to be on a quiz. Before he knew it the transport’s engines throttled back to a low hum. There was a slight bump and the inertial dampeners wound down. They landed.

“Welcome to Luna,” Centurion Fjallheim told them, striding to the rear door. “Everybody check your suit. There should be a green bar in the lower right hemisphere of your visiplate. That means you have a good seal. If it is any other color pipe up now or you’re going to make quite the mess inside your suit—your squadron mates will be responsible for cleaning the suit up for your replacement!”

Alexander checked, but by the time he found what the Centurion was talking about he heard the unmistakable whine of hydraulic motors. The air hissed out of the troopship as the aft clamshell doors opened revealing a bright, stark moonscape. Alexander held his breath. His suit tightened around him, compensating for the loss of pressure. The controller announced, “Seal confirmed. Your suit is operating normally.”

“Now you tell me,” Alexander grumbled to himself. What if he or someone else had a problem? It would be too late now. The centurion’s non-descript attitude was shortly explained. He heard Centurion Fjallheim announce to Cadet Svenson, “Don’t worry, that sound you heard was the helmet seating itself correctly. You must’ve failed to seat it properly when you put it on. The clamps are automatic, but that doesn’t mean you can be sloppy! Take five demerits and pay attention to detail next time!”

Of course, the centurion must have had a display showing him any abnormality amongst the cadets suits. In all likelihood that comforting oversight would be missing when they graduated seven long years from now. The centurion strode to the opening in the rear. It was now yawning wide enough to get the biggest zank through without any problem. The vista beyond showed a bright gray lunar landscape with a black sky beyond. “Alright, in file by flight, everyone fall out! Alpha through Lima to the west side of the field; Mike through Zulu to the east side of the field, double time, move, move, move!”

They did so at a jump, and that created problems, even as Fjallheim and the other centurions so obviously expected. Alexander marched out the door and onto the dusty lunar plain, or so he tried, but it wasn’t nearly as easy as he expected. Moving around in low-G wasn’t natural. His steps took him too far, he bounded when he meant to walk and he couldn’t stop himself. Fortunately for Alexander’s pride, everyone else had the same problems—except for Treya. Still, aside from the Chem girl, everyone was vulnerable to the centurion’s rapid fire critiques and the resultant demerits.

“Nice dancing ladies, Cadet Doran stop bumping into your classmates—take two demerits for being clumsy. Cadet Thomas there will be no bouncing in formation; I don’t care how high you can go, take five for showing off. Ostenhausen, who gave you permission start taking soil samples (he’d fallen down); digging a latrine here will do you no good, take five demerits!”

Alexander recovered enough to take note of the flat expanse outside the troopship. The bottom of a shallow lunar crater was scraped level in an area one hundred and fifty meters long by fifty meters wide. At either end were tall white goal posts. Around the field the crater walls were terraced to form a perfectly round natural amphitheater. Alexander headed to the near sideline after checking his wrist compass, trying as best he could to keep an even measured pace. That was easy to think about but almost too much fun to accomplish. The feeling of bouncing along weighing only a sixth of what he did a few moments before was exhilarating. He couldn’t help but skip, jump and bounce toward the spot on the sidelines where he guessed “Kilo” flight belonged.

Sure enough, before too long Centurion Fjallheim’s red laser designator flashed on his visiplate. “Ca-det Wolfe, I expected a little bit more attention to regulation from you! Just for my high expectations, you can take ten demerits!”

Alexander gulped. Ten demerits, that was halfway to guard duty, and this was the first day of the week! He curtailed his enthusiasm, mechanically measuring his tread to the half speed one-two-three-hup the manual prescribed for low-G marching. It was with markedly less enthusiasm that he halted, skidding in the lunar soil, almost falling over, but catching himself at the last moment. Quickly and efficiently he lined up “Kilo” flight before everyone else. If he barked a bit louder than he needed to, that was O.k., everyone understood—ten demerits was a lot.

It took another few minutes for the gray dust to settle, falling slowly back to the lunar surface, the general thought was, “What next?” Centurion Fjallheim stalked the sideline, his bushy brows knit behind his transparent aluminum faceplate. “You darlings took long enough to get in line,” he said gruffly. That meant demerits were sure to follow. “India and Yankee flight were the last to form up—five demerits for each flight lead, two demerits for each flight member. Kilo and November were the first to form up—five merits for each flight lead and two for each flight member. Is that understood ladies!?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Alexander breathed a sigh of relief; five demerits was manageable.

“Parade rest!”

Now they just had to wait. It didn’t take long. The lunar base was south of them. Blue-white and silver domes, turrets and spires were all they could see of the lunar base. Most of it was hidden by a low ridge of gray material streaked with bright white ejecta. Over the ridge, marching toward the cadets in two single file lines were two squads of legionary troopers. The squads marched double-time, wearing full combat gear. It was eerily strange to watch the legionary’s ghostly march in low-G. Their strides were longer than normal, slower than normal, and they held them while bounding across the lunar landscape—but they were in perfect unison. The legionaries disappeared beneath the crater lip but then reappeared, bounding from the lip and into the crater in pairs. Each pair landed at precisely the same time, precisely aligned and on the same foot. They marched to the center of the field. On the command of their squad leaders, they came to a halt. It was more than just a little impressive. Each squad turned half away from the other at a barked command from their leaders. Now one squad faced half the cadets and the other squad faced the other group of cadets. A legionary centurion strode out from the end of the formation. “Squads take your sidelines and safety your weapons!” Each squad trotted to their respective sideline, placing their battle blasters in pre-placed racks and placing their integrated battle-armor weapons on safety.

“Hotel squad, armor to white!” the centurion shouted. The squad on Alexander’s side of the field roared in response and their mottled gray battle-armor turned white.

“Charlie squad, armor to red!” he ordered. The squad facing away responded with a similar shout and all at once their armor turned red.

“Red team defend the south goal, white team defend the north goal!” The legionaries took their positions on the field. As they did so, the legionary centurion addressed the cadets. “Cadets, I am Centurion Chambers-Smythe of the Ninth Legion, the Lionheart Legion. Our history goes back to the victories of Julius Caesar in Gaul, to the Battle for Terra with Alexander and the final subjugation of the Methuselan Homeworld. It was the Ninth Legion that annihilated the last pocket of Fanatics and closed the Caliphate Wars, bringing peace back to the Empire.” He paused for effect and it wasn’t lost on the cadets. The Legions and the Fleet were founded on tradition. Pride ran deep in the Service. “It is customary before every match to salute each other,” he thumped his fist on his chest and shouted, “To our honored dead!”

Alexander reacted reflexively, and his voice melded with those voices of every cadet, instructor and legionary as one, “To our honored dead!”

“Well done,” Centurion Chambers-Smythe replied dryly. “Now, what we have for you today is a common legionary low-G training regimen called Lugby, which of course is slang for low-G Rugby. You will see how this exercise effectively trains legionary troopers in low-G maneuvers as well as enhances the skills of teamwork, communication, toughness and competitiveness that are the core of the legionary trooper.” He removed a small object from his belt and plugged it into something at the wrist of his glove. The object inflated into a ball of roughly oblong shape. Without waiting, Centurion Chambers-Smythe threw the ball into the black sky and shouted, “Play ball!”

Neither Alexander nor his fellow cadets was prepared for what happened next.

CHAPTER 17: The Lugby Ball

The speed of the legionaries was matched only by the violence of the scrum. It wasn’t a normal scrum, either. Like some terrifying beetles, the armored legionaries formed a living pyramid of men reaching into the black lunar sky for the falling ball. The two masses clashed together with the unmistakable shock of Plasteel-on-Plasteel. Since there was no atmosphere on Luna, there was no air to transmit the sound, but the cadets heard the clash from the legionary transmitters. Also assaulting their ears were the grunts, orders and breathing of the legionaries—creating a confusion of sound all mixed up with the flurry of motion.

Alexander understood the importance of the lesson immediately. Like combat, the legionaries had to take in everything, all the confusing stimulus of the game, and tailor their actions toward a specific goal. It wasn’t a matter of reducing the stimulus so that a legionary could function; it was a matter of training the legionary to process everything and use it to win on the battlefield. That was the point of Z-Crosse and the other games they played, but to see it used on fully trained combat deadly legionaries gave Alexander a new appreciation for what the Academy put them through.

Lugby on Luna was fantastically fun to watch. It was fast and violent. When legionaries collided they flew farther than they did on Terra and they could obviously jump higher; so there were players flying all over the field, high and low. Alexander and his fellow cadets were soon caught up in the game, rooting for the white team. Back and forth the game went. First the reds scored and then the whites; then the whites and the reds. It was very even, but no one really thought about that, they were all enthralled by the action. About halfway through the first half one of the red players bounded toward Alexander’s sideline, he tried to turn the corner, using his jets to help him cut. Alexander was watching how he used his muscles in concert with his jets, trying to think of how to improve his own coordinated flying, when two white players hit the red ball carrier hard in mid leap. The red player was already ten meters in the airless space above the lunar surface when he was hit, but the force propelled him even higher and slung him around like a pinwheel. He lost the ball. It accelerated out of his hand and rocketed into the black sky. It didn’t start to descend until it flew over the rim of the crater. They lost sight of it behind the gray rocks.

Centurion Fjallheim sprang into action. “Cadet Wolfe and Cadet Khandar retrieve that ball—maximum effort! The one who returns the ball to me wins an extra day of shore leave on Terra for his entire flight; the loser wins a weekend of guard duty for his entire flight!” The centurion hadn’t finished his orders before Alexander bolted out of line. He bounded toward the crater rim, trying to run and bound at the same time, using his jets to accelerate while leaping through the vacuum. Puffs of gray soil marked his footsteps. He could hear his flight cheering him on, their voices echoing in his helmet, but he could also hear the cadets of Khandar’s flight.

Stealing a glance to his left, Alexander marked Khandar heading toward the same spot in the ridge. “Computer, can you locate the ball?” he gasped in mid bound, redoubling his effort. He had to beat Khandar!

“Computing trajectory and probable landing area,” the computer answered. It projected a blue dashed arc on his visor. Alexander noted the landing area and turned slightly right, heading toward the center. Unfortunately, a circle almost a hundred meters in radius surrounded the spot where the computer calculated the ball landed. Before Alexander could ask, the computer explained, “Without a micromap of the lunar surface of this area it is impossible to estimate which direction the ball bounced after landing. The circular area represents the maximum distance the ball could travel after impact.”

Hardly had the computer finished its explanation when Alexander saw he had something else to worry about, namely Khandar. The Golkos cadet was heading right for him, meaning to check Alexander off his flight path. He was already in mid leap, so all Alexander could do was throw his hands and feet forward and hit his jets. He slowed only slightly, but it was enough to send Khandar sailing in front of him. The Golkos was ready for a collision, and his miss threw him off balance. When he landed, he staggered, taking several extra steps before bounding into the airless heights again. Still, he laughed, “See you on the other side Terran!” He was in the lead.

That was true, Alexander thought, but only for the moment. Before Alexander landed he hit his jets again, hitting the lunar soil hard with his left foot and then his right, driving off the surface. Leaning forward he hit his jets, launching himself like a javelin, aiming straight for Khandar’s back. The Golkos looked around for him, but the helmet’s visibility wasn’t perfect. He never saw Alexander swing his legs forward and plant his boots squarely on the Golkos boy’s back. An exclamation of surprise from Khandar rang in Alexander’s helmet, but it didn’t dissuade him. As his momentum shoved Khandar forward and off balance, Alexander pushed off on the cadet’s shoulders, sending the lanky Golkos spinning down at the terrain and giving him extra impetus.

Alexander was giddy with glee as he soared ahead of the cursing Khandar. The roar of his classmates sent a thrill down his spine. His excitement was short lived, however. As he crested the top of the crater rim a pocked and pitted area of folds and cracks came into view—finding the ball was going to be tough, but his immediate concern was landing. This was not the smooth lunar plain they landed on but a narrow band of debris and shock rings from the formation of the crater. Alexander sighted a landing area and prepared for the impact. He struck it with both feet, not trying to stop, only to control his landing and launch himself toward another suitable landing area. His landing was good, and he bounded back up, but he soon discovered that he had virtually no time to scan the terrain for the ball before he had to think about landing again. Another landing, this time slightly off balance, so his bounce sent him off to the right and away from the center of his search area. It also made Alexander lean too far to the right. He used his jets to try and right himself, but all they did was stop his lean, there wasn’t enough time to correct it. Alexander was going to crash hard into a rocky area; this was going to hurt. Bam! Something hit him in mid air. It was Khandar. Now instead of Alexander crashing into the ground they both hit, bouncing, skidding and spinning out of control.

When Alexander finally regained his balanced he started off again, and Khandar was right with him. He ran into the Golkos, checking him with his right shoulder, shoving into the Golkos cadet’s ribs. Khandar responded by grabbing at Alexander’s helmet. The result was both of them careening drunkenly along the terrain, falling, clutching and running into each other as they looked for the missing ball.

“What are you cadets doing, we don’t have all day!” Centurion Fjallheim radioed them.

“Yes sir!” They responded, as if they were working together.

Alexander bounded up and over Khandar, looking wildly around for any hint of the white ball. Where was it? It should show up clearly against the gray-brown terrain. It didn’t. Down he came, and there was Khandar waiting for him. Alexander braced himself and sure enough, the Golkos sent him sliding in the lunar soil. Alexander used his momentum to leap back into the black sky, avoiding Khandar’s shove. It was the Golkos boy who stumbled, falling over a waist high boulder and spinning onto his back. That gave Alexander a moment to scan the area. He took a quick look around—nothing—when he landed he bounded into the vacuum, jumping as hard and as high as he could. Alexander figured he must be thirty meters above the surface, but it gave him a perfect vantage point. He turned slowly as he rose and continued to turn as he came down, scanning the terrain as carefully as he could—nothing. Khandar was skipping toward him though, trying to cut him off. Alexander landed like a pogo stick, rocketing back into the sky before Khandar could stop him. Again he looked, but he saw nothing on the way up. He stopped, hung in the sky for a second and started back down. Khandar was coming up at him.

“Why don’t we just cooperate and find the ball; we’ll never get it like this!” he snapped angrily, narrowly avoiding the Golkos swiping at him.

“Work with you—never!”

Alexander couldn’t understand such hatred, but he couldn’t change Khandar’s feelings. All he could do was to find the ball as quickly as he could. He landed and bounded right back up, jumping slightly off to the side so that the Golkos wouldn’t hit him on the way down. Khandar did miss him, but when he landed he jumped off in another direction. Had he found the ball? “Computer plot Khandar’s course!”

A green line sprang from Khandar westward. “Cadet Khandar’s course is projected. He is seventy-three meters from the Lugby ball.”

“You knew where it was?” Alexander asked in surprise.

“I have scanners operating in visual through infra-red wavelengths as well as radar,” the computer informed him matter of factly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alexander exclaimed, frantically firing his jets. As hard as he tried, they gained him little. All of his momentum was going up. It took an endless amount of time for Alexander to fall back to the lunar surface, and then he had to get himself going after Khandar. By the time Alexander was moving forward the Golkos boy was almost at the ball. Alexander had one choice left. If he missed, he lost; there would be no catching Khandar.

He bounded ahead as fast as he could, trying to gauge his jumps so that he wouldn’t have to slow down. That’s what Khandar was doing right now, and Alexander could see he was having trouble. In micro-gravity he could maintain a blistering pace effortlessly, but turning, or stopping as Khandar was attempting to do, took planning. The Golkos cadet was trying to skid to a stop, but his momentum carried him through past the ball. He reached for it as he went past, but his foot caught a rock and sent him flying. He caught a piece of the ball and it bounced away as if someone kicked it.

As Khandar kicked up a cloud of lunar dust, Alexander tried to alter his course. It was tricky business. The only way to do it was to land on both feet, steadying himself with his left foot on landing and then stomping hard with his right foot, pushing off in the direction he wanted to go. At full speed it changed his direction by about thirty degrees, meaning it would take him six hops to turn completely around. Cutting to his left, Alexander guessed he’d get to the ball in a bit over two, almost three hops. That meant he had to calculate his turn and cutting his hops all by the seat of his pants—it was a lot to ask. Khandar was moving like he was underwater, but at least he was making his way to the ball. He’d still get there before Alexander did but not by much.

It turned out that Khandar was in such a hurry with Alexander bearing down on him that he fumbled the ball trying to pick it up. When he regained it, the Golkos cadet looked up to see Alexander flying at him at break neck speed. His pupil-less eyes brightened from their normal green to a furiously bright yellow. Alexander tackled Khandar like a football safety hitting a receiver right after he’s made a catch. They tumbled to the dusty ground, each grappling after the ball, turning, twisting and kicking. The ground disappeared. Alexander fell into blackness, still fighting for the ball. His lights automatically went on, but all he could see was Khandar’s face, eyes blazing, mouth snarling, his yellow fangs chomping in fury. Then they landed.

They didn’t hit as hard as Alexander expected. Actually, they landed in something that yielded to their weight and then sprang back. At the same time it grabbed at them, so they didn’t fly back up, but rather quivered to a halt like they’d landed on a mattress. Alexander still clung to the ball, as did Khandar. His lights still illumined the Golkos’s face, but much to his surprise, there was another face pressed up against his helmet. It was a gray hollow face with deep sockets where its eyes should be and a mouth opened round as if in mid howl. The face was exactly between them. Alexander stared at it. Khandar stared at it. It was the face of a corpse.

They screamed together.

CHAPTER 18: Interrogation

The Lugby ball was forgotten. Alexander tried to get away from the corpse, and Khandar was equally as eager. It wasn’t easy though. They’d landed in a thick matt of stellar brambles. The brambles could be found growing on distant asteroids. They could survive in the harsh temperatures and vacuums of airless worlds. The reason to have them was that they grew deep roots searching for the ice that they needed to survive. Much like any other plant they used sunlight. However, the unique thing about the bramble was that it didn't depend on carbon dioxide, but instead used solar energy to help it consume the hydrogen in the ice for food and excreting Oxygen. Brought by Terrans to the Moon, the stellar brambles grew fast and spread fast. Along with the half-score other species of vacuum adapted plants they started the decades long process of terraforming.

Alexander and Khandar got free of the brambles, staring at not one but three corpses caught in the stellar plants. Two of the corpses were obviously Terrans. One was a male, the one they’d fallen on, and the other was a female. The third corpse was a saurian, a Seer’koh. Alexander gasped, “I know who they are!”

The Golkos glared at him, but then the urgent voice of Centurion Fjallheim came over their helmets. “Cadet Wolfe, Cadet Khandar report! What the devil is going on?”

“Sir, we’ve landed in a crack and discovered three corpses,” Alexander exclaimed. He was about to elaborate when Khandar drew his finger across his throat, meaning for Alexander to cut his transmission. The request mystified Alexander, there was no hiding their grim discovery, but the expression on Khandar’s face was in earnest and it had nothing to do with their feud. Alexander cut his comlink.

Khandar leaned forward, touching his helmet against Alexander’s. The Golkos cut his own comlink and began talking. His voice was weak and had a buzz in it, but Alexander could understand him. “The helmet will transmit the sound waves of our voices by vibration, that way no one else can hear us,” he explained. In response to Alexander’s expression he went on, his brows knit in consternation. “On Golkos the first rule in survival is to hide your secrets! These corpses didn’t get here by accident; someone hid them here!”

“What does that have to do with us,” Alexander asked. “We can’t be blamed for finding them. We were just looking for the Lugby ball.”

“You said you knew these people,” Khandar corrected him. “That involves you, and since I was with you, that involves me. The people who did this will connect the dots just as quickly as the people who will investigate this—we are the common link!”

“There’s no way we’re connected to this,” Alexander retorted.

The Golkos sneered ferociously, “What are the chances that the only cadet in the Academy who knows who these three people are then discovers them hidden in a crack on the surface of Luna?”

Alexander felt his stomach knot up. “I see your point.”

“Who are these people?”

Alexander explained the incident with the Methuselan Circuit. As soon as he mentioned that Khandar turned bright red. He stopped Alexander. “There’s more to this than either of us knows,” he said harshly, “but we can’t trust anyone—even Centurion Fjallheim, maybe even especially him!”

“What are you saying?”

“Why did he send you and me out here out of all the cadets?” His luminous eyes narrowed, and he pointed at the corpses. “You know who these three are and can tie them to some nefarious plans for the Methuselan Circuit, and I,” he paused, “I am the only person in this part of the galaxy that knows how to destroy it!”

“How could Centurion Fjallheim get us here,” Alexander mused.

“I don’t know, that part of it doesn’t make any sense,” Khandar admitted.

“Unless,” Alexander headed over the brambles, crawling over the stiff, bloodless corpses to retrieve the Lugby ball. He got it and took it over to one of the sharper rocks in the pit. Without explaining what he was doing to the Golkos he jumped up and came down hard on the point of the stone, using the Lugby ball as a cushion. The ball burst. Alexander brought the limp synthi-leather casing back to Khandar. The Golkos looked on as Alexander ripped the seam open farther and shook the casing. A small silver bead the size of a small marble fell out and into his waiting glove.

Khandar touched helmets. “What is it?”

“It’s called a glede,” Alexander explained with a frown. “My dad used them as a game, fooling us kids by hiding them in hats, toys you know whatever. The glede can fly and carrying a thousand times its own weight. Dad would use remote control make your hat fly off your head or a baseball fly like it had a mind of its own—someone controlled the Lugby ball to this place. You’re right. Someone knows I know them, and they know you know about the Methuselan Circuit.”

“They have to be Spooks,” Khandar said harshly. He glared at Alexander. “Is your dad behind this?”

Alexander was about to retort when the voice of Centurion Fjallheim blasted over their helmet speakers and the interior of the pit was illuminated by harsh white light. “Cadets, what the devil are you doing, sharing Communion?” They looked up to see the Centurion’s helmet silhouetted against the starry sky twenty meters above them. A dozen or so legionaries rimmed the fissure. The lights centered on the corpses, and Fjallheim said, “That’s not normal. I hope you boys didn’t touch anything.”

“We fell on them!” Alexander exclaimed.

“Why did you do that,” Fjallheim asked. “The forensics teams won’t be happy with a couple of cadets messing up their crime scene. Each of you can take two demerits for not controlling your falls and two more for not bringing back the Lugby ball.”

“But sir!” they exclaimed together.

“You want a few more for making a Legionary Centurion scour the lunar hills for two lost cadets—I didn’t think so! Now stay put, we’ll get a rope down to you. There’s no use trying to get out of there yourselves, you’ll probably fall back down on those bodies and I have enough paperwork to fill out!”

Two of the legionaries pointed their wrist grapplers down into the fissure and fired. Slim cables snaked down to the bottom. Alexander followed their instructions by making a loop out of the end and wrapping the cable around itself four feet above the loop. His foot went in the loop and his hand clamped down on the wound cable. It took only a few seconds of the burly legionaries to haul Alexander and Khandar up.

The gruesome discovery interrupted the Lugby match, and Alexander found himself being escorted by two legionaries to the nearby lunar base for debriefing. Khandar had his own escort and followed behind, complaining, “Nice job Terran; because of you our entire trip here is ruined.”

“That will be enough cadets!” growled one of the legionaries, giving Khandar a prod with his armored glove. He was probably not happy about Khandar’s comment, being a Terran himself. “There’s to be no talking between you two; they don’t want you coordinating stories.”

Alexander had often dreamed of walking across the Moon, but today wasn’t the experience he anticipated. Still, there was no escaping the desolate beauty of the place. Luna wasn’t all gray. It was full of browns, rusty streaks, black pock-marked rocks and almost white ejecta that reminded him of snow. Many of the hollows and crevasses hosted patches of lunar brambles and white flowering cosmic starbursts. Long gone were the heady years after the Galactic Wars when Terra and her empire expanded into the cosmos. Alexander Galaxus, after whom Alexander was named, set out on a program to forever settle Terrans on hundreds of planets. He also enlisted Galactic technology to terraform candidate worlds in the Terran solar system, primarily Venus, Mars and eventually Luna, Europa and Titan. Venus and Mars were relatively easy and now had growing populations. Unfortunately, Luna was a much more ambitious project and work stopped when the Methuselan War commenced, followed closely by the Caliphate Wars. With the loss of Alexander Galaxus and the destruction of much of the Terran and Galactic infrastructure nothing more happened except having a few tons of Airless Vepres freighted in from some of the outlying systems. The plants took hold quickly and after a decade spread all around Luna, drawing ice toward the surface and starting to form a very thin atmosphere in the craters and valleys. It would take another fifty years before any appreciable atmosphere would form, but Terra simply didn’t have the resources to accelerate the process—it would have to do. Besides, after the carnage of the Caliphate Wars population was much less of a problem.

The legionaries marched Alexander to the closest airlock. It was a relatively large chamber and could easily take in a full century of legionaries or a number of Zanks or excursion vehicles. They entered the main chamber and then the legionaries led him into an ante-chamber. This was much smaller and didn’t necessitate pressurizing the entire airlock. The door sealed behind them. There was a hiss and Alexander felt the pressure grow outside his suit. A green light went on.

“All right cadets, you can take your helmets off now,” one of the legionaries told them. The troopers took their helmets off as well. They were both male Terrans like most of the legionaries. The airlock door opened, and they were marched down a long aluminum corridor. Every intersection they passed carried a letter and number designation on the ceiling of the junction, visible in all directions on a lighted placard. Alexander tried to keep track of where they had been, but he got lost after three of them—they all looked the same. The legionary obviously knew where he was going, though, and in five minutes Alexander was ushered into a windowless room. Khandar went on to another room.

“There’s a regeneration dispenser in the corner, cadet,” the legionary told him. “Grab yourself a drink and a snack; someone will be with you in a moment.” He closed the door. Alexander found himself alone, waiting to be interrogated.

“What have I got myself into,” he whispered. “Dad’s not going to be happy.” He got a drink—milk, and a snack—a fruit bar. Settling into a chair, Alexander tried not to be nervous. There was no reason to be, he reminded himself. After all, he didn’t kill those three people. He didn’t have anything to hide—he stopped himself. Did he have something to hide? He remembered Khandar’s warning. Alexander saw these very same people with Professor Strauss and the Methuselan Circuit. Wasn’t that something to hide?

“Cadet Wolfe!” announced a strident voice. It was Centurion Fjallheim. Alexander jumped. He hadn’t heard the door slide open. Springing to attention, he waited until the officer came into view. Fjallheim was out of his space suit, but now he wore the black and crimson sash of the security forces over his uniform. “At ease cadet,” he said evenly, but the glowering expression on his face didn’t make him feel at ease. Walking around the table the centurion sat down heavily, glancing up at Alexander with his green eyes almost hidden by his bushy red brows. He touched the pad on the edge of the desk and a pair of screens rose up from the table-top, one facing the centurion and one facing Alexander.

Fjallheim synchronized his screen, announcing, “I am First Centurion Fjallheim, Chief Instructor of Tactics and Weaponry at the Academy.” He waited until the computer acknowledged him before continuing. “This is an inquiry into the murder of three people,” he listed their names for the record, “whose corpses were found by Cadet Alexander Wolfe and Cadet Janus Khandar. This record is the interrogation of Cadet Wolfe.” He sat back and nodded to Alexander, meaning it was his turn to synch himself into the computer. Alexander did so. When the computer finished questioning him it announced that he was who he claimed to be and reminded him that he was under oath.

“I swear to tell the truth so help me God!” Alexander swore, but he couldn’t help but be nervous. Fjallheim noticed it, and his expression was not the least comforting.

“You will tell the truth cadet. I should remind you that the lie detector is on, and that if either the lie detector or I get the idea that you are being evasive that is grounds for expulsion from the Academy. Do you understand?” When Alexander answered in the affirmative, Fjallheim observed. “You’re jumpy Cadet Wolfe; you’re going to make me think you shot those three people yourself.”

“Begging your pardon sir, I didn’t shoot anybody!” Alexander assured him.

“Whether you did or did not we will discover in the course of this investigation, but it is quite clear that you had a history with Professor Nussbaum,” he said, manipulating something on his screen. The centurion rubbed his chin as he studied the hidden display on his screen. “You debated Professor Nussbaum on more than one occasion; in fact, I would describe your exchange as baiting him—if I can believe an Academy cadet could have the nerve to bait a professor.”

“I’m sorry sir, but what does Professor Nussbaum have to do with the three bodies Khandar and I discovered?”

“We will get to that in due time cadet, but for now I’d like to hear your take on your relationship with Professor Nussbaum. This wasn’t the first run in you had with the good professor. You did, in fact, complain about him to Lt. Mortimer.”

“On behalf of my entire flight sir,” Alexander informed him. “I was selected to speak to her about him by my flight.”

“What was the nature of the complaint?”

Alexander fidgeted, but he couldn’t avoid the truth. “Professor Nussbaum doesn’t like Terra; at least he’s not very patriotic. As cadets, we simply don’t understand what he’s trying to teach us; it doesn’t make any sense to teach future officers to hate their country or their Homeworld.”

“That’s a very good way of putting it,” the centurion nodded. “So you followed channels and reported to Lt. Mortimer. Did that solve the problem?”

“No sir,” Alexander admitted, “but it did affect my grades.”

“Are you accusing Professor Nussbaum of altering your grades because of some personal dislike—that’s a serious charge, I warn you.” The centurion’s eyes narrowed until they almost disappeared.

“I haven’t accused anyone of anything sir,” Alexander said quickly, becoming somewhat flustered. “It is the truth. Since I confronted him in class my grades have fallen from a B to a C-minus.” Fjallheim nodded, touching something on his screen. Alexander was beginning to get frustrated and confused. “I don’t know what this has to do with finding the bodies in the crater.”

“It’s not your job to know,” the centurion snapped, and then he glanced back at his screen. “You have a busy history of trouble at the Academy thus far, Cadet Wolfe—very busy. Yet this isn’t the only Professor you’ve had problems with, is it?

“I don’t know what you mean sir,” he replied, the fear of being expelled growing in his breast.

“Don’t you; what about Professor Strauss?”

“Professor Strauss!” Alexander couldn’t help the surprise in his voice. Did the centurion know about his encounter with Strauss; should he say something?

Fjallheim leaned back in his seat, looking at the ceiling as if in deep and troubled thought. He sighed, and said, “As a cadet you no doubt think the Academy is a well honed machine and long ago discovered the very best manner possible in training our future officers—not so! Unfortunately, wherever you have people you have ambition, and wherever you have ambition you have politics.” He stopped and looked at Alexander, his eyes steely serious. “Professors Strauss and Nussbaum have dubious political histories at best, but they are in favor with the current political Administration. They are not fans of the military. They are not fans of our empire, our history or our traditions.” The centurion hesitated and finally nodded. “You were right to bring it up to your advisor, but unfortunately your advisor is, I believe, sympathetic to their views. At the very least, Lt. Mortimer has done extensive work for Professor Strauss on the professor’s current study project.”

Could he mean the Methuselan Circuit? Certainly the centurion could mean nothing else, but why was he telling Alexander this. What did this have to do with the bodies? The centurion answered him by tossing a yellow memory card onto the table. It was the same one he gave to Professor Strauss at the request of Commandant Augesburcke.

“Do you recognize this?” Fjallheim’s voice was matter-of-fact. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “Before you answer Cadet Wolfe, be advised that your fingerprints, the fingerprints of Professor Strauss and the Commandant’s fingerprints were found on the card.”

Alexander swallowed hard, but said, “Of course they were sir, that is, if that’s the memory card Commandant Augesburcke ordered me to give to the professor. I followed orders and gave him the card.”

The answer seemed to surprise Centurion Fjallheim. “Where did this happen?”

Alexander answered the question exactly, but he didn’t volunteer the information that the Professor was not alone; he wondered if the centurion would ask. He did not. Instead, he asked if Alexander had seen what was on the memory card.

Alexander answered truthfully that he had never seen what was on the memory card.

“Good,” the centurion said sharply. “If you did I imagine Professor Strauss would flunk you out of the Academy—or worse. That brings us back to our three friends,” he brought up a hologram of the bodies Alexander and Khandar discovered. The three dimensional image floated on the table between them. The centurion looked up at him and pointed to a holographic picture of the bodies. “These are the bodies you and Cadet Khandar found are they not?”

“Yes sir.”

Instead of asking the obvious question; that is, whether Alexander knew them, Fjallheim used his laser pointer to study the damage to the bodies. “You will notice that each body has multiple blaster shots in the thorax,” he said, pointing out the fist sized holes in the dried up corpses. “We have determined that the shots were fired from a range of two to three meters. What does the placement of the shots tell you?”

Alexander was momentarily confused, “I don’t really know, sir,” he stammered, knowing at once that was not an acceptable answer—even for a first year cadet. The glowering expression of the centurion forced him to examine the hologram again, but as he did, Alexander sensed something deeper, something behind the obvious in the centurion’s question. He mentally shook his head; that didn’t matter. The centurion was waiting; what was he going to say?

The centurion stood up, breaking Alexander’s concentration. Alexander shot up out of his chair—you didn’t sit when a centurion stood! The centurion seemed not to notice, and instead he went over to the small open space next to the desk. “Computer, put the hologram here,” he said, pointing to the floor. A very realistic life sized hologram of the three corpses appeared on the floor. Glancing down at Alexander, the centurion said, “Visualize yourself as the shooter. How do the blaster shots explain the situation?”

Alexander cleared his mind, as his father taught him. That reminded Alexander of similar quizzes from his father. If you don’t see the answer, break it down into bite sized chunks; start with the obvious. He took a deep breath, and said, “The Terran male has a blaster shot in his left breast but it missed the heart. He has one in his stomach, one in his shoulder—wait,” Alexander looked the other two corpses over. “All three corpses have multiple blaster wounds but none of them by themselves looks fatal. Whoever did this wasn’t a good shot. It might have been more than one person; in fact, I think it was more than one person.”

“Why,” asked the centurion.

“There are eleven blaster wounds. One person couldn’t have put that many shots into two government agents and an Ambassador, especially a bad shot.”

“What makes you think they are agents cadet?”

Alexander caught his breath, but he quickly recovered, pointing out their clothing and the glasses. It apparently satisfied Fjallheim. “That’s an interesting hypothesis but couldn’t the target’s movement be the reason for the poor shooting?”

“I don’t know sir, that doesn’t make any sense,” Alexander admitted.

“Demonstrate the attack,” the centurion snapped. “Computer, animate the victims to a standing group. We will assume the attack came from the front since there are no blaster wounds in the back.”

The holograms shifted to standing positions and their blaster wounds healed. Centurion Fjallheim handed Alexander a blaster. “This is the type of blaster we guess was used in the attack based on trace elements found in the wounds, the size of the blaster holes and the temperature of the blaster beams.” He took Alexander by the shoulder and placed him two meters from the group. “You are the shooter—shoot them, shoot them all!”

Alexander froze, not entirely sure what this was all about.

Fjallheim didn’t allow him any time to consider his position. Looming over Alexander, he shouted, “Shoot them cadet; shoot them now, that’s an order!”

Alexander raised the gun and shot the Terran male at point blank range. He fell immediately. Swiftly moving his aim toward the Seer’koh he immediately recognized the problem. The Seer’koh crouched instinctively in surprise, hiding his chest behind his shoulders. The head bobbed up and down making it an almost impossible shot, but Alexander was pressed for time, the Terran female was reaching for something. He fired at the center of the Seer’koh, at the largest area of mass—his belly. The saurian spun to the ground shrieking. Alexander leveled the gun at the female just as she was drawing her own weapon. It was a hurried shot, hitting her in the shoulder and spinning her around. Both the female Terran and the Seer’koh were on the ground, writhing and crying out in pain.

He pointed his blaster at the woman’s chest, feeling as if he were shooting his own mother as he did so, and he squeezed the trigger—or he tried to. Alexander’s finger froze, quivering on the trigger, but he hadn’t the strength to pull it. He dropped his arm, knowing he failed, failed to kill even a hologram.

“Computer stop—as you were cadet,” Centurion Fjallheim said gravely, taking the blaster from him. Alexander fell breathlessly into the chair. The centurion holstered the weapon and sat in his chair, turning his screen toward his face. He looked at Alexander for a second from underneath his furrowed brows and sighed. Then he turned to the screen and announced, “Cadet Wolfe failed the simulation completely.”

Alexander’s heart fell. What would his father say? Fjallheim continued, “It should be noted that I expected this result and thought this interrogation technique was unnecessary; it should also be noted that I proceeded only under the direct orders of Commandant Augesburcke, and that I vehemently protested. Such stressors could have a negative effect on Cadet Wolfe’s future performance endangering a very valuable asset to the Service.”

Alexander looked up. What was he saying; did Commandant Augesburcke order this interrogation? Alexander had always thought, or hoped that the Commandant was on his side. He was now thoroughly confused, but there was no chance for questions. The centurion was continuing to dictate.

“It is clear that Cadet Wolfe had nothing to do with the murders of Agent Larry, Agent Jameson or Ambassador Skreen, however,” Fjallheim paused and stared at Alexander, “it is just as obvious that Cadet Wolfe not only knows the victims but he knows who the shooter is as well!”

CHAPTER 19: Conspiracy

Alexander was stunned by the charge. “Sir, I don’t know who murdered these people!”

“You know who they are, don’t you?” the centurion said, cocking his head to the side. “Remember cadet, you are under oath and the computer has a built in lie detector. Lying to a Legionary Officer is grounds for automatic dismissal.”

Khandar’s warning rang in his ears, but this was serious. Alexander could not refuse to answer the centurion’s question, besides if anyone should know about Professor Strauss it was Centurion Fjallheim. “I understand all that sir, but I met these three people only once. That was when Commandant Augesburcke had me deliver a data card to Professor Strauss.”

“Why would the Commandant have you deliver it,” he mused, as if to himself.

“I believe he meant to deliver it himself,” Alexander replied, shrugging his shoulders. “He came to Professor Strauss’ class, but the Professor wasn’t there, so he sent me after him.”

Centurion Fjallheim crossed his arms and started pacing the room, absently walking right through the middle of the hologram. It looked perfectly real except that the edges of the image blurred as the centurion passed through it. He stopped and bit his lip, as if uncertain about what to ask or—and this struck Alexander strangely but forcefully—whether he should ask anything at all. He sighed and said, “Where did you find Professor Strauss?”

“In the stern of the Tube sir,” Alexander said evenly. “Professor Strauss was with these three people. He did not introduce them. I handed him the data card.”

“I see,” Fjallheim nodded, turning away. “I wonder what the Professor was doing there and what was he doing with these three. They have no tie to his class or to his past.” He looked at Alexander again and picked up the data card. “This was found beneath the body of the Seer’koh Ambassador. The fingerprints tell us that Professor Strauss handled it after you and the Commandant. In addition, the data on the tape incriminates Professor Strauss and no one else. The contents are motive for murder. Professor Strauss has some questions to answer.”

“He was studying a large circuit from the Methuselan ship,” Alexander began to explain, but Fjallheim immediately whirled around and cut him off.

“Cadet Wolfe, I did not ask you to expound upon the actions or intents of the Professor,” he snapped with a stern look on his face. Alexander clapped his mouth shut, surprised by the outburst. The centurion’s face softened, but it was still grim when he said, “Is there any other time you have seen these three people?”

Alexander described the encounter before they shipped to Luna. “After they left there was one more thing that happened sir. Should I expand on that?” Fjallheim nodded, and Alexander told him about the zike rider.

“A zike was taken from the Tube at approximately that time,” Fjallheim mused. “The random blaster shots and erratic driving certainly point away from anyone with Legion training.”

“Sir, if I may,” Alexander began, but he waited for the centurion’s nod to ask the question he dreaded. “Sir, the lady agent, you called her Jameson. She seemed to recognize my friend James and he thought he recognized her. Is there any chance they’re related?”

The centurion seemed genuinely surprised at the question and accessed his panel. “It says here that his mother was killed on Golkos, but,” he stopped and shook his head. “I’ll have to look into it cadet, but for now you are not to mention Agent Jameson to your classmates—especially James. That’s a direct order.”

“Yes sir,” Alexander replied.

“That will be all cadet. It seems fairly clear to me that you have nothing to do with this and no further insight to offer the investigation. You are dismissed. The legionaries outside will conduct you to the terminal. You are to join your classmates and take the shuttle to the Academy—understood?”

“Yes sir,” Alexander saluted. Alexander turned to leave, but at that moment a legionary entered the room. He had no choice but to stop as the man blocked the door.

The man thumped his chest with his fist. Fjallheim returned the salute. “What is it trooper?”

“Centurion Fjallheim, The President of Pan America is on base. You are ordered to collect all your cadets and return to the Academy at once!”

The surprise on Fjallheim’s face was apparent, but he said, “Thank you trooper, you are dismissed.” The news obviously gave Fjallheim cause for thought. He seemed to completely forget Alexander.

“Excuse me sir, am I to return to the troopship or find my way to the terminal?”

“What, oh Cadet Wolfe, you’re still here,” he snapped, breaking out of his reverie. He looked at Alexander and thought for another moment. Alexander stood waiting; he didn’t dare ask anything else. The clock in his head ticked on and on, and it took at least another two minutes before Fjallheim reached whatever conclusion he needed to reach.

He went back to the hologram and pulled out the blaster. “Computer, continue simulation.” Fjallheim shot the Terran woman, finishing her off with brutal efficiency; however, the wounded Seer’koh was another matter. The saurian writhed in agony, crying out with a weird rattling scream—it struck Alexander forcefully—he’d heard that very scream before. Fjallheim tried to strike the head, but only succeeded in getting a glancing shot, burning the side of the neck and skull. The Seer’koh continued to scream. The centurion shook his head and put another blaster shot in the Seer’koh’s belly, causing such massive damage that the being instantly went into shock and died.

The centurion announced aloud, as if to himself, “They couldn’t have been killed inside Luna Base. The computer security protocols would have alerted base personal to the blaster shots. It’s also apparent that they were not shot with a single blaster or even two—that can only mean one thing, they weren’t shot with a blaster.”

He looked Alexander’s way as if finally remembering that he was there. Holstering the weapon, he ordered the computer to end the simulation and walked around the desk. He put his hand on Alexander’s shoulder, but again he stopped, looking at the data display on his sleeve. “You’re going to come with me cadet. There, now let’s collect Cadet Khandar. We don’t want to be here when the Presidential party comes through; it’s a veritable zoo!”

Alexander followed the centurion out of the room. After the delay, Fjallheim was now in a great hurry. Without so much as an explanation, he yanked Khandar out of his interrogation room and hustled the cadets toward the airlock. Halfway there, by Alexander’s guess, they rounded a corner and were face to face with a tall dusky skinned Terran in a dark suit. He was surrounded by an entourage of other suits, escorted by the lunar base Commander and followed by a squad of Praetorian legionaries—the elite of the legions. The Commander’s face went beet red at the sight of Fjallheim and the cadets.

“Ten-shun!” barked centurion Fjallheim, flattening himself against the wall. Alexander leapt across the floor to do the same and Khandar followed suit.

The President stopped, looking at the centurion and the cadets with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. “I thought all corridors were supposed to be clear of personal?”

“That was the order Mr. President,” the Commander replied, and he turned his wrath on Fjallheim. The centurion explained very quickly but very stoically that they were just informed of the President’s arrival, and he’d terminated interrogations to follow orders.

“Interrogating cadets, that’s a bit superfluous isn’t it,” the President asked. “After all, what can cadets do that’s so awful?”

“They didn’t do anything sir,” Centurion Fjallheim informed him. “They did however discover three bodies on the lunar surface. We are investigating.”

“Ambassador Skreen and two of our people were found murdered sir,” the Base Commander told the President. “We are investigating. Centurion Fjallheim was asked to interrogate his cadets and pass the information on to us.” The commander glared at Fjallheim. “Centurion Fjallheim was supposed to be on his way to the troopship by now.”

The President waved off any further explanation and stepped up to Alexander and Khandar. “This is a serious way to begin your careers,” he said gravely, asking them to introduce themselves. When they did so, the President’s brows rose in surprise. “Your father is Lyle Wolfe and your father was Demetrios Khandar?” When they nodded that was true, the President shook his head and laughed. “It’s a wonder you haven’t killed each other yet! General, make a note, I’d like to be informed when something serious happens between these two—it should be amusing!”

“Yes sir!”

Alexander took an instant dislike to the President and he could feel Khandar seething next to him. That made him feel better; Khandar was finally angry at someone else! The President turned away, and it was as if he forgot they existed at all. He and his entourage continued on. When they were gone, Fjallheim said, “You two will find no safety in anonymity; in fact, there’s no safety anywhere. We’re all going to be forced to choose between tradition and change. Remember this, you two especially,” his eyes almost disappeared beneath his red brows, that’s how serious he looked. Alexander listened intently. “You two are the icons for tradition whether you like it or not. Tradition has its place; it’s kept the Empire, and even the empires of our Galactic brethren going under the worst of circumstances. Yet there are some, this President included, who would use this crisis to impose change—be on your guard! Neither of you will have the choice of anonymity; you are too important!”

As they marched to the troopship, Alexander had a lot to think about. He didn’t understand why he was so important, but again it appeared to have something to do with his father and Khandar’s father. He exchanged several glances with Khandar. The Golkos was hard to read, but he was obviously thinking about things as well. When they arrived at the troopship, they split up

Alexander relayed all that happened to Treya, James and Lisa. It was obvious to all of them that Professor Strauss was the prime suspect in the murders, but there was no explanation for Centurion Fjallheim. Lisa voiced their collective thought when she asked, “Why did he show you all the stuff about the murder; then he delayed you so that you were certain to run into the President. It’s as if he wants you to look into this. Why, we’re cadets; we can’t do anything!”

By the time they’d gotten that far the troopship reached the Academy, but instead of docking, Centurion Fjallheim informed them, “There will be a two hour delay before we can dock because the Presidential flotilla is enroute to the Academy. We’ve been told to orbit out of the security zone. However, in order not to waste any time, I’ve established a datalink with the library computers. You may access your study files through your suits. I suggest you use the time wisely!”

There was a collective groan as the cadets returned to their studies. Alexander did the same, but he’d no sooner connected to his library database than he saw Katrina pop up on the etherlink.

“Alexander, it’s a good thing I got a hold of you! You’ll never believe what’s happening down here!”

“I’ve got news too, and I’ve got to get you to contact my dad; I need to talk to him somehow!”

“That’s going to be hard,” she told him, her pretty face turning into a frown. “They’ve quarantined the entire island, and there are security units patrolling a perimeter around our family’s houses—all of our families, mine, yours, Lisa’s and even James house.”

Alexander waved the others over and told them what Katrina said. Their faces were glued to the small etherlink screen embedded in the suit on Alexander’s wrist. “What’s up with that, why should they be watching our houses? We’re just cadets!” He assumed they were the source of the government surveillance, but Katrina shook her head and told him otherwise.

“It’s not about us, at least not entirely,” she said sadly, and then she took a deep breath. “We’re not just cadets, or at least you’re not—I screwed up with my big mouth—I was supposed to be at the Academy this year, just like you are supposed to be there now.”

“You mean this was rigged,” James asked, his own questions as to why he was there in the first place finally being answered. Then he shook his head violently. “Wait a minute, I can see the Feds watching Alexander’s house,” he shrugged when Alexander looked at him, “hey, everyone knows your dad was a Spook — that’s cool. Why my house though, my dad’s a drunk. He’s not even a Citizen.”

Katrina took a deep breath and her expression grew deadly serious. “There’s a reason our families moved on to Vashon; each of our fathers, and James your mother, served together in the Special Forces. We all qualified for the Academy on our own, but because we were the kids of some very special military people strings were pulled. It seems that was done behind the backs of those in this conspiracy, but that’s why you guys have been watched by Strauss, Nussbaum and especially Fjallheim!”

“Fjallheim,” Alexander gasped. “You can’t be serious.”

Katrina took a deep breath and told them, “Listen closely, it seems amazing that Strauss and Nussbaum could be professors at any university, not to mention the Academy of all places. You would think that terrorists—neither has ever renounced their actions or views—you’d think terrorists would be barred from teaching positions. Normally that would be true, but Strauss and Nussbaum are political appointees. The appointments were made the former Senator in charge of the Armed Services Committee, Senator Cass Bar-Judas.”

“You mean the President?” They were astonished.

“Yes, but there’s more,” Katrina said. “You need to be careful, because the Senator was also sponsored another important person in the Academy: Centurion Fjallheim.”

Alexander turned white and the others gasped. This was terrible, terrible news. Katrina filled their stunned silence, explaining, “The media actively suppressed the fact that President Bar-Judas’s father was a Gaiaist and his mother was affiliated with Ecoterrorist groups—that’s because the media is sympathetic to those causes and is not very cozy with the Legions, the Fleet or the Constitutionalists that seek to carry out Alexander of Terra’s vision for the future. Of course, the President is against that. He and his cronies have a very different view of our future, and that’s why he has his people planted in the Academy. There’s no way he can force his vision of the galaxy on the population if he can’t control the military, and that starts at the Academy. With Strauss and Nussbaum indoctrinating generations of officers to be sympathetic to the Gaian cause and Centurion Fjallheim to manipulate the legionary muscle the President has enough cover to move forward.”

Alexander cradled his head. He couldn’t believe it. “Fjallheim just warned me to watch my back; he tried to help me and Khandar after we discovered that the people working with Strauss on the Methuselan Circuit had been murdered.”

“Hold on,” Katrina exclaimed, and she touched her ear, looking away for the moment. When she looked back, she asked, “Were they two Terrans—a man and a woman—and a Seer’koh?”

Alexander nodded.

Katrina’s face fell and she listened again to some unheard voice. She explained, “The woman and the Seer’koh were our people and the man was an FBI agent who is a well respected Constitutionalist. They were the good guys. Fjallheim must’ve taken care of them because they wanted to remove the Methuselan Circuit from the ship and get it to Terra where it would be harmless.”

“Fjallheim killed them, are you sure?”

Again Katrina listened to something in her ear—obviously someone didn’t want to be seen or heard on the etherlink. She nodded her head. “Fjallheim’s the only one we know of with the technical skill to take out our two agents. They were very experienced. Unless, do you know of anyone else there that might be working with Nussbaum and Strauss? Think, because we don’t know everyone at the Academy as well as we’d like too.”

“Augesburcke,” Alexander offered, fearing the answer.

Katrina shook her head immediately, and told them, “If Augesburcke is a mole we might as well fold up the tent—we’re done. He’s the one who pulled the strings to get you into the Academy.”

“Centurion Fjallheim mentioned that Lt. Mortimer was working closely with Professor Strauss.”

Katrina listened to something in her ear and shook her head, “We don’t have much on her; but there’s no history in her files of any contact with radicals. It’s a smokescreen; it has to be Fjallheim.”

James interrupted, whispering, “What is this about the Methuselan Circuit. Why is it so blasted important—what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Katrina said. “Alexander you have a series of data files encrypted in the crystals of your Rosary. The first “Our Father” opens the file on the Methuselan Circuit. The next three “Hail Mary’s” open data files for you three.”

“How are we going to watch them with Fjallheim creeping over our shoulder,” James interrupted.

“Don’t worry, they’re encrypted. You can play them out in the open and anyone outside of a three foot radius will only see a harmless documentary of the Caliphate Wars. That’s because the true content is woven into the signal and two holograms are actually projected,” she stopped, touching her ear and sighed, saying, “sorry, I just get so fascinated by this stuff! Anyway, watch the files in order. They will clarify everything except how they’re going to trigger the Methuselan Circuit and how you’re going to stop it.”

They all looked at each other. “What do you mean how we’re going to stop it?”

“That’s why you’re there,” Katrina said seriously.

“We’re going to stop this Galactic conspiracy,” Alexander asked, and he couldn’t help but smile at the idea. The others laughed nervously.

“We have no other choice. Your father wants you to make contact with Khandar’s son, he has specific information on the circuit, information his father entrusted to him. Your father knows what the Methuselan Circuit is and what the Methuselans used it for, but Khandar knew how to destroy it—that’s the information you need to get—you need to stop it.”

Alexander looked at the others and shook his head. “Khandar will never give me the information,” he told her seriously. “He wants me dead; he thinks my father assassinated his father—he’s sworn a blood oath on it.”

“It’s true,” Katrina said evenly. “I’m sorry Alexander, but your father did assassinate the Grand Admiral.” She stopped, because Alexander’s heart fell; everyone could see that. Quickly, she told him, “I know this is tough on you, but the Special Forces are a necessary part of the Service. Your father wasn’t a rogue like Khandar suspects. The assassination orders originate from the Pro Consul’s Chamber; you’re father was following orders, but there’s more to it—watch the data files!” She hesitated, waiting for the shock to run its course. Alexander felt his breath bind up in his lungs, encasing him in a constricting band of doubt. James laid a hand on his shoulder. Treya took his hand. Alexander straightened up, trying to get a hold of himself, controlling his emotions as his father taught him to—his father the assassin. When he looked back at Katrina, she said, “Watch them and read the attached combat report; I can’t say any more. Study them closely—that’s all your father told me.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Alexander, I am sorry.”

“You’re sorry, but was he? Did he seem sorry about it at all?”

“He told me you would have a hard time hearing this,” Katrina started to say, but James swiftly covered Alexander’s ethernet screen, explaining with a single harsh word, “Fjallheim!”

It was the Centurion, and he didn’t look happy. “What is it that you are covering up, Cadet Jameson?” He took his meaty hand and yanked James’s hand away from the screen, staring down at it with the knit brows peculiar to the centurion class. He frowned. “Watching Z-Crosse matches when you should be studying?”

Alexander stared at his screen. Sure enough it was a college Z-Crosser match. He looked back up at Fjallheim, and explained, “Sir, we all need pointers, especially me.”

“I see,” the centurion glowered. He stared at them for a long, long moment before saying, “You all appear to be involved in every bit of trouble at this Academy. I would think that after today’s little adventure you would take a bit more care about highlighting yourselves—all of you. I’ll be watching you; be assured of that.” He turned on his heel and went over to harangue another group of cadets.

“That was close,” James whispered. “How’d you get the game on there; that was quick thinking!”

“I didn’t,” Alexander admitted. “That must’ve been Katrina.” He sighed and looked at all of them, admitting, “I don’t know about you but I’m still frazzled about all of this.”

“At least we know why we’re all here,” Lisa said.

“And we know what we have to do,” Treya added.

James shook his head, “How are we supposed to stop this Conspiracy? I mean, let’s be real. If the Commandant of the Academy can’t do anything about it, what can we do? We’re just cadets!”

Alexander shrugged, and said, “My dad’s favorite book was a fantasy called, The Lord of the Rings. In it, all the great warriors and wizards of men, elves, dwarves couldn’t bring down the enemy—but a couple of small, weak and insignificant hobbits did it. They succeeded because they persevered and because the enemy didn’t consider them a threat.”

Lisa shrugged, “If you’re trying to beat someone stronger than you lull them into thinking you are so much weaker than they are that you’re not worth worrying about.”

James smiled, and said, “Katrina told us it was encrypted. Trust it. Besides, the surest way to get Fjallheim’s attention is to sneak off somewhere he can’t see us. I say go for it!”

CHAPTER 20: Engram Encryption

Alexander found himself at home, sitting in his father’s favorite leather chair and watching Holo-V. It was the evening news. A male Terran was explaining various holographic clips to the audience. The clips showed people, masses of people, shouting, waving signs and boiling over barricades like rats scurrying through the streets. The commentator had a look of deep gravity on his face. “There are riots in every major city across Pan America and they have one central theme—freedom. The masses of non-Citizen Unioneers are now in what can only be termed “open revolt.” They are demanding what they call basic human rights: a larger share in the income tax revenues collected from Citizens, the right to own property and the right to vote—and who can blame them?”

“Damned liberal media,” Alexander growled, but it was his father’s voice that he heard. He got up and went into the kitchen. As he took out a bottle of gin from the freezer his mother entered from the mudroom.

“It’s a little early for your martini dear,” she said scathingly, kissing him nonetheless. “Kathy’s not in bed yet.” His parents rarely let him see them drink, or rather his father. Mom had a glass of wine every once and a while, but aside from the sacramental wine at mass and a beer during a football game, Alexander rarely witnessed his father drink.

His dad started the elaborate process of adding ginger to the gin, shaking it in ice and the other steps in his potion making routine, while telling his mom, “The President has just declared martial law over Pan America but that doesn’t include the Unioneers; it only includes those Citizens who might try and protect their property. The mobs are breaking into stores, museums, companies—you name it. Looting is rampant, but the only people being arrested are Citizens. It’s spread from Buenos Aires to Calgary.”

Mom looked worried. “What if they come here?”

Dad laughed in a very unpleasant manner, “There aren’t enough legionaries to get them in here; and the President won’t risk bombing the island, not yet. You’ll be safe enough in the shelter if need be. I’ve expected this day ever since Cass Bar-Judas got into the Senate. The Gaiaists were on the move again. We didn’t finish the job when we had the chance; the powers that be didn’t want the blood of a few thousand hard-core crazies on their hands.” He finished making his drink and strolled out to the living room again. Gesturing to the Holo-V, he said, “Now look at it. Instead of a few thousand radicals in exile we’ve got this, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“How much worse,” Mom asked.

Dad took a sip from his martini. Alexander felt the chilly bite of the ginger and the throat constricting strength of the alcohol. “They’ve got the damned Circuit. They found it on the Methuselan mining vessel and Strauss knew enough psionic tech to identify it.” He took another sip of his drink. “We tried to get it here so we could destroy it.”

“And?”

“Our team was compromised—all of them.”

“Oh my God Jenny,” his mom looked stunned. “Didn’t Jenny go up?”

“Yes she did,” his father said, anger covering his sadness. “I don’t know how the hell I’m going to tell Jonathon about it or James. James didn’t even know his mom was still alive.”

“What about Alexander,” Mom asked forcefully. “He’s up there with whoever murdered them.”

“I know,” Dad said. “We’re doing all we can without exposing them, but now they may be our last hope of stopping this.”

“You can’t ask that of our son, these people are killers, they don’t care about anyone’s life; they’re all about the collective and all that crap!” His mom was really getting worked up, which was a scary sight. “You can’t leave him up there with those murderers!”

“Honey, we’re doing all we can,” Dad said, taking her by the shoulder and trying to calm her. “Alexander is safer in the Academy than any other place in the system. If I brought him back here he’d be nothing more than a hostage. Really, I’m more worried about you and Kathy than Alexander—at least he can do something!”

Mom wiped away her tears, shaking her head, “What are you asking him to do?”

“He and his friends have to destroy the Methuselan Circuit.”

It struck Alexander like a cold Pacific wave in the face. That’s why he was here. He and his friends were the last line of defense against the Gaian plot.

“It going to be guarded,” she protested.

Dad sighed, “I know, but what works in his favor is the Methuselan Circuit can’t be destroyed overtly. The Circuit is built to withstand titanic forces of energy; it’s an almost solid piece of compression-hardened Iridium. You could put the thing in the center of the sun and it wouldn’t damage it. That’s why I haven’t done anything—I don’t know how to destroy it.”

“Who does?”

“Khandar’s son,” Dad said gravely. “The Grand Admiral saw one vaporize when we were in Methuselan space—he knew how to destroy it, and he got rid of all of them, all of them except this one.”

“Why did he destroy them?”

“He knew how they could be used,” Dad said, finishing the rest of his drink. “They had Gaiaists in Golkos society as well; this is like a present from God for those people—that is, if they believed in God!”

“Alexander can’t work with Khandar,” Mom gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

Dad moved in front of a mirror, and Alexander could tell that he was looking right at him. “That’s up to Alexander and Khandar. They need to be the new men in this galaxy; it’s their time. If they fail, the Methuselan Circuit will destroy our history, our traditions and our very way of life. The Methuselan Circuit uses psionic energy to make an entire planet acquiesce—people will know that it’s being used to subtly control their minds but they won’t care. That’s what they want; they must not succeed! Son, go on to the next file. I have confidence in you, I have faith in you; don’t ever forget that. You have my love. Thanks Alexander; thanks for being my son.”

They image stopped and all four of them found themselves looking at each other. Then they all looked at James. His eyes misted over and his jaws worked hard as if he were struggling to say something. Finally, he just nodded at the Rosary.

Alexander held the next bead, and began, “Hail Mary, full of grace . . .”

The scene shifted, and though Alexander still felt himself within his father, he was no longer at home. Instead he was in an office, in fact he recognized the office—it was the Commandant’s office in the Academy. The quarters were cramped, more because there were six other people in the office all crowded around a single Holo-V. Because he was within his father’s view he recognized the others. Commandant Augesburcke sat glowering behind his desk. Seated next to him was a Seer’koh and Treya’s father, a handsome Chem who stood very stern and tall looking over the Holo-V. The rest of the party was made up of Alexander’s dad, Lisa’s dad, Katrina’s dad and James’s mother—all in the black on black uniforms of the Special Forces. His dad briefed the Commandant and guests.

“This file was covertly recorded by one of our FBI agents at a Gaian meeting in San Francisco last month, February 23, 2191.” That was ten years ago! His dad started the file, forwarding through some of the introductions to point out persons of interest. “You will notice among others, newly elected Senator Cass Bar-Judas, Doctor Nussbaum, Head of the Political Science Department at Berkeley,” he mentioned several other people before pointing out the speaker, “and finally Doctor Strauss who was perhaps the most active and radical of the Gaian terrorists. He’s personally responsible for at least three scores deaths in bombings, but he was unfortunately never convicted—the masterminds of terror seldom are. Now sir, if you will listen to the speaker, Doctor Strauss, you’ll get a pretty clear picture of the threat to the Academy and to the Terran Empire as a whole.”

After his preamble, which was as exhausting as his classroom lectures, Strauss began to get more animated, pounding the lectern and pointing his fingers at unseen phantoms. It seemed almost funny to Alexander, who’d seen the same tirades at the system before, until he started to listen to the words used by the Doctor. “We’ve all see the debilitating effects of Capitalism and moralist dogma on our society, how it’s moved us farther and farther away from the Gaian Utopia of equality. We know, as a truth, that equality through freewill is the best means of achieving utopia, but we also hold that forced equality will gain the same ends, albeit through more violent means. We are not afraid of that. Rather we embrace it. As Senator Bar-Judas clearly stated in his campaign, we preach—excuse the theocratic expression—we subscribe to “Hope and Change.” Of course, it’s not necessary for the masses to know what that means so long as they follow along!” There was a rumble of laughter.

“How do we achieve this?” He began to pace the stage, lowering his gaze at certain people as he talked, much the same as in the classroom. “We achieve this by changing the conversation, changing our traditions and changing our history. That is, we speak about “equality” not “opportunity,” we speak about “rights” not about “achievement.” We marginalize celebrating archaic religious events like Christmas and Easter, recognizing that they lead to effectual morality. We subvert our educational institutions with people of like mind, which push the patriotism of Alexander, Washington and Lincoln into the dustbins of pseudo-history and replace them with the philosophies of Marx and Mao.” He paused and wagged a fat finger. “There are some, who will remind us of the mistakes of the past, mistakes that no rewrite of history can assuage. We can’t hide from the fact that Gaiaist philosophy comes from Marxism and Communism, and that no such system has ever been successfully integrated into a society without mass bloodshed. It’s true that Marx himself admitted to the need of re-educating as much as fifty percent of society and exterminating as much as ten percent of the population to make it work. It’s obvious that path won’t work on populations already tired of war and bloodshed—so what’s the answer?”

He waited, pausing for affect, and then he smiled.

“We cause crisis, promoting fear of bloodshed and we jump in at the opportune time to offer solutions. These can start small in concert with our power, but the end game is always the same, only now we have a tool for control of the masses. This tool replaces the fear that Stalin and Mao used for control. It is, forgive the expression, Heaven sent for us. It was discovered during Alexander of Infamy’s invasion of Methuselan space—the Methuselan Circuit.

“The Methuselan’s powered their civilization by mining the power from other civilizations—a unique and brilliant concept. They would send a mining ship to a target system. The ship itself was designed to absorb a significant portion of a planet’s power generation and beam it back to the Homeworld. This had the two-fold effect of providing free energy for Methuselah and hamstringing any potential rival civilization. Why harness the energy of a star if you can destroy a rival at the same time?” He stopped and shrugged, “Of course most civilizations wouldn’t invite the Methuselans to mine their Homeworlds, so they came up with a way of coercing their acceptance—the Methuselan Circuit. It transmits a psionic wave that calms the emotions, a form of emotional lobotomy for the target population. Populations function perfectly well, but it makes them acquiescent, as if we handed out a lifetime supply of pot. The difference is that you can’t make everyone smoke pot, but with the Methuselan Circuit they simply have no choice. Once we’re in power, we’re there to stay.”

He raised his hands at the growing murmur in the crowd. “I hear your clamoring, what about the Fleet, what about the Legions? Well, they can be subverted just as well as the universities can, it’s just more ticklish. The key is the Academy. We already have a deal worked out to get the Chair of the Armed Services committee for Senator Bar-Judas, but as a member of the committee he gets certain appointments. The first two have been made. Doctor Nussbaum will be a Professor of Galactic History and yours truly will be Professor of Physics.” There was a round of applause, to which Professor Strauss bowed, and then his smile broadened. “As to the rest, you have no idea how powerful the promise of becoming Commandant of the Academy can be. Decorations be damned, those of the Legion are as willing to sell their souls for power as we are!”

The Holo-V froze on the smiling face of Strauss.

Treya’s father was the first to say something. It was predictably Chem. “I see no reason for debate about this. Send the whole lot to Pantrixnia! Alexander’s Tyrannosaurus can deal with their petty conspiracy.”

“I can’t say that I disagree with you, Ambassador,” Augesburcke said grimly, chewing on his mustache even as his father and illustrious grandfather had. He looked at Alexander’s father. “You’ve made this report to the Pro Consul?”

“Yes sir, but the Pro Consul reports directly to the Senate Armed Services Committee—they declined to view the presentation.”

“The declination was signed by Senator Bar-Judas I suppose?”

“Yes sir, the Pro Consul was summarily removed from command for insinuating there could be such a political scandal. He currently resides on Titan under house arrest.” Alexander watched them all shiver at the thought of that inhospitable world with its methane seas and ammonia rain. “Sir, I and my associates are risking not only our careers but our lives and our families in sharing this with you. All files with this information were destroyed except this one. We are the only people in the Galaxy who know about the Gaian conspiracy.”

“You took a huge gamble Commander Wolfe,” Augesburcke told him.

“I am the great nephew of Alexander of Terra,” his father said. “You are the grandson of Admiral Augesburcke who served under Alexander. Ambassador Skreen is the Great grandson of Admiral Skreen, who served with Alexander in the Methuselan Wars to great glory, and lastly Admiral Churl is of the House of Nazeera, whose house bonded with my own in the marriage of Alexander and Nazeera of great renown. If I can’t speak honestly in this company then our fight and our empire is at an end.”

“Well said, Commander Wolfe,” Ambassador Churl told him. “Be at ease. All of Chem are with you.” He looked around the room. “None of the Galactic cultures can afford to lose Terran leadership; none of us can afford this Gaian pestilence to sweep the galaxy!”

Augesburcke nodded, “We are agreed but is Grand Admiral Khandar apprised of this? Certainly he would demand to be a part of this fight.”

Alexander’s father cleared his throat. He handed Augesburcke his compad. “The Grand Admiral knows about this meeting but respectfully declined to enter the Terran system.”

“Why,” Augesburcke asked as he took the compad. Then he read it. The Commandant’s swarthy features turned white. He looked up at the assembled group, and announced, “Commander Wolfe has been ordered to assassinate one Grand Admiral Demetrios Khandar, the Commander in Chief of the Golkos Armed Forces. It is signed by Senator Bar-Judas of the Terran Armed Services Committee, Pro Consul General Montgomery and President Koor of the Golkos Council. This is a Death’s-head Order.”

Ambassador Skreen asked what that meant.

“It means if Commander Wolfe does not carry out his orders successfully it will be considered an act of treason.” Augesburcke said gravely. He looked at Alexander’s father. “You told Khandar about this?”

“I owed him that for his service to the Empire and the Galactics,” he said. “The Grand Admiral is waiting for me on Chev-Pruul, the hunting world of the Seer’koh. The Grand Admiral used to hunt there with Alexander of Terra as well as Ambassador Skreen’s family, with whom the Grand Admiral has always revered. The Ambassador has graciously allowed us to use a portion of the planet for one final hunt.”

The room fell silent until Ambassador Churl crossed his arms and nodded in agreement. “The Grand Admiral will depart in honor then; that is a great gift for a warrior. It is well done!”

“Is there no other way?” Ambassador Skreen was visibly shaken at the turn of events.

Augesburcke shook his head. “Khandar was doomed as soon as a Koor took over the Golkos Council, remember it was Khandar who relieved Grand Admiral Koor in the Galactic Wars—her family took it hard. The only way Khandar can protect his family is to die; he still has a son. I’ll arrange to have him enter the Academy, but there’s not much more I can do.”

The scene faded yet again, but this time instead of curiosity Alexander felt only dread. He knew what was coming. They all looked at him, but before he lost his courage he rubbed the next bead. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee . . .”

When the new file started, he found himself in a warm tropical world standing over a fresh kill. The slain beast was a two-legged carnivore of about two galactic tons. It had a huge horn on its nose, as if it needed it to supplement the rows of sharp tusk-like teeth in its half-meter jaws.

Standing next to the kill was Grand Admiral Khandar, a tall, spare lordly looking Golkos with long silver hair. Stooping over the monster’s haunches was Ambassador Skreen. He tore out a section of the dinosaur’s leg, consuming it with obvious relish. Khandar chuckled and cut a chunk out of the carnivore’s tail. He offered half to Alexander’s father. Alexander grimaced as his father bit down on the raw flesh, but to his surprise it tasted warm and not bad at all. Khandar smiled and sank his sharp teeth into the steak. Nodding and grinning in satisfaction he swallowed his ceremonial kill. Then he tossed the rest on the ground and drew his sword.

“It is time to die Praetorian,” he said evenly, giving Alexander’s father the title of the only soldiers allowed to kill a king.

Ambassador Skreen looked up in surprise, but he said nothing, knowing this was the inevitable end and that he had the honorable position as witness.

Alexander’s father drew his own sword and saluted the Grand Admiral.

“Do not make it quick,” Khandar told him. “I want to feel every drop of life drain from me; it has been a glorious existence!” The Grand Admiral saluted and attacked.

Alexander watched the dual with a mixture of fascination and horror. It did not end quickly, and Alexander’s father did not escape unscathed. Yet in the end, he wrapped Grand Admiral Khandar’s body up with his sword on his breast within a cloth of gold Golkos ceremonial burial cloak. The Grand Admiral’s rank and family crest were embroidered on the cloak. Commander Wolfe pressed a switch on his vambrace and a deadly but small black ship appeared. It landed automatically at the killing site. Instead of placing the corpse on an anti-grav stretcher, Commander Wolfe himself carried the body to his tiny quarters and laid the Grand Admiral on his own bunk, the only one in the ship. Ambassador Skreen paid his final respects and then sealed the quarters. The Commander climbed into his seat without another word and lifted off, leaving the killing site.

CHAPTER 21: The Blue Beam

When Alexander emerged from the experience of an Engram Holo-V, he was numb. It was only when he saw the expression on James face that he realized what his friends must have gone through. The others felt similarly, but James simply shook his head. “I never knew her; I have almost no memories of her, so it’s not like it’s real.” He paused, still trying to make sense of it, finally shaking his head. “I can’t get over it; she was on this ship with me, but I never knew it. God, no wonder Dad’s a drunk!”

There wasn’t much else they could do for James. Alexander turned to the combat report, realizing his next duty was to contact Khandar. It was dry, matter-of-fact and to the point. It dispensed with the drama and emotion of the visual recording, but it did not ignore the unique nature of the assassination, nor the point that it was accomplished under the Golkos code of chivalry. Ambassador Skreen’s narrative was less formal and more true to the tragedy of the event.

Also included was a short but interesting synopsis of both Wolfe and Skreen’s career after the event. Neither Commander Wolfe nor Ambassador Skreen escaped unscathed. The Golkos were furious that Commander Wolfe allowed the Grand Admiral to die according to their code of honor. In fact, when the details of the duel emerged—without Commander Wolfe’s name being mentioned, after all, according to the Terran Pro Consul he didn’t exist—the Golkos public demanded a state funeral and a monument to the Grand Admiral.

The Golkos demanded more satisfaction than the Terran Pro Consul could give. After several unsuccessful attempts to have Commander Wolfe killed in the line of duty, the Pro Consul retired him from service. Rumor was, the Commander was considering venting his growing frustration on the Pro Consul as he really had nothing to lose. He retired quietly to Vashon Island, and the Pro Consul didn’t address his oversight in retirement protocol—he failed to fill out his retirement paperwork and failed to turn in his government issued equipment. They sent him the paperwork via mail and never asked about anything else.

Ambassador Skreen also came under pressure, but that pressure turned him into an operative for the anti-Gaian forces. Unfortunately that led him to his death far from home in a manner far less noble than he deserved.

Leaving the others to watch over James, Alexander crossed the troop transport to where Khandar sat with his flight. Hostile expressions greeted him, not just from Khandar but from his classmates. More than once he heard, “What do you want here, Terran?” and that was from other Terrans!

“He was there at your father’s death,” Alexander said. He motioned Khandar to follow him, and surprisingly the Golkos did just that. Once alone, Alexander activated the Rosary and left Khandar with it. He wandered to a window, wondering what to do next. The view from the window was magnificent. The bright blue and white marble of Terra showed in three quarter phase below with the Academy rotating slowly above it. He stayed there for a half hour or so before Lisa, Treya and James found him, but when he explained what he’d done they were shocked.

“You gave him the files—all of them,” James exclaimed. When Alexander nodded, he put his hands over his eyes and groaned. “What if he gives them to Fjallheim? Did you think of that? We’ll be in the brig for sure, if not on a one way trip to Pantrixnia!”

“Hopefully, he can’t read the files with the engrammatic encryption; those are the dangerous ones,” Treya said nervously. “There’s no telling what the centurion will do if he sees them. He’s been promised the Commandant’s position and he’s already murdered for it.”

“Who’s murdered for what?” asked the unmistakable voice of Centurion Fjallheim.

Treya, James and Lisa looked dumbfounded—and guilty. Alexander, already stinging from their hauling over the coals and finding out his father was truly a Spook felt the weight of self pity heavily on his skinny shoulders. “That’s my fault,” he admitted grumpily. “I was telling them about the three bodies I found. Whoever did it won’t have any qualms taking care of some nosey cadet—so I don’t want to know anything more about it—it’s none of my business.”

Centurion Fjallheim was so taken aback by Alexander’s admission that he turned around to leave, but he glanced over his shoulder before walking away. “This is a departure for you, Cadet Wolfe, common sense that is. I don’t know whether or not I’m truly disappointed in you.”

“Yes sir, I’ve got exams to study for,” Alexander said, and he left the window for his seat. The others followed, but he was done talking. He immersed himself in his homework and readings, ignoring the others. That didn’t work for long. He found he couldn’t concentrate on anything serious, so he played computer games, losing himself in the meaningless rituals of escapism. Nothing his friends could do or say would get him out of his funk. When they finally docked, Alexander fulfilled his duties as flight Lead and then retreated to his bunk where he closed the curtains and continued studying.

The dinner bell rang, but Alexander wasn’t hungry. His friends tried to get him to go, but he steadfastly refused, instead catching up on his gaming. The same went for the next day and the day after. After a few days of self imposed exile, he began to actually enjoy it. He was catching up on his work and no longer distracted by what was going on outside the Academy. The only real downer was Z-Crosse. He seemed to have lost his desire for the game. He no longer had the competitive chip on his shoulder and without that he was getting pummeled. Still, he didn’t get angry; he took it in stride. During Saturday’s game against Khandar’s flight he started in goal. As usual, Khandar went out of his way to take cheap shots at him. Alexander took it stoically, and it was soon apparent to everyone that his heart wasn’t in it. After he let in a half dozen goals in the first quarter, Corporal Breen, a small wiry legionary who served as their coach, scratched his head. “What’s going on Cadet Wolfe? You were better in goal on your first day when you didn’t know which end of your zoots was up!”

He shrugged and sat on the bench.

His flight never caught up after falling so far behind and Alexander was roundly ignored after the game; but that was fine with him. It wasn’t fine with Lieutenant Mortimer though. She called him in after class the following Monday.

“What is going on Cadet Wolfe?” she asked sternly. “You’re scores have fallen sharply over the last two weeks.”

“I’ve turned in all of my assignments Ma’am,” he insisted.

“You’ve turned them in—that’s true,” she frowned. “Yet I note that your work and especially your conclusions do not correspond with your classmates. Have you been working with your study group?”

“No Ma’am,” he admitted.

She stared at him with her perfectly blue eyes, reminding him, “Cadet this curriculum is not designed for an individual. It is designed as much for teaching you new knowledge as for teaching you teamwork.”

“I prefer to work alone Ma’am.”

“Then you will fail alone and flunk out of the Academy,” she told him firmly. “No one gets through the Academy as a lone wolf, no pun intended.”

“My father worked alone,” he replied belligerently.

Her expression turned to one of surprise. Almost immediately her brows furrowed and her blue eyes became glacial. “It isn’t your father who is throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime Alexander.” That jarred him. Lt. Mortimer had never used a cadet’s first name—ever. He sat up, now attentive. “I understand you have trepidation concerning your father’s service.” She hesitated, but then added, “The service required by the Fleet and the Legions is not pleasant nor glorious yet it is the service required of us. To have done your duty well and honorably is as much as the empire can ask. Without that service, well,” she shook her head and turned on her desktop Holo-V. The hologram of riots in Terran cities played out on her desk. “Look at them,” she said with contempt. “Look at them whine and complain over not getting enough handouts! Their whole existence is enabled through entitlements, and now they riot because they want what we Citizens work for! If it wasn’t for our service Cadet Wolfe, these people would starve!” She shook her head and punched the Holo-V off in disgust. “They are the mob; they can be used, but I don’t know if they will ever be useful.”

She looked hard at him. “Get back into your study group—that’s a direct order. I will not have my star pupil flunk out of the Academy. I have high hopes for you, Cadet Wolfe; I have extraordinarily high hopes for you! Don’t you dare disappoint me!”

Whatever else she may have been, Lt. Mortimer had a way of spurring even the most petulant boy on. Alexander hated to admit it, but he really didn’t want to disappoint her. When he exited her classroom his friends were waiting for him. This time, he looked up and recognized them.

He shrugged, “I suppose I have to follow orders.” He looked at them and sighed, a shade of a smile on his face. He was embarassed, but he said, “Thanks for not giving up on me guys. I don’t know why you didn’t, but thanks.”

James punched him in the shoulder. Treya tweaked his ear. Lisa bumped him with her hip. “Come on, we have to get to Professor Nussbaum’s class!” They walked down the corridor on the way to the Tube, but before they got there and announcement came over the loudspeaker.

“All cadets report to the Tube for a Presidential address, repeat, all cadets report to the Tube.” They looked at each other. Since they’d started at the Academy, there was never any occasion for the entire Cadet Corps to gather. They didn’t know what to expect, but they hurried to the Tube. When they got there Centurion Fjallheim was directing his sergeants who were directing their corporals who were directing the flight leads to get the cadets in formation. A huge Holo-V floated in the center of the Tube and the cadet classes were arranged in concentric circles around it. As the formation took shape it reminded Alexander of a virtual stadium, only instead of seats the cadets stood at station-keeping, maintaining the formation in zero-G. It took some doing, but as drill was an everyday occurrence in one way or another, the cadets got it.

Unfortunately for Alexander’s class, they took the upper tier of the formation, meaning they were the furthest away from the Holo-V. When he was finally in place the Holo-V at the center of the Tube was a hundred meters away. There was a lot of jostling and whispering, making the interior of the Tube sound like the inside of a beehive. No one knew what was going on. Finally, as the last cadets straggled in, Centurion Fjallheim called out loudly, “Cadet Corps attennn-shun!”

Ten thousand zoots clicked together.

“The Commandant of the Space Academy and honored guests!”

Commandant Augesburcke zooted out, followed by the faculty. They took their places in front of the senior class. The Commandant said nothing, but nodded to Centurion Fjallheim.

The Centurion barked, “Cadet Corps at ease, station keeping!”

Alexander relaxed. The giant Holo-V hummed to life and an incredibly large, lifelike hologram of the President of Pan America appeared in the center of their formation. The President’s dark features looked very serious, very serious indeed. “My fellow Pan Americans, Pan Atlanteans and Pan Pacificans, indeed all people of the Terran Empire and the Galactic community, I address you in a time of crisis not seen since the Siege of Rome at the apex of the Caliphate Wars.” Alexander exchanged glances with his friends. This was serious. No politician ever mentioned the Caliphate Wars by name, and especially not the siege—it wasn’t done. The President allowed the shock of his words to wear off before continuing. “We are at the crossroads of our civilization, when the needs of the majority of our population need to be met. The Pan American Congress is now in emergency session as are the Parliaments in Pan Atlantis and Pan Pacifica. The Prime Ministers of our other two great Triumvirates are in full agreement with me and have allowed me the honor of taking the leadership as Overlord of Terra.” He paused again, allowing the full weight of his announcement to sink in. The last and only Terran Overlord was Alexander of Terra himself. It was astonishing and unthinkable!

The President seemed fully aware of this, and said, “The current state of civil unrest within the Empire necessitate bold and sweeping action, and a temporary consolidation of power. I have reluctantly acceded to this action with the full support of the Pro Consul.”

Alexander exchanged glances with his friends. That was the Pro Consul nominated by the then Senator Bar-Judas. It seemed almost too transparent. “I am declaring martial law in the Terran system as of this moment. Curfews will be established according to district legionary commanders. It is my hope that the restoration of order will be swift and that pending legislation in the Congress and Parliaments of the Terran Triumvirate will result in a Terra that is more answerable to the demands of social justice and the requirement for economic equality for all Terrans.”

“The unioneers want the perks of being Citizens without the responsibility and the President wants absolute power,” Alexander muttered under his breath, seeing exactly where the President’s rhetoric was leading. Still, he was confused. How could he undertake such sweeping and radical change even with the power of the Legions behind him? As if in answer, the President smiled.

“What we need now is calm to legislate hope and change and then to incorporate it into the very structure of our society. In the past, social justice and equality have taken painful decades, sometimes centuries, to attain only to be lost to the greed inherent in uncontrolled market societies and unstable democracies. It need not be so.” He paused again, allowing his audience to anticipate his next words. Alexander had a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Fortunately, we live in an age of technological advances unavailable to our forefathers. Before, when martial law was declared, those that demanded social justice and economic equality were trodden upon—not today. This is a matter for re-education and increased understanding. To change our traditions, our history and the course of our Empire we need to change our dialogue. That we can do swiftly and painlessly through technology. Therefore, I have signed an emergency order making it possible to use technology to enhance our discussion and to bring hope and change to our world, our system and our empire. Thank you for your time and for your hopes for change.”

The Holo-V image disappeared, but there was a sharp sound within the Tube followed by a loud hum that came from above their heads. Alexander looked up to see a series of conduits glowing blue. They ran along the interior of the Tube, glowing softly, running a course from the aft end all the way to the bow five hundred meters away. A ring of pure blue light formed at the bow. It pulsed briefly and then reached out for the blue and white world below. The blue beam enveloped the planet, but all they heard from their vantage was an innocent hum.

CHAPTER 22: Clamping Down

Life got back to normal at the Academy, except that all communications with Terra were cut off. The President stayed on Luna for the time being, making weekly announcements to the Empire. At first, it didn’t seem like their scheme of using the Methuselan Circuit would work. Katrina reported that the riots got even worse and that everyone that she’d talked to outside her home was irritable and cranky. She was spared the effects, at least initially, but then she reported something terrible.

Katrina called him in the middle of the night. She was scared. “Alexander, the legionaries outside are setting up what my father called a psi-amplifier. It’s supposed to amplify the signal of the Methuselan Circuit so that it will penetrate the shields around our house.” There were tears in her eyes. “My dad’s going to turn the shields off. He says there’s no way to control the psi-amplifiers precisely; they’re Scythian, and extremely dangerous. Alexander, I don’t know what’s going to happen to me when the shield goes down; I don’t know what’s going to happen to me!”

“Don’t worry Katrina; we’ll do something—we have to!” He gathered their little group together and passed on Katrina’s communication. “It’s getting serious. All of our families are at risk. We have to do something to disrupt or destroy the Methuselan Circuit!”

“How do we do it? Only Khandar knows how to destroy it,” Lisa said.

“Then I’ve got to talk to him,” Alexander replied urgently.

“We have some time,” Treya told them. “My parents are in contact with me through the embassy, but I don’t know how long that will last. Apparently, the Methuselan beam is supposed to make the population acquiescent, but every sentient species is different and the Methuselans must have needed a certain period of time to adjust the psionic affects of the beam. So far it’s having the opposite affect the President wants, that’s why Professor Strauss has been absent from class these last two weeks. Until they get the beam to do what they want they’re at a standstill.”

“What is it they’re trying to do anyway?” James said. “Can they keep everyone under this beam all their lives; I mean, what good is it to take this chance if they have to turn it off someday?”

No one had the answer, but to their surprise, Professor Nussbaum told them the very next day. He was none too happy about it, or so he made it sound. “It’s absolutely ludicrous to talk about pending legislation to a military audience,” he grumbled, but he shrugged. “I don’t have a choice. You’re going to have to bear with me, but Commandant Augesburcke has ordered me to instruct you all on the monumental legislation now being introduced in the Houses of Congress and in the Parliaments. Again, I apologize, but for some reason the Commandant wants the Bill itself read and not paraphrased. Now, be advised this is a bill; it’s very dry and dusty reading and not always easily understood. I will try to clarify where I can.”

He was right, but despite the reading being arduous, so arduous in fact that he allowed the computer to do it. Alexander listened closely, and several things jumped out at him. The most sweeping provision was that no one, not even Citizens, would be able to own land. Everyone would be provided with government furnished housing—housing was a right. That meant his family would have to give up the home they worked so hard for! There was more. His father and mother would lose their farm and business. As working age adults they would be assigned jobs, because everyone would have a job. It didn’t matter what the job was either, everyone’s pay was equal. Despite his father’s skill and training as a space ship captain he would earn as much as the basic unioneer who parked the aerocars on the trans-ocean ferry. Alexander could expect the same when he graduated and finally left the Service. His position would be decided by a government board and his pay, housing and lifestyle would have nothing to do with his talents, training or how hard he worked.

There was more, much more. As young and inexperienced as Alexander was, even he was amazed at the minutiae in the proposed legislation. There were codes for what every unit of community housing would be like, what subjects would be taught in school and what foods would be produced. On and on the rules went, invading every aspect of their lives; it was supposed to be for everyone to be in an equal, classless society, but to Alexander it simply felt like tyranny. Professor Nussbaum perked up during these parts, stopping the computer and explaining, “A happy society, a socially just society does not put the individual over the collective, but rather sees to the needs of the collective first. As it is, people in the unions are virtual slaves for the Citizen-class. There can be no justice and certainly no equality in that.”

“Professor, isn’t that their choice,” Alexander interrupted—he simply couldn’t take it anymore and his young man’s anger showed in his voice. “After all, all they need to do to become Citizens is to enter the Service. Citizens have the responsibility of making a living, paying taxes and Serving Terra. Unioneers have no responsibility other than showing up for work. Their food, housing and trade training are all taken care of. Why should they get the right to vote if they’re too lazy to take the responsibility?”

“That’s the philosophy of someone who wants to be better than others; someone who believes he is superior than others,” the Professor responded testily.

“Don’t I have the right to make more of myself if I work harder or do better? Why should James work extra hard for an A in your class and get the same reward as I do if I just sluff off and get a C? Who is going to pay for the food, housing and training if we’re all part of the collective?”

Professor Nussbaum shook his head, saying, “The collective supports itself.”

James chimed in, and said, “It sounds like you’re not bringing the unioneers up to the level of the Citizens but instead you’re bringing the Citizens down to the level of unioneers. It won’t work Professor.”

“So says a thirteen year old cadet,” the professor sneered.

“So says history,” Lisa told him emphatically. “There is not a single example of a collective society ever working on Terra. In fact, all those societies were brutal. Millions of people were killed to maintain the oppressive governments and even then there were cases of mass starvation. Every one of those societies failed—every one!”

“The unioneer caste doesn’t have those problems,” the professor replied testily. “The problem is that the Citizens have hoarded all the rights and benefits of society’s advances. Using the unioneer model we can allow everyone the same life—there will be no one who can take advantage of the loopholes of the system and benefit from other people’s labor.”

“I grew up in a unioneer family,” James shrugged. “They do what they have to, not what they want to. There’s no motivation to do more than you absolutely have to; in reality, the motivation and energy of a unioneer is spent in trying to do as little work as possible. Who can blame them? You don’t earn more money for exceeding your quota. You don’t get better housing. If there’s no motivation for improving your life why go to all the trouble?”

“Why go to all the trouble, why for equality, that’s why. In the great Soviet and Maoist empires there was equality, true equality.” The professor got up and paced the classroom, waving his arms in agitation. “What is it about this that you don’t see? The populations of the Soviet Union and China gave up luxury for equality. People addressed each other as ‘comrade’ whether one was a laborer, officer or a member of the Peoples Assembly. Isn’t that kind of utopia worth the false pride that your job is more important than the next man’s job or that you went to college and he did not?”

“It’s not that we’re any better as people professor; it’s that each of us as individuals has the opportunity to lead a better life,” Alexander said firmly. “The government has the responsibility for enforcing the rules we set for living together, but they don’t have the right to tell me how to live my life—that’s slavery not freedom.”

“The utopia you talk about didn’t work very well in Communist Russia or China—a lot of people starved.”

“Those that complained about it were often killed by the Secret Police or sent to work camps where even more died,” Lisa added. Then she asked, “Aren’t we, as a modern society, supposed to learn from our mistakes and not repeat them?”

To which Treya couldn’t help but add, “I can’t help but think this is very anti-Terran, this stifling of individuality. I can’t imagine that Alexander of Terra would approve!”

Nussbaum emphatically ended the discussion, storming out of the room, saying, “I knew none of you could grasp this; I tried to tell the Commandant this was all a waste of time! This is exactly why we need to force this upon the population; because of the illogical voices of the bourgeoisie!”

That was the last day Professor Nussbaum allowed any discussion in his class. His hour became pure lecture followed by a quiz. There were no questions, only a regurgitation of the material he taught. Even the quizzes lacked the usual essay questions, stressing instead definitions and protocols. To say it was tedious would be like saying space was a rather large place indeed.

To Alexander’s surprise, Lt. Mortimer seemed to be unphased by it all. She noted that he was back on track, and took him aside to tell him how pleased she was to have her old student back. When he asked her what she thought about all this, she smiled and said, “We go through these cycles, Cadet Wolfe. Don’t worry, in the new world order I think you’ll probably be exactly what you want. Your profession will be chosen with mathematical precision to coincide with your tastes and talents. If manipulated correctly, the efficiency and happiness of a society might actually improve.” She laughed at his expression. “That’s called sarcasm Cadet Wolfe, I’m just trying to lift your spirits; you look awfully concerned over this—don’t be. There’s nothing a cadet can do about it anyway.”

Apparently, his short discussion had some affect on Lt. Mortimer, much to the chagrin of her students. She introduced a new subject, socio-calculus. It was above their heads, way above their heads, and initially it was all just a bunch of equations to Alexander and his friends. That only spurred Lt. Mortimer on to show them how she could relate mind boggling mathematics to human behavior.

James expression provoked a smirk from Lt. Mortimer, and she asked, “Cadet James Jameson,” she somehow knew how much he hated anyone putting his first and last name together, “Can you tell me what you find so amusing about this exercise in mathematics?”

He gulped, not being used to attention from his professors, in fact he steadfastly avoided it. Of course, the attention was coming from Lt. Mortimer and that only added to James extended silence.

“Well Cadet Jameson?”

“Well, Lieutenant,” he stammered, and he shrugged, apparently thinking he might as well be honest about it. “How am I supposed to understand any of this if I’m having trouble with the basic orbital geometry you’re teaching? You might as well be speaking a different language.” Her finely plucked brows rose in surprise. “Is any of this going to be on the next test?”

Lt. Mortimer did the last thing anyone expected—she laughed. “A very good point, Cadet Jameson, and no this won’t be on a test. Still,” she turned and went to the blackboard, which at the Academy was an electronic version of the one they used on Terra. She continued writing her equations for about ten minutes. When she was finished, she took her compad and covered the end of her equation. With her pen out of sight from the students she wrote something behind the compad.

“I’m curious as to how many of you really thought this was going to be on the test and were furiously taking notes while I was writing down my theorems on socio-mathematics—be honest now. Raise your hands if you thought it was going to be on the next test.”

Alexander looked down at his compad. There was no denying it. He acted before he thought about it and was taking notes. It simply never occurred to him that Lt. Mortimer might have another point with her work. He raised his hand.

She counted the hands, announcing, “Seventy-five percent, how interesting, that’s about what I came up with.” She removed her compad. On the board was the number, “73.7524%.”

“You see, as I told you at the beginning of the semester there is a Frisbee in everything!”

Lt. Mortimer’s skill at prediction didn’t do anything to allay Alexander’s fears. He couldn’t forget Katrina was down on Terra and she was scared, but that sparked a thought. “Lt. Mortimer, Professor Nussbaum has been briefing us about the civil unrest on Terra. Can your math actually show whether this unrest could be predicted and how long it may last?”

She smiled, but in a feral way, showing Alexander that she was supremely confident that the mathematics could do exactly what he asked. “There would be some margin of error because we have to make assumptions, but I can give you a date within a few weeks time. Consider that, my homework for tomorrow. Now, as to your homework . . .” She rattled off the usual impossibly long assignment and dismissed them, but Alexander wasn’t thinking about the homework.

“Lt. Mortimer’s calculations can tell us how much time we have! Meanwhile, I’ve got to get in contact with Khandar. I’ve got to convince him to help us.”

That was to prove problematic. After working on the firing range the President came to the Academy the next day and they were restricted to quarters. This worked out surprisingly well as James was restricted to quarters anyway for taking a shot at Centurion Fjallheim on the firing range.

“Blasted fool,” the centurion growled after backhanding the cadet across the floor. “I could take you out to the airlock and shoot you this minute, why on Terra did you do that?”

“You know why,” James told him viciously. “You killed my mother. I know the investigation for the Luna murders points to Professor Strauss, but you can’t make me believe that fat, worthless autocrat could have taken out two government agents!”

The centurion stood over the cadet and asked, “Agent Jameson was your mother?” When James nodded, Fjallheim accessed his uniform screen. After a momentary search he shook his head. “There’ve been no further announcements, so how do you know? I can’t even access that information?”

James nodded to Alexander, and said with a hate filled voice, “Cadet Wolfe’s dad knew her; he told me.”

Fjallheim reached down and hauled James up by the collar. “Cadet Jameson when you shoot to kill at least switch the combat safety off! For the love of God, have you learned nothing from me?” Fjallheim gave him an F for the day and restricted James to quarters “For not following combat protocol. Blast it all cadet, mistakes like that get men killed!” All he said concerning James attempt to kill him was, “Cadet Jameson if I believed what you believe I’d have done the same, but I’d have done it correctly—now to your quarters on the double!”

If there was only one thing Alexander could learn from Centurion Fjallheim, coolness under fire was it.

Classes were taken in the dorms on the Holo-V. The only place they were allowed to go was the mess hall, and legionaries stood guard at the Tube so that the cadets had no choice as to where to go. To further complicate things Lt. Mortimer told them via Holo-V that due to the accuracy of her calculations the violence on Terra was already reaching a point whereby the government would have no choice but to act. Alexander was running out of time. It had to be the mess hall and it had to be now.

When Alexander got there he expected to be able to find and meet Khandar without being noted, but in this he was disappointed. Legionary guards watched the mess and Centurion Fjallheim made it quite plain that their assignment was to sit down, shut up, eat and get back to their dorms as quickly as possible. There was no conversation. The mess hall was a vast space of clatter and scraping but no talking. When James tried to whisper something about the strangeness of it all, Fjallheim was on him in an instant, handing out demerits. There was nothing any of them could do except eat.

Still, they had to wait for their turn in line. Meanwhile, Alexander and many of his classmates watched Terra through the large windows in the exterior section of the mess hall. The night side of the planet happened to be spinning beneath them, but they could see the cities of Pan Atlantis stretching from Oslo just beneath the Arctic Circle to Rome, Jerusalem and Cairo. The Mediterranean Sea stood was a huge irregularly shaped black pit with radiant edges of civilization tracing the coastline. The Red Sea had no cities or towns on its coast, but the green phosphorescence of the fast currents in the Suez Straight caused spectacular ripples and eddies in the black waters, highlighting the lifeless coastal islands and radioactive waters of the Arabian Whirlpool. The sight was a familiar one, or it would have been had it not been for the fires flickering in many of the cities and towns and the ominous blue haze that covered the planet—a blue haze fed by the pulsating blue beam emanating from the Academy.

Centurion Fjallheim apparently took notice of their rubbernecking and with the touch of a switch he turned the windows opaque. Soon after, it came time for Alexander and his flight to get in line for their mess. This wasn’t strictly neccessary; of course, the processors could just as easily have been strategically placed on the tables. However, like many things at the Academy the onerous process of getting into line, getting your food and returning to the table with time enough to eat was a learning experience. The mundane chore repeated three times every day drummed efficiency and discipline into what would otherwise be a wasted two-and-a-half hours a day. The Academy was not about to lose that time. Instead, the cadets followed exactly the same protocol used by legionaries on the most primitive battlefield conditions in the galaxy. In combat, there would be no time to think about such things.

When it came time for Alexander and his flight he marched and stopped, marched and stopped with the rest of the cadets, thinking only about how frustrating it was to be helpless. Suddenly he stumbled and fell. The embarrassment was worse than the fall, and Alexander turned red at the laughter of those cadets who witnessed it. The embarrassment turned to anger when he saw the grinning face of Khandar. The Golkos had actually tripped him; with everything that was going on Khandar had tripped him like any adolescent prank!

Fjallheim was there in a flash, bellowing at Khandar that this was no time for such tom foolery. “I’ve about had my fill of you two! The President of Pan America is on board and you two are still going at it! You will report to my office at 2100 hours for disciplinary measures!”

“Yes sir,” they said together. Alexander seethed, but Khandar simply chuckled and sat back down. When he got his food and marched back to the table Alexander realized that he got his wish. Khandar and he would meet, albeit in Fjallheim’s office, but chances were that he would have enough time to do what he needed to do. He couldn’t have done any better. So was it fortune or did Khandar want to meet him as well? He’d have to wait to find out.

The day and evening dragged on. Alexander could think of nothing except how he was going to get the secret from Khandar. First, of course, he had to get Khandar alone. Of all people on board the Academy, Centurion Fjallheim was the most dangerous. He couldn’t afford to have the centurion suspect he was up to something or he’d find himself floating in space without a suit—like James, he was certain that Fjallheim was responsible for the deaths of the government agents and the Seer’koh Ambassador. The centurion wouldn’t balk at getting rid of one or two extra cadets.

It was the opportunity to be alone with Khandar that worried Alexander the most, but it turned out to be the simplest problem. Centurion Fjallheim solved it almost at once, though not for the reasons Alexander had planned. “You two and your rivalry are disrupting the smooth running machine that is my Cadet Corps. I won’t stand for it,” he told them dryly, leading them out of his office and marching them via back corridors—the Tube was off limits—to the armory. When they arrived he had them don simulation battle suits and gave them each a “Bang Stick.” Pressing a switch in the middle turned the ends red. He took Alexander’s and touched it to his side.

A sharp electric burn sliced through the armor and Alexander winced. Khandar laughed, but the centurion hit him in the stomach with the stick, almost knocking Khandar to the floor. The laughing stopped and Fjallheim handed Alexander his stick back. “The suits won’t stop it from hurting but they will prevent you from killing each other. Get it out of your system cadets—you have fifteen Terran minutes.” He marched to the door, but before leaving he turned a switch off on the comm panel. “I have no desire to listen to your screaming, and I don’t want anyone else to know how fragile my young cadets are. That’s a secret I’ll keep to myself. Keep that in mind. No one can hear you or see you. You have to endure fifteen minutes of absolute solitude with each other. Make good use of it so that I don’t have to deal with this in the future!”

As soon as the door closed, Khandar attacked Alexander.

CHAPTER 23: Revelations

Alexander blocked Khandar’s attack with his stick, cross-checking the taller Golkos in the chest. Khandar whipped his stick around, trying to get Alexander in the back with the glowing end of the stick. It grazed his shoulder, sending a buzzing burn down his shoulder and arm, but the Golkos boy left himself exposed in his effort to get in the first hit. Angry now, Alexander forgot about trying to talk to Khandar and whipped his stick from the left into Khandar’s helmet and then quickly back from the right under his exposed ribs.

Khandar winced, but instead of rolling away from the blow he clamped down on the bang stick with his left arm. His next move confounded Alexander. Khandar endured the burn so that he could grab Alexander’s bang stick with his left hand. That wasn’t going to work. All Alexander had to do was swing the butt end of his bang stick up to break Khandar’s hold, but before he did so Khandar shoved the head of his own bang stick at Alexander’s. The two heads touched, spitting crackling electricity, smacking and popping angrily.

“Ok Alexander hold on,” Khandar exclaimed, “truce!”

Alexander didn’t swing at the Golkos, but Khandar kept the two heads together. He explained, “They can’t eavesdrop through the interference. Now we can talk.”

“You’re willing to talk,” Alexander asked, unconvinced of the Golkos boy’s sincerity. He stayed on his guard.

“Yes,” he said evenly, and the aggression left his eyes. Shaking his head vigorously, he snapped, “It’s hard not to hate you, I’ve been doing it so long, but I am indebted to you and your family. If it weren’t for your father, my father would have died by an assassin’s blaster instead of in a duel.” His luminous eyes turned red for a moment; a sure sign of anger. “Don’t get me wrong—we Golkos hate to be indebted to anyone; it’s almost as bad as a blood oath. Still, to get me out of that debt I have to help you. What do you need?”

“Your father knew how to destroy the Methuselan Circuit,” Alexander said quickly. “He did it in Methuselan space. How did he do it?”

“Why, what is it about this circuit that makes you want to destroy it?”

“The Grand Admiral didn’t tell you,” Alexander asked, surprised that Khandar should be ignorant of it.

“My father would not talk about his time in Methuselan space—he gave me the secret for destroying this circuit in case it was used against the Golkos Empire. What does it do?”

Alexander explained the Methuselan vessel at the core of the Academy was really a mining vessel designed to siphon off the energy of civilized worlds. “The Methuselan Circuit is a psionic amplifier, sort of like a mechanical Scythian brain, only it makes the population cooperative. The President of Pan America wants to use it to promote his Gaian agenda. If he succeeds Terra will—” Alexander stopped. He’d never considered the point. Exactly what would Terra become? It was obvious that the Gaian plot to use the Methuselan Circuit was diabolical, but exactly what would the Gaian world be like? It took Khandar only a second to make that mental leap, and his smile grew positively feral—like a hyena standing over a maimed and helpless animal.

“The vaunted Terrans will lose all of their bravado and become sheep,” Khandar laughed. “Why would I want to prevent that? What’s the point? It’s an opportunity for Golkos to regain its rightful place in the Galaxy—as the pre-eminent empire of the Galactics!”

“Do you think the Chem would allow that?” Alexander retorted angrily, reminding Khandar of their age old Galactic rivals—and their betters. Glowering at the Golkos boy, Alexander thrust his face inches from the lean alien face. “Think about it Khandar, even if the President is successful, even if the Chem forget their bond with Terrans, this is one ship. The Methuselan Circuit can control Terra but how about the Terran colonies; how about the Fleet and the Legions? The President wants Terran society to obey him; he doesn’t want Terrans conquered. He could just as easily make the Methuselan Circuit whip Terrans into a bloodlust—then we’d finish what we started when we defeated Golkos before!” He took a deep breath, seeing Khandar reconsidering his opinion. Alexander heaped on one more thing, and he didn’t care whether he was being vicious or not. “Last time we beat you Alexander Galaxus made your father the leader of Golkos; he let Golkos retain her honor and her standing. Do you think this President would do the same? If he’s willing to do such terrible things to his own citizens what do you think he’ll do to a rival culture?”

“You have a point,” Khandar admitted. “I know enough about Terran history to know what your people are capable of. You can be the most cruel people imaginable, but on occasion you can be selflessly noble—I’ve never fathomed it. My father taught me to respect that particular paradox.”

“So you’ll tell me how to destroy the Methuselan Circuit?”

“I can only assume that my father destroyed the other circuits for the reason you stated,” the Golkos boy frowned. He bit his lip. Then he explained, “The secret is in simplicity, as is usually the case. The Methuselan Circuit is designed to handle vast amounts of energy and convert them into psionic waves. To do so the energy must be channeled into the circuit in a steady stream. My father found that by pulsing the energy flow he could get the Circuit to break down. When it loses its cohesion the energy flowing into it takes care of the rest.” He stopped and said emphatically, “That’s what I know. We’re square.”

Alexander nodded, satisfied.

Khandar handed him back his Rosary. “Here, you’re going to need this.” Looking at his chronometer the Golkos boy smiled, “There’s still five minutes left!”

He swung his bang stick at Alexander.

By the time the door opened and Centurion Fjallheim put a stop to their fight, Alexander was tingling all over. To his satisfaction, Khandar took an equally brutal beating. The centurion dismissed them, saying sternly, “You are both going to be part of the same Legion. Whether you like each other or not is immaterial; as soldiers you need to put your talent and knowledge together. You need to become more than the sum of your parts. That’s what makes the Service so strong; that’s what keeps the peace. I hope you both learned something tonight!”

Alexander did learn something, but he was certain it was not what Centurion Fjallheim intended. The centurion warned Alexander and Khandar before they left, “Don’t take the Tube back—it’s prohibited. The President’s convoy is at berth in it. Apparently, the President is going to make an address to Terra tomorrow; word has it that he’ll make it from the bridge of the Iowa,” he shook his head as if he didn’t approve of it. Almost to himself, he murmured, “No official has ever done that. Only Alexander Galaxus did that. It’s almost, and I hate to say this—I shouldn’t say it as a centurion—but as a Citizen of Terra,” he scowled so deeply that Alexander thought he was going to curse. Instead, he spat angrily, “It’s a desecration; a desecration of every Terran that died to build this empire!” Alexander watched the centurion closely; was he having second thoughts? To his disappointment, Fjallheim took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them he was in full control of himself. “I am an officer of the Terran Empire and a slave to duty. You two will be constrained as such—some day. Enjoy this night gentleman; it may be your last on this station.”

“What do you mean sir,” they asked together.

“I mean that the President is not here for an idle tour of the station,” Fjallheim said evenly. “For whatever reason, he is thinking very seriously of moving the working seat of government here. The Praetorian Legion is already moving into quarters. Our legionary Storm Marines have already redeployed to Luna.”

“What will happen to the Academy?”

The centurion shrugged as if it didn’t concern him. “There is plenty of hangar space on Luna. I shouldn’t wonder that we’ll be redeployed there to finish out the year. It won’t be so different; plenty of room for firing ranges on the Moon!” He looked at them with hard eyes. “Prepare for change, Cadets, but if you have any mischievous plans—you know, pranks on other flights or such things—this is likely your last night to accomplish them. Tomorrow you’ll be on Luna and the Station will be irrevocably remote—dismissed!”

Khandar frowned and stopped. He looked at his chronometer then at Alexander. “I will plan a raid on Alpha Flight at 0300, that’s five hours from now. It will cause quite a stir.”

Alexander nodded, “Thanks Khandar and good luck!”

The Golkos nodded and left, “I’ve got to let everyone else know what we’re doing! Good luck Alexander!”

Alexander hurried back to his dormitory as fast as he could. When he arrived they were waiting for him. He explained the situation, summing up by saying, “We’ve got until 0300 to come up with a game plan. If they do move us out tomorrow we won’t have another chance.”

Lisa led him to one of the dormitory Holo-V’s. She brought up the schematics for the station—the students were encouraged to try and use their classroom knowledge to help learn things about the Methuselan ship, and a surprising number of discoveries were made by young, fresh and energetic minds. “This is a real time display of the power distribution grid for the station,” she centered on the area where the Methuselan Circuit was. The display didn’t show the circuit itself, but it was clear that a tremendous amount of energy flowed into the area. “This is the key,” she told them, pointing out a large pulsing blue reservoir of energy. “This is a huge capacitor. It’s similar in structure to blaster capacitors in that it stores energy until it’s needed.”

Treya chimed in, “With a blaster capacitor all the energy is released at once, but in this capacitor watch what it does,” she touched the exit flow, a line of steady blue brilliance. Numbers appeared above the flow. They were a representation of energy and the numbers stayed constant. There was no variation at all. “Even for superluminal engines there is a variation in the energy stream—there is none in this, none at all.”

“It’s a perfect energy flow,” Lisa agreed.

Alexander scowled. “Can we change it; can we alter the flow to cause it to pulse like Grand Admiral Khandar did?”

“This is beyond our technology,” Lisa said, and Alexander’s face fell.

“What regulates the capacitor, maybe we can shut the flow off to it and it will then affect the main flow?”

Lisa pointed out the area around the capacitor and shook her head. “No, they needed this to be fool proof so the capacitor is insulated from all other systems on the ship. It uses the excess energy fed to it through the main conduit to power itself, sort of like the accessory equipment on an engine. They don’t have their own power sources; they are parasitic to the engine itself.”

“There’s only two ways to alter the flow,” Treya said soberly. “We would have to either affect the main flow of power into the capacitor or affect the energy stream between the capacitor and the Methuselan Circuit. To affect the capacitor, we’d have to shut down the station for at least an hour. The capacitor is so large that it can keep feeding the Methuselan Circuit for that long even with no more power feeding it.”

Alexander touched the area on the other end of the capacitor, hoping it might reveal something else. The image grew to show the energy stream close up. It flowed through a zero-G tube into an opaque gray area. Lisa explained, “The Circuit is in the gray area; it’s classified. There’s no way around the protocol, not without the proper security clearance.”

“If we had a clearance would that help?”

“It would let us see the connections between the energy stream and the Methuselan Circuit but that’s all.”

“I’ve seen the connections,” Alexander said, confused. “They were ordinary power cable connections. There wasn’t anything I saw that could handle this kind of load. If power like this flowed through those cables they’d fry immediately.”

“No it’s not,” he insisted, and he leaned over their shoulders pointing at the diagram. “It’s exactly like the HAM radios my dad and I built—it’s about the only hobby he has, he gets to complain about things with other Unioneers all over the world!”

“Get to the point James,” Lisa told him.

“Look, the power stream is just like the electricity flowing into a tuner which in turn controls the vibration of a crystal—that’s what codes the message. The thing is, that doesn’t take much power. The real power is used to send the signal not to create it.”

“So the Methuselan Circuit encodes the psionic wave but all this power we’re worrying about is only there to transmit it,” Alexander said. “Why then does the power have to be so even?”

“Simple,” James shrugged. “If your power source is spotty it affects the signal. The better your power source the farther you can send your signal.”

“This is a psionic signal,” Treya reminded them. “Think of the Scythians, the reason they can’t project their thoughts on other or even to each other over anything but short distances is all a power problem. They have the correct signals in their brains, but they don’t have the power to project.”

Alexander scratched his head. “Wait a minute, if the circuit I saw was built to withstand vast amounts of energy then why was it hooked up to normal conduits? Plus, there was no shielding around it. If it was transforming so much energy into a coherent psionic beam it would have been buried deep in shielding—that couldn’t have been the Methuselan Circuit I saw.”

They gawked at each other in stunned silence.

CHAPTER 24: Everything is Cool

As they sat there in the bitter realization that one of the few things they took as a truth was in fact wrong, Alexander’s compad started to beep. He had an incoming message. Glumly, he took it out. Katrina’s face appeared. His first thought was how to tell her that they were no closer to solving the problem; in fact they were further from the truth.

Katrina’s face wasn’t worried or frightened however, she seemed, somehow, rather content. “Hi Alexander, hi everybody how are you?”

Alexander stared at her. “Katrina are you all right?”

“I’m fine, why do you ask?” She cocked her head slightly to the side as if bemused by the question, absently munching on a handful of potato chips.

He searched for the words, but nothing came out. Everything was happening with such terribly rapidity, spiraling out of control toward such a dreadful end, that Alexander couldn’t comprehend Katrina’s unexpected attitude. “I don’t know, I thought you’d be a bit more upset at things,” he said finally. “Last time we talked you were very concerned. Are the legionaries still surrounding your house?”

“Oh that,” she smiled. “No, as soon as Dad took down the shields the legionaries left.”

“What happened then?”

“We were all sort of pissed off for a while, but it got better; it’s all good now.”

Lisa broke in, telling Alexander, “It’s the Methuselan Circuit; Lt. Mortimer must have helped Professor Strauss fine tune the psionic algorithm. It’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to do; the population is going along with it.”

Surprisingly, it was Katrina who confirmed Lisa’s conclusion. “It’s not so bad, I mean it doesn’t hurt or anything,” she said absently. She picked up a piece of paper with math equations on it. “I tested myself. Once they fine tuned the psionic beam it stopped interfering with my ability to work out problems. I’m still as smart as I was, but I don’t really care whether I get them right or not. I know the beam is affecting me, changing me, but I don’t really care.” She shrugged, and with a slight giggle, she ate another potato chip and added, “Aside from the munchies there’s not much to complain about—everything’s cool.”

“Katrina do you know anything about our families. Are they all affected?”

“Far as I know,” she nodded.

“What do we do,” Lisa asked, voicing their combined thought.

Alexander thought out loud, furiously searching for something, anything that might help them. They were running out of time. “My father was the only one other than Grand Admiral Khandar who knows about the Methuselan Circuit. What else does he know? Khandar had to have control of the Methuselan ships; he could have controlled the power flow to the circuits from the bridge and destroyed the circuits that way. We need to know what the schematics are for the restricted section, but to get in there we need a security code.”

“Oh yeah, the security code that’s what your father meant,” Katrina giggled. “He said as soon as you figured out how to get by the security protocol you would see what you had to do.”

“How do we get past the protocol,” Alexander demanded.

“Easy Seabiscuit!” she laughed, trying to calm him down as she explained. “That’s what my dad says when I get a bit too excited about something.” She dug in her pocket and produced a small slim card. It looked completely innocent, but she said, “This is what your father called a credit card—it opens up the world!” She swiped it at her terminal. “There, I uploaded it to your compad Alexander. Simply access any security coded screen, hatch lock, whatever and presto, the credit card will do the rest! Got it?”

“Got it, thanks Katrina!”

“Oh and Alexander, good luck, it’s going to be kind of a bummer if you end up stopping the beam,” she giggled. “Everyone down here is going to be pretty pissed off at the President!”

The connection terminated and Alexander immediately used his compad to get through the security protocol. It was easy. The classified area of the ship’s schematic was still on the Holo-V. All Alexander had to do was to tie his compad into the Holo-V by touching an interconnect icon. A smaller version of the Holo-V display came up on his screen. He then dragged the “credit card” icon over the area of the schematic hidden by the security protocol. It took only a few seconds and they were through. The opaque gray security screen dissolved.

“There it is,” said James.

He was right. It was now plain for all of them to see. What Alexander saw was not the Methuselan Circuit, not all of it at least. The schematic labeled the panel he saw as “Methuselan Psionic Controller.” When Alexander touched it with his finger the view expanded, and two descriptive paragraphs flashed beneath it. The first read,

“The MP Controller’s function is to be the ‘brain’ of the circuit. The Methuselan Psionic Circuit is divided into two components, the brain and the psionic converter. The brain allows the converter to be manipulated via a control board on the bridge of the Methuselan vessel or a remote console at the panel’s location. The division of the circuit into two components is clearly required because the converter is immersed in the high energy stream . . .” There was more, but the most interesting part of it all was the annotation at the bottom. The footnote was written by Professor Strauss.

That was no surprise, and it proved beyond any doubt that Professor Strauss was intimately involved with the mind control plot of the President, although there was nothing there that implicated the President. What was more disturbing was the second paragraph. It read,

“Manipulation of the psionic code has proved problematic and delayed full implementation of the psionic effect; however, it was discovered after some trial and error that this could be accomplished through socio-mathematical algorithms specific to the target species. The algorithm used to fine tune the psionic code is as follows . . .”

None of them understood the equations that followed, and they didn’t try, their attention went straight to the name at the end of the footnote—Prof. I.E. Mortimer. The realization that Lt. Mortimer was a part of the plot was devastating. “Isn’t there anyone we can trust?” Alexander said breathlessly.

“Apparently not,” Treya said grimly. “This plot goes to the highest levels of the Terran civilian government and military. The only one standing in the way of it is Commandant Augesburcke.”

“How do we know he’s not in on it too,” James asked.

“Centurion Fjallheim was promised his job,” Lisa reminded him.

“So, Augesburcke would get a promotion as well,” he retorted.

Alexander shook his head, and said, “This may be wishful thinking, but I doubt it. The Pro Consul is the only position more prestigious than the Commandant’s seat and the President already has one of his cronies there. No, we have to believe that. If we don’t, we might as well give up.”

“That still doesn’t show us what to do,” James said, and his comment brought them all back to the schematic. Alexander traced his finger from the Psionic Controller through the power cables to the Psionic Converter. The Converter was a disk that completely blocked the tunnel through which the energy stream flowed. The energy stream entered the converter on one side but when it exited it did so in a noticeably different phase. From there it was a short ten meter trip to the exterior ring antennae that transmitted the psionic beam to the planet.

The Converter itself was embedded in the walls of the tunnel and the tunnel itself was heavily shielded. However, there was an access tube to the converter, albeit a small one. It was simply a maintenance tunnel designed to allow a replacement Converter to be installed. One end ran from the Converter to an entrance hatch in the Tube but the other end ran to the exterior hull at the aft of the ship. A hatch opened just behind the ring antennae.

“Let’s look at this logically,” Alexander said. “We need to alter the energy stream. That has to be done between the Capacitor and the Psionic Converter,” he followed the energy stream with his finger, “but the stream itself is inside the shielded tunnel with no way for us to get to it.”

“We can get to the Converter itself,” James pointed out. “We could take a blaster from the armory and access the maintenance tube. Then we could shoot at the Converter, adding pulses of energy to it until it vaporizes.”

Lisa frowned and pointed out, “There’s no direct access to the Convertor, it’s insulated but I think you’re on the right track. If we can find a way to introduce a pulsing blaster beam into the energy stream that might be enough to destroy the Converter.”

“So how do we get the blaster beam in the power stream?”

“Through here,” Treya said. She pointed out a series of small exhaust ports. “Every ship has exhaust ports designed to automatically open in the case of an emergency. If the energy stream became too large these ports will open and relieve the pressure.”

“That would destroy the Converter,” James said.

“Better to destroy the Converter than destroy the ship,” she explained. “Remember, the Methuselans manufactured these Converters; they would have had spares.”

“All right, how do we do that,” Alexander asked.

“By sending a false signal to the pressure sensors in the energy conduit,” Lisa told him. She pointed out four of them. “I can override the signal; the rest should be automatic.”

“So all Alexander has to do is to be waiting one of the exhaust ports with a blaster. When it opens he shoots the blaster into the energy stream,” James began.

Treya finished, “Although the blaster isn’t that powerful by itself it will disrupt the energy flow. If Khandar is right that should make the material in the Psionic Converter lose cohesion.”

“Then it will vaporize,” Lisa ended.

“What will happen when it vaporizes,” James asked, suddenly concerned. “Will it explode?”

They all looked at Alexander. He ran his hands through his hair, grumbling, “I’m still stuck on the part where I space-walk outside the ship—in space mind you—with a stolen blaster to an exhaust port somewhere on the exterior of the ship.”

“You are the best zooter out of the four of us—it’s not even close Alexander.”

“What about a suit?”

Treya patted him on the back. “We all have the emergency fields in our uniforms; they’re good for twelve hours. With any luck, you’ll only need twelve minutes.”

Alexander swallowed hard. “I suppose at 0300 we break into the armory.”

CHAPTER 25: Out and About

At 0230 Alexander and James got ready to slip out of the dormitory. The plan was for Treya and Lisa to stay behind and tap into the Academy security system. They were by far the most computer literate of the group and with the ‘credit card’ supplied by Alexander’s father they hoped to open doors, monitor the Academy security system and otherwise direct or keep an eye on the boys. They ran into problems almost at once.

Centurion Fjallheim restricted all cadets to quarters which meant the dormitory doors were locked. This would have been an easy thing to work around had he not posted legionaries at each dormitory entrance. If that wasn’t enough, the centurion, who obviously was a cadet in a previous life, suspected this would not be enough to keep his charges in line. He made it the personal responsibility of the senior flight leaders to keep the peace.

Midshipman Emily Brandt had no sense of humor. She accumulated no personal demerits in her seven year career at the Academy and was not about to start now. She ordered head counts every two hours.

James brought up the schematics for the dormitory, saying, “I used to sneak out of the house through the attic almost every night. We don’t really have an attic here, but the air ducts and power conduits run through the structure between decks. We have about twenty inches of open space to zoot around in—it’s zero-G.”

“Can we get this done in two hours?” Alexander was kind of claustrophobic. He didn’t really want to go zooting around between the floors in such cramped spaces.

“We’ll have to,” James said, mapping out the quickest path to the armory and saving it onto the compads embedded in their uniforms. After downloading the armory route he mapped the way to the exterior maintenance hatch closest to the exhaust ducts. That done, he said, “Let’s go; we’re wasting time.”

“Wait,” exclaimed Lisa. “Get back in your bunks both of you!”

“Why,” James asked, already unlatching a ceiling panel.

“What is it; is someone coming?”

“No, I’ve got an idea. Now get into your bunks and pull your covers up as if you’re sleeping.” Neither boy understood, but Lisa meant business so they did what she said anyway. Taking out her compad, she began taking images of them from every angle. “I’m going to make holograms of you in bed; hopefully, they’ll be good enough for the headcount if you’re not back in time. Now hold on, this will only take a minute.”

They tried to stay perfectly still as she photographed them. It took several minutes, because the better the images the better the hologram, but after what seemed an eternity she was finished. Glad to be able to do something, he and James leapt out of their bunks. James finished removing the ceiling panel and poked his head up, shining a flashlight into the darkness.

“Wow, it’s pretty tight up here but I think we can manage.”

That didn’t make Alexander feel any better, but he didn’t really have any choice. James pulled himself in. He slipped into the void like an eel. It looked strange until Alexander thought about it. The space in between decks was zero-G, so he got progressively lighter the further he went. “Come on Alexander, I see a way to squirm through!”

Alexander grabbed the edge of the ceiling panel and peered into the dark confines of the ceiling. Before his courage failed him, he pulled himself through. James was right. It was dark and cramped. Conduits and ducting filled much of the space, winding through the darkness like the metal snakes. He could see James’s light up ahead around the corner. Before he lost sight of his friend, Alexander pulled himself all the way through, bumping his head and back against the floor of the deck above. “Ouch!” He couldn’t worry about that. They didn’t have much time. Quick as he could, Alexander wound his way after James, using his hands to pull himself along through the maze when it was too tight to use his zoots.

James went this way and that, mumbling in the dark. Slithering like a snake through the vast labyrinth of the subterranean deck. Sometimes they heard marching feet above them; sometimes they heard voices below them, but still they kept going. Finally, James stopped. Alexander caught up to him, and peering around the silhouette of his friend he saw a small access hatch. There was a touchpad next to it with a series of lights. James whispered into his comlink, “All right Lisa, the designation for the hatch is six-eight-one-seven-five-Uniform-Alpha, got it?”

A light next to the hatch winked green and they heard a slight snick! The hatch slid open. James floated through. Alexander followed. About four meters inside, a slotted shaft of light came from below. James zooted over and looked through it. Almost instantly, he put his finger to his lips and waved Alexander over. Silently, Alexander zooted over and peered down through a grating. Two purple and gold clad Praetorians stood guard outside the armory hatch. James pointed to his mouth and shook his head. He pointed to the second access hatch four meters away and then he pointed to Alexander’s compad, the one embedded in his uniform sleeve.

Alexander understood. They couldn’t take a chance calling Lisa and Treya. Carefully Alexander floated over to the next access hatch, but before he could activate his “credit card” the green light came on and the door slid open. He zooted through, realizing Lisa must’ve guessed they’d need that door open. James followed. This space was much larger, but there was also less headroom because of the armor plating between the upper floor and the armory proper. This served a two-fold purpose. It protected the ship against weapons discharges and no one on the ship could cut their way through the armor to get at the blasters. Still, it made it really, really cramped, and Alexander felt a surge of panic spread across every nerve. He fought it down, forcing himself to continue in and zoot toward another air vent.

Though they seemingly had no purpose, Alexander knew the vents were essential for ensuring that there were no overpressures or under-pressures in the ship. Pressure differentials between spaces in the ship could be as devastating as blaster shots, therefore in non-combat situations when decks were not sealed for protection great care was taken that there was no more or no less air in one part of the ship than another. Alexander peered through the vent and saw no guards, only row upon row of blaster pistols and blaster rifles almost directly beneath the vent—they were in luck!

The Praetorian guards were in the outer chamber behind the armored blast doors, but Alexander was still careful not to make any more sound than necessary. Slowly, he removed the vent cover. Four clips held the cover in place. It was a matter of squeezing each clip until it released but Alexander could only use one hand; the other had to hold onto the vent so it wouldn’t fall to the floor. The blaster doors were thick, at least that’s what he remembered from his cursory tour of the armory but if the vent fell it would probably trigger and alarm—they didn’t need that. One-two-three-four, he undid the clips and lowered the cover; turning it so he could pull it through the hole. It was almost half a meter square, so it was very awkward and Alexander almost dropped it, but at the last second James grabbed an edge. They breathed a sigh of relief and together guided it through the hole. Alexander poked his head and both arms through, reaching for the blaster pistols and their power packs only a meter below, but he forgot that as soon as he entered the room gravity began to work on him again!

What started as a nice steady reach became a sudden fall, and again only James saved him from disaster. The cadet grabbed Alexander’s legs. Fortunately, James was able to splay his legs wide and wedge himself between conduits—his larger size didn’t mean anything in the zero-G space, but his long legs sure helped! Alexander almost gave out a yelp, but as he fell he saw the blast door to the armory was open. He was staring at the backs of the two Praetorians only five meters away! He gulped hard, though fortunately silently.

“How much longer do we have Stan?”

The other Praetorian laughed. “Another two hours!”

“That’s what I thought,” the first said. “Of all the useless posts we’ve drawn in the last ten years this is the most worthless! Can you imagine a bunch of cadets being a threat to the President?”

“Gimme a break!”

“Oh well, at least it’s easy,” the guy shook his head.

“Yeah, but what’s with this deployment anyway; the Academy, why the blazes are we here? The Martial Law situation isn’t that bad. It’s not like they were going to storm the White House or anything.”

“Unioneers Stan, unioneers,” the man said. “They’re crazy.” He lowered his voice and growled, “You know they were linked to the Commies—rumor has it they were in cahoots with the Gaiaists and even—”

“What,” Stan asked.

“They conspired with the Caliphates!”

“You’re not serious,” Stan said, shaking his head violently. “Shoot them all, that’s what I say—shoot them all!” He sounded quite sincere.

“There’s no wonder they’re not Citizens, but I hear this President has different ideas.”

“God help us,” Stan said, crossing himself.

The other Praetorian followed suit, and Alexander, who couldn’t help but agree, followed their example. Then he reached for a blaster with one hand and grabbed a pair of power packs with the other. He shook his foot, and James hauled him up.

“Got it,” Alexander mouthed silently. He holstered the blaster and put the power clips on his belt—every Service uniform, even those of cadets, was ready for space and, if necessary, combat. The design was proven through years of hard existence; Human Beings had walked the razor’s edge of extinction for almost three hundred years now.

James replaced the vent cover and they zooted out of the armory, closing the hatches behind them. There was no time for celebration. James led them quickly through the maze between decks to the airlock for the exterior maintenance hatch. They dropped another vent cover and Alexander slid down into the corridor outside the airlock. “I’ll stay here for when you get back Alexander. Do you have everything?”

“I’m all ready,” Alexander said, feeling better now that he was out in the open. He was less concerned with the impending spacewalk than with the thought of retracing his steps through the claustrophobic layer between floors. He spoke into his comlink, “O.k. Lisa open airlock door seven-Golf!”

“Cadet Wolfe is that you?” It was the unmistakable voice of Lt. Mortimer. “Cadet, this is a direct order you are to cease whatever,” Alexander cut his comlink. Without further delay, he keyed his datalink to the airlock door. He was on his own now, and there was no doubt that Lt. Mortimer would soon have security details pursuing him. He had no time to waste!

The airlock door schematic came up on his compad. He moved the “credit card” icon over the airlock. Looking up, he saw the green light go on and the hatch unlocked. Alexander opened it, stepped in and closed it behind him. He followed the same routine for the exterior hatch. A hiss announced the depressurization of the airlock. Alexander felt a thrill of fear—he’d forgotten to turn on his emergency pressurization field! He expected the surge of cold and the intense pain the accompanied the uncontrollable expansion of his skin and the boiling of his blood, but there was only a slight tingling on his skin and a faint waft of cool air.

His emergency pressurization kicked in automatically—thank God!

Alexander took a deep breath. The air provided was cold and slightly thin; it wasn’t—he searched mentally for the word—satisfying. That was to be expected. Professor Cantor told them, “Your emergency sustaining fields will last up to twelve hours—up to twelve hours mind you! They are emergency fields designed to sustain you at minimal life support levels in space. They are not designed so that you can seek help; they are designed to keep you alive until help finds you!” With that in mind, Alexander knew he had significantly less than twelve hours. Nevertheless, he stepped out of the airlock and found himself in space.

Surprisingly, Alexander was so intent on his mission that he forgot to be scared. Here he was zooting as fast as he could outside the safety of the Academy through the vacuum of space! The metal horizon of the station rolled beneath him and the stars were everywhere above him. Somehow, he wasn’t scared—he was thrilled. This was amazing! This was fun! He actually had to force himself to concentrate on the moving map display on his compad guiding him to the nearest exhaust port associated with the energy stream from the Methuselan Circuit. He saw the huge antennae ring looming before him, its blue beam fanning out over a helpless blue and white planet—Terra. Anger surged through every fiber of Alexander’s body and he hit his zoots even harder.

The exhaust port was dead ahead, and so intent was Alexander, so focused, that even as he hit his brakes, he punched in the schematic for the port and sent the signal to open it with his “credit card.” He stopped exactly over the circular port. Without waiting, he drew his blaster and fired.

Nothing.

A surge of panic swept through Alexander’s chest, but then he remembered the power clips! Tearing a clip from his belt, Alexander slapped it into the base of the blaster, took aim and fired. Whoomph! The resonance of the blaster shock wave hit the air within his emergency field, causing a low but audible rush of sound. The blaster flowered, spitting a small globule of energy into the exhaust port. The force pushed him away from the port. Alexander had to zoot back into position. This time he held on to the petal-like exhaust port door.

He pulled the trigger again. Whoomph! Whoomph! Again and again he fired, and eventually he glanced over his shoulder at the antennae. The blue beam still enveloped the planet. Time after time Alexander fired, until he had to change clips, and then he continued to fire. Whoomph! Whoomph! Whoomph! Still the blue beam fanned out over Terra. With increasing desperation Alexander fired. He pulled the trigger even as the blaster discharge faded, growing weaker and weaker, until he was pulling the trigger to no effect.

Defeat settled in his heart like a chain dragging him into the depths, sickening and fatal. Alexander threw the blaster into the exhaust port in fury and disgust. It bounced silently off the walls and then floated back out, clattering soundlessly along the hull of the ship until it spun slowly off into space. Alexander watched it, wondering whether he should float off with it. Instinctively he raised his eyes to God, but all he saw through the golden haze of his emergency sustaining field was the Terminal Ring and the gleaming bulk of the Iowa docked directly overhead.

An idea struck him. What if the shielding around the exhaust duct absorbed most of the energy; what if he needed a more powerful blaster? Alexander thought no more; he hit his zoots and made a bee-line for the Iowa.

CHAPTER 26: The Ghost Still Packs a Punch

The silver-white bulk of the Iowa drew closer and closer but it seemed to Alexander that he crawled toward the Terran battleship. Was he running out of energy in his zoots? He checked his readings and they were normal, it was simply that he was almost a half kilometer from the battleship and he was zooting through open space. There was nothing close by to reference his speed; nothing, that is, until he got close to the huge ship. Alexander realized too late how close he was and tried to stop.

He failed, bouncing painfully off the hull a meter from the gaping hole in the bridge. He rebounded back into space, but his desperation was such that Alexander forgot the pain in his shoulder and zooted right back to the hole. To his surprise he bounced off an energy screen. He floated outside, confused, until he realized the screen was there not only to keep the atmosphere in but to keep micro-meteoroids and space debris out. He could see all of the bridge. It was no different from the times he stood watch there, except that now he looked from the outside in and everything was slightly fuzzy. No cadets stood watch, they were all restricted to quarters, but the bridge wasn’t empty—two Praetorians stood there with blaster rifles. They were looking directly at him.

Alexander had no choice. He brought up the schematic on his compad and unlocked the energy screen. The Praetorians didn’t expect this, so when the air whooshed out of the bridge they were swept out of the ship with it. Their emergency sustaining fields protected them, but they were too slow to prevent being swept overboard while Alexander zooted by them. As soon as he was in, Alexander re-engaged the energy screen. Gravity kicked in, and Alexander stumbled to a landing. Air rushed into the bridge again. As Alexander steadied himself, breathing in fresh air now instead of the stale air of his suit, he looked to the breach in the bridge. The Praetorians were now the ones on the outside looking\ in!

Ignoring their angry curses, Alexander ran to the weapons board. He knew this display, every cadet did. This was where Alexander Galaxus single-handedly fought the Golkos from the bridge of the Iowa, annihilating the last of the invading fleet—not giving in until Terra was safe. Now Alexander sought to save Terra again from the same control board. He reached it and touched the combat display. It worked as well as it had one hundred and fifty years earlier, only this time Alexander didn’t target Golkos ships. He selected the left gun in the number one turret, the only gun of the nine still outlined in green—meaning it was operational. As soon as he selected it, the Iowa’s blaster capacitor began to charge. Alexander could hear it, a growling coming from the ship’s hull, slowly the image of the gun began to solidify to a vibrant green.

As the gun charged Alexander took the targeting joystick and slewed it from space to the Methuselan ship. He searched for the exhaust port visually but it was almost impossible to find the half-meter hole in the mottled metal hull. He gave up, and linked his compad with the antiquated weapons display on the Iowa. It took a moment for the two systems to synch up, but when they did the guns targeting computer obediently slewed to the exhaust port. The gun aimed, Alexander turned his attention to the firing button. It would illuminate when the gun was charged to ten percent—or so he thought he remembered—regardless, he was going to fire as soon as he could. If he waited until the gun was fully charged the level forty-eight blaster projector in the sixteen inch gun barrel would tear the Methuselan ship in half. Besides, under the minimal power of the Iowa’s station keeping generators it might take hours for the blaster capacitor to charge. Even now, it was slowly climbing through five percent. He waited, sweat beading on his forehead. The readings changed to six percent.

Whoomph! He started, did the gun fire? No, it was climbing through six-point-three percent. Whoomph! Whoomph! Alexander looked behind him. The Praetorians had figured out what he was doing and they were firing their blaster rifles at the energy screen. It was no use. They couldn’t get through it. The zooted away and Alexander could only guess they were heading for the nearest airlock and calling for help on the way.

He was running out of time. The charge climbed through seven. After what seemed like an hour it hit eight. Alexander’s hand quivered over the firing button. Sweat dropped on the board beneath him. His breath became ragged, and he pounded the Plasteel board with his free hand, shouting, “Come on, come on!”

“Cadet Wolfe, what in the blazes are you doing?” Alexander looked over his shoulder to see Centurion Fjallheim running at him. “What are you trying to do; are you mad?” He rushed Alexander and grabbed him, dragging him away from the weapons board.

Alexander hit the firing button before the centurion could drag him off, but the button was dark. The charge read nine-point-six percent. “No!” but he hadn’t the strength to resist Fjallheim, who dragged him across the bridge.

“Cadet what’s gotten into you; you don’t realize what you could have done!”

Alexander’s head spun, but Fjallheim’s words hit a nerve. He remembered the centurion warning him before he stood watch, “Don’t call the dead to battle; you won’t realize what you have done!” Alexander hit his comlink to emergency broadcast.

“All hands on the Iowa to the bridge, all hands to Alexander, all hands to the bridge!” Alexander used the same immortal words used by his namesake in the last desperate hours of the Battle for Terra. Fjallheim’s grip became tighter, but it was not through anger.

“My God Alexander look out!”

There was fear in Fjallheim’s voice, and Alexander soon found out why. If his previous experience on the bridge of the Iowa was unnerving this was terrifying. Ghosts flooded the bridge but this time they were mad with bloodlust. They attacked Centurion Fjallheim and they attacked Alexander, they were mad, howling with unearthly cries. With the last shred of their tortured souls they sought to defend their ship, their planet and their civilization.

Fjallheim released Alexander as a horde of ghosts tackled him. Alexander was hardly able to maintain his sight through the flashing, translucent ghosts, but then he saw something turn red. He fought through the phantoms, pummeled by sudden winds and torn by swirling tempests, deafened by hideous shrieks. He struck the red light with the palm of his hand. CAAA-WHOOMPH! The ship shuddered and a blinding orange-yellow light flashed through the gaping hole in the bridge. The blow staggered Alexander, but when the concussion faded he didn’t feel the winds anymore. The screeching stopped. He looked up and there was no one on the bridge of the Iowa except Centurion Fjallheim.

#

As Alexander sped to the Iowa, the President of Pan America stepped to the podium. Behind him were the flags of Pan America, Pan Atlantis and Pan Pacifica. All of that was visible in the Holo-V in Kilo flight, but going through the minds of Lisa and Treya was Alexander’s plight. Lt. Mortimer stood behind them, watching the unexpected Holo-V. She was none too happy. How she happened upon their scheme was unknown, but she’d appeared shortly after 0300, when Khandar’s flight attempted a mid night raid.

“Don’t think this is going to get you girls off the hook,” she whispered harshly when the Holo-V came on and announced the Presidential address. “I know you’re in on this!”

The girls said nothing, but listened as the President began, “My fellow Terrans. We face unprecedented times, times which we have not seen since we fought three World Wars, times which we cannot have imagined.”

He continued, but Treya, who was not used to the way Terran politicians spoke, whispered, “Why does he start and stop like that? His voice sounds like a waterfall, loud-soft-loud-soft. Is he doing that on purpose?”

“It’s called inflection,” Lt. Mortimer hissed. “He does it to keep everyone’s attention!”

“He’s got mine,” Treya said. “He sounds as if he’s going to be ill.”

“Maybe he is,” Lisa whispered. “He keeps looking from side to side as if there’s someone there—doesn’t he know we’re right here where the camera is—maybe he’s drunk?”

“As reluctant as I am to take them, positive and historic steps are required to quell our current crisis. As your Overlord, I must answer to the necessity of action. Yet these times require a boldness heretofore never seen on the political stage. Never before have we used such revolutionary means for the cause of hope and change, a fundamental change in society, a change that will bring equality and social justice to the masses who before could only look and ask, ‘Why are we not Citizens as well?’ Today, indeed this very hour we bring this hope to reality. We take the downtrodden and pull them up to the level of Citizen and we take the pampered few and tell them—you have a responsibility to the masses!” He paused for his words to sink in, shaking his head and saying, “There are those who would say they have borne the burden of Unioneers for years, and that Unioneers have no wants, no needs, no responsibility other than the eight hours of labor five days a week that the contract demands of them—yet what of dignity? What of respectability? What of the right of self determination? Unioneers deserve that right; they’ve worked for it—they demand it, and I demand it for them!”

The ship rang with a metallic sound, and it lurched enough so that the President had to grab the podium to keep from falling. Stunned, the President simply stood there as if the stream of words he meant to communicate simply disappeared. He stood silently, eyes wide with surprise, until an aide entered the picture. The President’s dusky features turned ashen and the hologram went out.

#

“Cadet Wolfe step away from the weapons board!” Centurion Fjallheim ordered. His blaster was in his hand and it pointed at Alexander. “It’s set on stun Alexander, but I don’t want to shoot you. Believe me, though, if you make a move to fire that gun again I will shoot.”

Alexander stepped away, saying, “It takes time to charge anyway; it won’t be ready to fire for several minutes.”

Fjallheim went to the board. He was extremely agitated. “What were you doing; why throw away your career like that—for what?” He powered down the gun, and then Alexander saw him bring up the targeting display. “What in the world were you aiming at,” he muttered, looking at the two meter hole Alexander blasted in the hull. “Really, what in the world were you trying to do?”

“You know what I was trying to do,” Alexander told him defiantly. “I was trying to destroy the Methuselan Circuit!”

The centurion froze at the mention of the Circuit. “There’s no way to destroy the—” he stopped himself, shifting the camera quickly to the ring antennae. To Alexander’s relief it no longer emitted the blue beam. Terra was free. Fjallheim turned to him, gun raised, demanding, “What do you know about the Methuselan Circuit Cadet; tell me everything you know!”

“I know the President was using it to control the minds of Terrans in order to implement his Gaian policies,” he said, and then he took a deep breath. “I also know he promised you the Commandant’s position!”

“That’s what they told you is it!” Fjallheim’s finger quivered on the trigger and his face contorted into a grotesque mask. With his other hand he twisted the blaster ring, changing the setting. Alexander swallowed hard. “Your career is over, Alexander Wolfe. After today you will no longer be a cadet in the Academy!”

“That’s not your call to make centurion!” said a voice thick with menace.

Fjallheim’s face contorted, running through anger, surprise, confusion and every other wild emotion Alexander could think of in that split second. Alexander followed his eyes, looking back at the breech in the bridge bulkhead. An inky black figure floated in the hole. The figure stepped through the energy screen and Alexander caught sight of a dim radiance in the shape of a man with what looked to be gossamer thin wings sprouting from his shoulders. He stepped to the deck and the wings retracted into what looked to be a form-fitting suit of armor. The armor appeared to take the hue of whatever was around it, but it shifted constantly so it was very hard to focus on.

“You’ve done your duty Centurion Fjallheim,” said the figure evenly. “You discovered the malfunction in the Iowa’s weapons board caused by an interaction between the Methuselan Psionic Wave and the ship’s weapon systems. You got here in time to turn off the gun before it fired again—saving the Academy and all on board.”

Fjallheim stared at the man in disbelief, and then he looked down at the weapons board. After shifting through several different files, he shook his head in astonishment. “You’ve already altered the computer’s memory files!” Shocked, he dropped his blaster to the deck.

“Yes, you’re a hero Centurion Fjallheim.” He held out his hand and the Centurion’s blaster flew into it. Fjallheim grimaced. “Be careful what you say in your report, centurion, because according to the surveillance files of the Iowa neither Cadet Wolfe was here, nor was I.”

The figure plucked Alexander off the floor and leapt back through the hole into space. Alexander felt his sustaining field come back on, but he didn’t need it for long. The figure flew to an airlock at one of the docking stations and opened the door. He set Alexander down inside the hatch, but he didn’t follow him in. The figure glanced at the blaster. Alexander’s eyes followed his; the blaster was set to maximum.

“He was going to kill me!”

The figure shook his head, and told him, “Fjallheim was going to kill himself. Why kill you? You’re career was over, but so was his. Fjallheim’s a good soldier deep down; he couldn’t live with that. Now you have his secret. Be careful with it. We need him.”

“Yes sir,” Alexander answered, and he stared hard at the dark figure in the dark suit. “Who are you sir?”

Alexander couldn’t be sure, but he got the distinct impression that one of the two eye-like lenses on the figure’s helmet winked at him before the door closed.

CHAPTER 27: Christmas Leave

The events of the past hours rushed through Alexander’s head as he walked down the docking bridge to the terminal. It felt like he was leaving the theater after watching a movie, except here he was at the Academy with Terra rotating slowly beneath him. There was no blue beam assaulting the planet. That didn’t make things right, but it was a step in the right direction; the question was, what next?

As he mulled that over, wondering whether he’d actually be taking finals in a few weeks or whether he’d be unceremoniously returned to Terra, the tramping of many feet caught his attention. He looked up, and there was no mistaking the Presidential entourage flanked on either side by the Praetorian Guard. Alexander snapped to attention and plastered himself against the nearest bulkhead, trying to shrink to as small a size as possible. It was no use, the President saw him and though he said nothing and did not stop, he glared at Alexander with an expression of mixed curiosity and venom. Did he know?

After the President passed, Alexander hustled to the dormitory where Lt. Mortimer was waiting for him. He came to attention when she asked him where he’d been and answered truthfully, “I was on the Terminal deck Ma’am. There’s a great view of the Iowa. I go there when I need to think.”

Alexander nodded, and once again told the truth, “I should say so, Ma’am. The Iowa’s main gun went off, but I didn’t see where or what it hit. Oh, and I saw the President walk by. He didn’t seem too happy.”

Lt. Mortimer scowled at him, which was still a beautiful look for her, so it was hard for Alexander to be too concerned. However, with deep gravity, she asked one more question. “Where you involved in the trouble with the other flights?”

He left class as soon as the orders were presented to him. Everyone watched him go. Nervously, he went to Augesburcke’s office and waited, wondering whether he would be escorted to a ship in a few moments. He tried to take in all his experiences, and he had to admit, it really was an amazing four months. Then the loudspeaker announced, “Cadet Wolfe report into my office at once!”

Alexander straightened his uniform and took a deep breath. He was as calm as he could be considering the circumstances. He stepped to the door and it slid open. Commandant Augesburcke was sitting behind his desk. He looked up and pulled at his mustache, but he said, “Come in Alexander, and be at ease. If you’re thinking that I’m about to put you off the station—think again! You’ve caused far too much trouble for me to let you go just yet!”

He stepped in and the door closed behind. He was relieved, but still somewhat confused. “I’m not in trouble then sir?”

Augesburcke stood up and laughed, “Oh you’re in a great deal of trouble! I’ve just been writing a very unique report, telling the President of Pan America and the Pro Consul of the Legions why I can’t expel you—or rather why I won’t expel you.” He waved aside Alexander’s surprised expression and patted him on the shoulder. “How could I? You had nothing to do with the malfunction of the Iowa. Centurion Fjallheim’s report, corroborated by the surveillance cameras and data files, is very clear that you had nothing to do with the disappearance of the Methuselan Circuit.”

“The disappearance,” Alexander asked. “You mean it wasn’t destroyed?”

“No, but the structure aligning it was destroyed,” Augesburcke replied. “I conjecture that it spun into space, we’re looking for it now. Perhaps it will fall into the sun. Who knows—maybe a ghost took it!” He laughed quite loudly and sincerely, and Alexander was quite certain that he knew everything that had happened. “As it is, all you are guilty of is being out of quarters. I can’t expel you without expelling a few hundred other cadets. Therefore the case is closed. I can’t punish any of you without endangering your finals, and there will be quite enough of a challenge for all of you considering two of your professors will be absent.”

“Absent sir?”

Augesburcke pulled at his mustache again, “Yes, it appears that all Hell is breaking lose in the Pan American Congress. They feel as if they’ve been brainwashed and manipulated; which they were of course. There will be serious repercussions for those involved—it’s nothing short of treason.”

“Only two Professors,” Alexander asked carefully.

Augesburcke glanced at Alexander as if gauging what he might suspect or know. “Yes, Professor Strauss and Professor Nussbaum. Of course, they both have very violent histories back in the day,” he chuckled. “Strangely enough, both were appointees of then Senator Cass Bar-Judas. He’ll have a hard time surviving this, especially with that extra baggage, but survive it he will. Some politicians are survivors and this man is a jackal—he’ll eat his own.” Augesburcke paced the room, chewing on his mustache. “Unfortunately, the Academy will take its shots. Two of our professors are traitors, and another, Professor Mortimer was unconsciously duped into helping them. She simply couldn’t help solving the ‘hypothetical’ socio-algorithms they provided her. It’s her hobby, you might say, and they knew how to take advantage of her.” He turned to Alexander again and smiled. “Thanks to your ingenuity and bravery, and that of your friends and Centurion Fjallheim we’ve weathered the first ionic squall. Let’s hope we do as well next time.” He sighed and sat back down.

“Sir, one more question—who killed the Ambassador and the two Terrans?”

“Strauss,” he said gruffly. “He caught on to their true motivations and took off after them—pretty ballsy for him, but he was desperate. He ambushed them on Luna. Unfortunately our agents didn’t consider him a threat—who would—but even a fat wolf has a nasty bite when cornered!”

“Sir with all due respect, I can’t believe Strauss would be able to take out all three with a blaster.”

“Good for you; you’d be right under normal circumstances too,” the Commandant nodded grimly. He dug something out of his desk drawer. It was a silver ball about the size of a lacrosse ball. He tossed it to Alexander. “Don’t worry, I deactivated it.”

He caught it. The ball was heavy and smooth except for the dozen small red projections evenly distributed around the sphere. “Terrorist toys,” the Commandant growled. “That’s a blaster ball, invented by Strauss himself. He used it more than once back in the day. You toss it at a group of targets and it shoots randomly, three shots per bulb. It’s as deadly as it is cowardly, but then terrorists are both.” He took the blaster ball back and put it away. “Let that be a lesson to you! I got a full confession; I threatened him with Pantrixnia if he didn’t tell the truth. You can tell your friend Cadet Jameson he doesn’t have to take any more pot shots at Centurion Fjallheim!”

“Is Centurion Fjallheim the one who put the glede in the Lugby ball?”

Augesburcke looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Perceptive, Alexander, that’s very perceptive of you, but nothing so sinister. Gledes are standard issue. It’s not unusual for a centurion to put one in a Lugby ball in fractional g for the very reason you saw. After a predetermined time without handling the glede assumes it’s been lost and heads back to the nearest Federation beacon. In this case, that was Ms. Jameson; her beacon survived the attack and was in standby mode. The glede unwittingly led you right to her. ”

“Is Centurion Fjallheim on our side?”

Augesburcke shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Alexander to be honest with you there are no absolutes in this business. For now, yes Centurion Fjallheim has proven his worth.”

“What is going to happen to Professor Nussbaum and Strauss?”

The Commandant laughed, “I’m sure you’ll hear about it! That’ll be all Cadet Wolfe. There’ll be a commendation in your file, and another one in your ‘classified’ file—a bigger one. Sorry you won’t be able to brag about that, but it’s best if it’s not common knowledge. Your father will explain it to you.”

Alexander took a deep breath and asked the question he most wanted the answer to, “Sir, who was my father?”

Augesburcke laughed, and said, “He is who he always was. Give him my regards when you go on leave, and tell him it was nice to see him out and about again. He always did look silly on that damn tractor of his! Good luck on your finals, dismissed!”

Alexander saluted and left; he had a lot to think about. There was literally nothing of his adventures that he could talk about with anyone except their little group. The reasoning didn’t take his father to explain—the President was a dangerous enemy. So they all concentrated on finals, and all of them—even James—did well.

It was hard parting after such a momentous semester—God, it was only a semester! Still, Alexander was happy to get home. Katrina was there to greet them all with the good news that she’d already been accepted early for the following semester. She’d tested out—a highly unusual, in fact a unique accomplishment—and she’d be joining his flight and Academy class. Things settled into a routine after that, as Alexander still lived on a farm. The chores didn’t seem quite so onerous though, not after the life and death struggles in the Academy.

One evening his dad called him into his study. Alexander thought that perhaps he might learn more about the events that evening he destroyed the Methuselan Circuit. His dad only smiled and said, “Let’s watch some Holo-V, there’s a special on tonight with some people you know. Are you up to it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be,” Alexander asked, glad to sit down after a long day on the farm.

Dad clicked on the Holo-V and Alexander saw the vast vistas of a great tropical world with sweeping plains and dense jungles. A floating metallic ball entered the picture. It was Bob, the very announcer that presided over the Pantrixnian adventures of Alexander Galaxus. Bob hovered over the jungle and announced, “Welcome to Circus Pantrixnia where tonight we will watch the battle of two Terrans against the beasts of Pantrixnia! Now don’t get your hopes up.” Bob kind of wobbled as if shaking his head, which of course he didn’t have. “These traitorous Terrans are not warriors but academic ideologues who conspired to bring down the Terran government. They meet their fate tonight on the vaunted stage their legendary leader Alexander Galaxus once distinguished himself on!”

“Oh my God Professor Strauss and Professor Nussbaum,” Alexander exclaimed when he saw the pale faces of the two former terrorists. They were dropped in the middle of a clearing and it was obvious that they were terrified.

Strauss looked up at Bob, and cried out, “This is a mistake, this is a mistake, the Admiral promised I wouldn’t get sent here! He promised me!”

Dad held up a finger, “Tell you in a bit, this shouldn’t take long. Rex 11 usually arrives first on the scene. He’s the eleventh son of Alexander Galaxus’ pet ‘Attila’ from his adventures.”

“You ever been on Pantrixnia Dad?”

“Sure, all part of Special Operations training, I got to meet this Tyrannosaurus when he was a pup! His folks were something else, I’ll tell you—smart and mean, but in a cool way! Wait, here he goes!”

Alexander jumped in his seat as the enormous bulk of a real live Tyrannosaurus Rex plowed through the trees and into the clearing. Sixty-five million years ago the Chem couldn’t help but transplant a healthy population of dinosaurs to Pantrixnia. The planet was the home of the most dangerous and fantastic beasts from all over the galaxy. The Tyrannosaurus population soon took the role as pre-eminent carnivores and became galactic stars.

The intent of Pantrixnia was to honorably execute the most recalcitrant criminals in the Chem Empire. The Chem loved the spectacle of Pantrixnia as much ancient Romans loved the Coliseum, and they weren’t opposed to having guest criminals from other cultures. Terrans were especially welcome because they were the strongest, fastest and most barbaric of the sentient species. That is why the announcer Bob, warned the audience the two contestants were ‘academics.’ He didn’t want to get the audiences hopes up.

As expected, both Professors dropped their rifles and ran for the trees. “Terrorists are always cowards,” Dad said. He winced when Rex 11 simply stomped on Professor Nussbaum, but not because it was violent or grotesque. He shook his head. “He didn’t even fire a shot—disgraceful!”

Rex 11 let Professor Strauss get to a large tree. Laboriously the Professor climbed, dropping his blaster pistol when he tried to draw it. It was the most effective move he could have made. The pistol spun to the forest floor and discharged. The blaster beam hit a branch near Rex’s head and distracted the dinosaur king long enough for the terrorist to climb above his jaws. Bob followed the Professor all the way into the canopy. It took the Professor a long time and he was sweating profusely by the time he got there. Despite the many questions Bob asked, Strauss wasn’t very forthcoming, he simply sat there in the seeming safety of the canopy catching his breath. He didn’t get to wait long.

“Sorry, Professor Strauss but the canopy is not a haven even for Terrans. It is the home of the Remvalix, a carnivorous insect of low intelligence, but one that you should feel right at home with!”

Strauss glanced at Bob and then looked around and saw the Remvalix, mantis-like beasts that appeared from all sides out of the foliage. They were about three quarters the Professors height and maybe a third his weight, but there were dozens of them. Strauss screamed and tried to get away, but it was too late. The insects grappled him and dragged him back through the trees.

“You see Professor the Remvalix operate in a collective, just as your fellow Gaians do,” Bob said cheerfully. When they got the professor to a level area in the canopy many more Remvalix joined the hunting party. With great dexterity they stripped the Professor of his armor and clothes. Alexander cringed, but he couldn’t look away. There was a lot of chatter between the insects, and eight of them held him down against a thick branch. The rest sorted themselves out in a line. The first clattered with glee as it reached out with its sharp mandibles and snipped a small bit of flesh off the Professor’s calf.

“Ouch, what are you doing? We can talk, what do you want, what do you want?” The professor screamed, his terror finally finding his voice.

Bob floated up and down, ensuring he got the best images possible as one after another of the Remvalix stepped forward and took their turn. “Come now Professor, this is your specialty. The Remvalix live as a collective and everyone in the collective gets exactly what everyone else does. Individuals subvert themselves for the good of the collective, and right now Professor Strauss, traitor of Terra; you are what’s good for the collective!”

“Nooooo!” the Professor wailed, and Alexander couldn’t believe how long he listened to it.

When it was over, he said, “Dad why did you make me watch that?”

Dad looked serious. “You became a man at the Academy son, but you came out of it pretty clean. Part of that is due to your ingenuity and part of it to Commandant Augesburcke. He convinced Khandar to keep an eye on you—to be your big best friend if you needed one.”

“Khandar,” Alexander exclaimed. “He was a strange best friend!”

“He’s a Golkos remember,” his Dad said. “Augesburcke told him all about the death’s-head order and what I did. After that Khandar kept close tabs on you; he kept Augesburcke informed.” He sighed and put his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “Many of our people lost a lot. James lost his Mom. He may not have known her well, but he lost her all the same and I lost some good friends.” Patted Alexander on the back. “This business isn’t over. These people do not play fair. They wouldn’t think twice about putting a kid like you where Professor Strauss was today. This is for real, and there’s no turning back.”

“I know; I understand now.”

“Understand this as well son,” Dad said, and his expression softened. “I couldn’t be more proud of you. It’s not for everything you accomplished; it’s because you were brave enough to try. Whatever life throws at you, so long as you try your best and don’t give up, you have a chance and that’s all any of us can ask for. That’s why I’m proud of you, and hey—” he punched Alexander playfully in the shoulder. “Alexander thanks for being my son!”