Earth as an Example

Part 2

Jesse Allen

Copyright (c) 1991

There was a knock on the door to Captain Huston's cabin. Or rather, a knock on the wall next to the door--the door itself was open.

"There's no need to knock, Dr. Drucker," said Captain Huston. "In the Navy, an open door is an invitation. Come on in."

Dr. Drucker entered, then seemed startled when he saw Captain Huston was not alone. With him was Captain Second Rank J`ali Suliman.

"If you're both here," started Dr. Drucker, "who's on the bridge?"

"Relax, Dr. Drucker," replied Captain Huston, amused by the archaeologist's concern. "The bridge is less than twenty seconds down the hall. Chief Navigator Smythe is in command. She has intentions of future command, so I deemed it appropriate to introduce her to the throne."

"Don't believe him," cautioned Captain Suliman, his teeth showing as he smiled broadly. "He's just afraid of failing to catch that prankster Jones in the act of pulling the wool over his eyes. So he put Georgia in command while Jones installed the gadget."

"J`ali," said Captain Huston, turning to speak with his second, "you truly hurt me with your disrespect. Of course I put Georgia in command while Jones put the shield modifier in. I'd hardly be giving her a fair feel for command if she wasn't handed something a little unusual during her watch."

"Go ahead and make excuses," said Suliman, "but I know you better, John. Your style of command is to leave someone else to hold the bag whenever possible. You know it. I know it. And you know I know it."

"If you're done assaulting my good character," replied Captain Huston playfully, "I should remind you that she is replacing you, not I, in the Captain's seat right now. Perhaps you'd like to test Jones's creation yourself?"

"No," said Suliman, "I respect your decisions completely. You are, of course, completely correct to leave a junior officer in command while an engineer with even less experience than the acting captain is tinkering with the hyperionic shields.

"You must excuse me, sirs," Suliman continued, "but I have other matters to attend to." With that, he began to leave the room.

"Remember, J`ali," retorted Huston gleefully, "this was your watch. You know it. I know it. And you know I know it." Captain Suliman did not even pause as he walked out the door, but Dr. Drucker though he heard a slight snigger from down the hall moments later.

"What was all that about?" asked the incredulous Doctor.

"Oh, just J`ali and I playing games with each other and the crew as usual. I left Georgia on the bridge while Warwick Jones, the junior engineer I mentioned earlier, puts his stealth system in."

"That should be interesting," said Dr. Drucker.

"Indeed," said Captain Huston. "What's worse, I'm not really sure if Warwick is pulling my leg or not. Usually I can tell such things and then it's just a matter of working out how they're doing it. But Warwick is new and I can't read him as well. Worse, engineering is not my forte. Warwick's compounded the problem by being very thorough in describing the thing's limits. Apparently, a lot of the power and size of standard electronic stealth systems comes from their countermeasures defense circuits---the part of the gadget that keeps other equipment, particularly other ships, from scrambling the cloaking shield. By cutting that out and trimming a few other corners, he says he's saved enough power and space to fit it. Given the thoroughness of his description of the gadget's flaws, I'm tempted to believe him. I do not, however, intend to give in to that temptation easily."

"And Captain Suliman's claim that you gave Lieutenant Smythe the con while Jones was at work to dodge responsibility?"

The Captain smiled. "I see you've caught on to some of the ropes. Yes, there is some truth to it. I've just spent the last three days checking up on Warwick's claim that most of the power goes into counter-scrambling. I was sure that was where he laid a trap for me...and I've just managed to learn enough to believe him after all. At least whatever logical pitfall he's laid for me isn't there. So I need more time to search engineering texts to detect other possible tricks.

"But it is just as much a challenge to Georgia as it is me dodging Warwick. You see, she now has the task of proving her ability to command and she knows she'll get quite a recommendation from me if she can find out what Jones has really done before I do.

"If, on the other hand, I work it out when I go on duty in a few hours after she has failed, I'll gloat unmercifully."

"I will feel sorry for Lieutenant Smythe should that happen," said Dr. Drucker. "I know just how unmerciful your gloating can be."

So far, the Captain and Dr. Drucker had completed three games of Chess, all three of which the Captain had won. Dr. Drucker had watched in horror as his pieces were chopped off the board in bold moves that left his King stripped of all protection. All his defensive moves had been countered ruthlessly.

`I had not counted on such an aggressive opponent,' though the archaeologist. `But with each game, his victory comes harder. I am learning his style...'

"It's bad manners not to gloat when someone else challenges you to a game and then proceeds to lose repeatedly," said Captain Huston in a mock self-satisfied tone. "I believe it is your move now."

"I know," said Dr. Drucker with equal mockery. "I shall enjoy wiping that grin off your face. Bishop to Queen 7. Check."

"Feeling assertive today?" said Captain Huston. "Well, let's see what I can do about that. Check, you say?" and the Captain moved over to the side table that now held the chess board. Real pieces of either blackened or bleached steel on the wooden board rather than the holographic projections common to most Knights & Castles games. Yet another anachronism, but it seemed appropriate to play the ancient game by hand. Captain Huston moved a steel bishop to its new position. He contemplated the board silently for several minutes with his hand still on the piece, Dr. Drucker standing across the board to see what happened.

`He plans at least three moves ahead of me,' thought Dr. Drucker, `and undoubtly knows exactly where he wants to move now and is just playing with me by pretending to work out moves as he goes. But he has a surprise coming to him...'

Captain Huston reached forward and moved one of his pale pieces, taking the grey bishop off the board. Without even waiting a moment, Dr. Drucker reached down and moved another dark piece.

"Check," he announced.

Captain Huston looked up at the archaeologist with an expression that was a mix of surprise and a frown. `Now what's he got up his sleeve?' thought the Captain. `He's not usually aggressive at all and it's obvious he's plotted his moves out in advance. He's not even TRYING to hide it!' John contemplated the board carefully, then moved one of his pieces to take the attacking rook. Again Dr. Drucker did not wait, but moved his piece immediately.

"Check."

`What the hell?' though Captain Huston. `If I take his piece again, he'll have three less than he did five minutes ago without improving his position at all. What is he up to?' Then suddenly, John saw the strategy. `Sneaky fox! If I take the bishop he's using to put me in check, I'll have set myself up to lose all three of those pieces. He's not attacking the King: He's after my playing pieces! But how to counter him...'

Dr. Drucker read the Captain's thoughts from the frowns crossing his forehead and his eye movements across the board. A full half hour passed without a word or move. Dr. Drucker smiled to himself. `I have finally gauged him well,' he thought. `I knew he would attack those pieces, yet realize within a few moves that he places his own in jeopardy. Yes, I've finally rattled `the Dark Master's' cage.'

"Jaffles, John," said the ship's cook who had entered soundlessly to peek over the chief archaeologist's shoulder. "And a pot of coroco. I just ran some up to the bridge and Georgia thought you might want some too. Oh, and she told me to tell you `Warwick's little gadget works,' whatever that means."

"Thanks, Theo," said the Captain as the cook placed the food on the side table. "Smells good."

"Oceanian cooking always does," replied Theo. "Playing games again? Watch it, Doctor. John has a mean streak and he plays to win."

With that, the cook disappeared as silently as he entered.

"Do all your crew use first names like that?" asked Dr. Drucker.

"Of course," replied Captain Huston. "Discipline and formal titles are all very wonderful for parades. But off duty, I'm a person, not a Captain, and I like being treated that way. You'll find most of the crew feel that way too.

"In fact, it might be good practice for you and your team to use first names when we're off duty, David."

"Oh," replied the archaeologist, "of course. We always try to adjust to the local customs, Capt...John. I simply hadn't realized. I would never have imagined the military was quite so... well, human. Margie always gave me the impression discipline was a bit on the strict side onboard."

John Huston laughed. "Doesn't surprise me if she was serving with Nick Perry. He's as good as they come, but he's from the Hercules sector and they take discipline a bit seriously there. I'm from Oceania and we've always been a bit more relaxed about such things. Got better grub, too," and as he spoke, he poured a cup from the pot. "Want some?"

"Grub?" asked David.

"Sorry. Local slang for `food.' "

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with Oceanian `grub,'" said David. "I take it that the drink is coroco?"

"Yep. It's water percolated through the dried grounds of a common plant on Gardia, one of the better agri worlds in the quadrant. It's good stuff, though I recommend you limit yourself to a cup a day `til you get used to it. There's some trace chemicals in it that not only give it the flavour, but might make your bladder work overtime and keep you up all night if you're not careful."

"Sounds a bit like coffee," said David. John gave him a blank look. "It's a drink from home that, from the description, could be fairly similar. These square things are called jaffles?"

"That's right. Leftovers sandwiched between two slices of braco, then sealed and cooked."

"And braco..."

"...is good stuff. My training is in naval command, not food production, I'm afraid, and describing everything that goes into good braco would be long and tedious, not to mention possibly inaccurate. Try one. You can always interrogate Theo if you get really curious about our cooking."

David took a jaffle in his hand. It was warm and light brown, a palm sized square which bulged in the middle. He took a bite and chewed. There was a taste of processed grain and mildly spiced meat along with something he didn't recognize, a gooey yellow substance that fill the jaffle's interior. Steam wafted gently from the filling.

"This is SNACK food?" asked David in disbelief.

"Yeah," replied John. "If you want real Oceanian cooking, you'll have to visit sometime. I tried to convince Theo to serve us real food more often, but most of the crew rebelled, having taste buds cultivated elsewhere. Hence the meals to date."

David took another bite, then sipped his coroco. It was slightly bitter, but with a subtle sweetness to it and a hint of something else that he couldn't quite place, though it was familiar.

"You're right, this is good. If the fare---sorry, `grub'---is as good as this regularly, I could be talked into moving very easily. There's something in the coroco that I can't quite make out, though...ethanol?"

"Just enough to keep the toes warm. But none goes to the bridge. This is strictly an off-duty pot."

John returned to eyeing the chess board, sipping from his cup while silently contemplating his next move. `So the good doctor is getting tricky. There must be some way to foil him, though...'

"Is all your crew Oceanian?" asked David. "The Maelstrom's crew seemed to be from all over the Union."

"No," replied John, "but about half the crew is from my home sector. The Navy is divided on how to billet crews. Basically, there are two schools of thought---assignment by ship or by commanding officer. On the Nikaljuk, the two schools meet, or collide if you prefer. J`ali has worked on this ship for ten years and probably won't be assigned another command for at least a decade. He has a skeleton crew that stays with the ship at all times, mostly engineers whose greater experience with this ship gives them an edge. Then there's the crew that's assigned to me. Georgia, Theo, and Norman have all served on four different ships with me. There are a few others, some who've been with me longer, some shorter. Warwick was the latest addition, courtesy of Admiral Nick. Due to some regional political settlements with the Union, the Nikaljuk and its native crew are Turian, me and my crew are all Oceanian. So we get decent grub when we can, but we have to put up with J`ali's hot spices when the shipbound crew rebels."

"Ah, so he is the person to thank for last night's flaming curry?"

"You got it! Vicious stuff, isn't it?"

"Actually," said David, "I rather liked it. I've never had Turian food before. I'll have to ask Theo how it's made."

"The primary ingredient is rocket fuel, I believe," said John.

"I'll admit it was rather hot. By the way, what does `Warwick's little gadget works' mean?"

"The Nikaljuk either has a working stealth shield or a navigator who's in league with the engineers. Quiet now, please. I can't play two games at once."

David sipped his coroco and smiled.

"No word from the Janella spacedock yet, sir," announced Suliman as Captain Huston relieved him at the con.

"How long have we been in hailing range?"

"Seven hours. At our current rate, we should make planetary orbit in half an hour. A bit long for sleeping on the job."

"Have you been calling them the whole time?"

"Just for the first quarter hour, then we got sick of it and just tried every twenty minutes or so."

"Hmm...Sounds like a general power failure. Can you get a visual of the station?"

"Visual scan on maximum magnification," announced Norman Clarke, the Nikaljuk's pilot.

The forward screen showed the blue ball of a planet, complete with white streaks of water clouds. Orbiting high above it was a small splodge of shiny metal, reflecting the starlight of Janella's primary.

"I've not been able to find any emissions from the station whatsoever," continued Norman, monitoring his instruments as he spoke, "including the normal radio noise from their power plant. Not even emergency band signals, which they should be using if there's been a blackout. I'm also not getting any infrared signature other than reflected starlight, though it would be hard to pick up their waste heat even from this distance."

"Anything on the threat board?" asked Huston.

"Nope," replied Suliman. "The nearest action is at Rosanna, over two hundred parsecs from here."

"Hmph. Have you been playing with the would-be stealth shield?"

"No, sir. I had planned to call Janella, then flip it on and see if they could track us, but we haven't even got that far."

"Very well. You are relieved of the con."

"Thank you, sir," said Suliman, saluting sharply before walking off the bridge.

"I have a target solution, Subahdar," announced Ordinance Officer Mikoyan aboard the Kalganian Raider Bristol. "The ship has been hailing the spacedock without response or change of course. Passive scanners identify it as a lightweight military merchant craft."

"Military?" asked Subahdar Argen. "Are you sure it is alone?"

"There are no other ships in detection range."

"Hold your fire," instructed the Subahdar.

"Captain, I have engine emission from high and right, approaching from our stern," announced Norman.

"Can you identify it?" asked Captain Huston.

"Negative, Captain. I've never seen an engine plant signature like it."

"Display it, main screen."

Norman threw the image onto the front viewscreen, erasing the picture of the approaching planet.

"Battle stations!" snapped Huston. "Pilot, dive for the planet, maximum acceleration. Navigator, calculate a hyperbolic orbit for optimum gravitational boost from Janella. We've picked up a raider..."

"The merchant has detected us. It's diving for the planet, probably to get a gravitational assist," announced Mikoyan.

"Prepare to fire," commanded Subahdar Argen.

"Torpedo one is locked on target."

"Fire!"

"Inbound torpedo," announced Norman.

"Slingshot ready?" asked the Captain, slipping easily into the abbreviated speech necessary to handle the rapid pace of battle.

"Orbit computed, sir!" answered Georgia from the navigation console.

"Execute!"

"Done," replied Norman.

"Okay, folks," said the Captain as calmly as he could, "this is what you've all been trained for. We've been shot at before and lived. Stay calm and we'll do it again. Our friend seems to be on his own. We can lose him yet..."

`Start taking your own advice,' he thought to himself. `Stay calm! They're only trying to kill you...'

"Engineer Jones!" he ordered, the ship's computer automatically picking up the tone of voice and name to connect him with the engineer.

"Yes, sir?" asked the grill next to his command chair.

"We've picked up unwanted company," explained the Captain, "and I wouldn't mind disappearing. Is your stealth system up to the job?"

"Sir," replied an obviously frightened Jones, "it is only a partial shield, just as I told you. We will be much more difficult to detect at standard search frequencies, but not invisible. Off those search patterns, the stealth characteristics are much weaker. And any cloaking scramblers will be effective against us."

"Thank you, Senior Engineer Jones," said the Captain. "If this works, I'll confirm your promotion with the Navy." He straightened from leaning towards the grill, signalling the computer to cut the comlink. "Stand by, stealth. Lieutenant, compute an orbit change..."

"The merchant has gone behind the planet," said Mikoyan. "He'll be eclipsed for five minutes. I am continuing tracking via the torpedo's systems. It confirms the merchant is using the planet's gravity to boost him away from us. He will be in range for fifteen minutes after he re-emerges from the planet."

"How soon `til the current torpedo makes contact?"

"Three minutes, Subahdar, but it will be eclipsed in thirty seconds."

"Set up a shot to intercept the Federalli ship when it comes around the planet, just in case the first torpedo does not finish it off."

Mikoyan bent over his instruments.

"Rough solution prepared. I can lock it in when the merchant comes out from behind the planet's disk. Ten seconds `til torpedo eclipse."

"The planet has eclipsed the raider's contact with its torpedo...now!" announced Norman

"Release decoy and cloak, then execute course change," commanded Captain Huston.

"Decoy free and running," said Georgia.

"Stealth activated," announced Norman.

Outside the Nikaljuk, the invisible energy shields that warded off meteoriods from the ship's hull underwent a subtle change.

"Course change initiated. The raider will be visible in two minutes," said Norman. "The torpedo has acquired the decoy: Ninety seconds `til impact." Then he turned from the his console to face the Captain. "That was close, sir."

"We'll be closer still soon. Stay calm, but remember: The decoy might have pulled the torpedo off us even without the stealth. Let's hope that little gadget really works..."

"The merchant is overdue to emerge from eclipse," said Mikoyan. "The torpedo must have destroyed it."

"Or the captain outmaneuvered it, then shifted to a lower orbit," countered Argen.

"Unlikely. That's a lot of fancy dodging for a freighter."

"Oh, very likely. You have never fought the Federallies before. Simpleton ship, maybe. But rarely a simpleton captain. I know them from battle. They are sneaky bastards with tricks you can only dream of. Bring us around the planet in a slow orbit and keep your finger near the trigger..."

The Bristol's pilot began to move the ship around the shining blue globe of Janella.

"Further engine emission, sir," announced Georgia. "He's headed for a high orbit."

"Firing solutions?"

"Torpedoes one and two are locked."

"Fire both and set up a third."

"Firing..."

"Inbound torpedoes!" announced Mikoyan.

"What!"

"Two torpedoes, coming straight at us. I can't see the merchant. He must have a cloaking device..."

"A freighter? Impossible!"

"The ship does not appear on any of our scanners and the torpedoes were not launched blindly from behind the planet."

"Evasive maneuvers! Fire!"

"At what?"

"Two inbound torpedoes," announced Georgia. "They've fired back down our tracks."

"Running time?"

"Thirty seconds," answered Norman. "The Kalganians are jamming."

"New solution?"

"It's very rough, but it would give him a nudge," replied Georgia.

"Hold your fire."

Far behind the Bristol, a pair of silvery darts drove on through space, headed for the bright engine glow of the fleeing Kalganian. Inside their streamlined metal cases, instruments picked at the subtle signals of the jamming, trying to sort their true target from the dozens of shimmering ghosts thrown at them. At random intervals, each would shift frequency, momentarily clearing away the false images. Fooled for a moment, the first torpedo passed beneath the Bristol, harmlessly passing through the image it had perceived. Now, with the Bristol astern of it, the torpedo detected nothing and drove straight on, its undirected acceleration stopping only when its fuel supply was exhausted. Janella's primary had a new comet. In a hundred years, the metallic dart would fall in to the fiery star, adding in minuscule measure to the star's vast reserves of metallic gases.

The second torpedo was not fooled. It homed in on the exhaust of the fleeing Kalganian and ten metres short of the engine's vents, the warhead ignited. The entire torpedo was vapourized in an instant. The rear of the Bristol softened with the heat and flowed outward, driven by the internal pressure of the air within its hull. Further from the explosion, solid chunks came free and flew on random courses. The hull was punctured in at least a hundred places, completely overwhelming the safety systems. One flying piece ripped the side out of the Bristol's main generator. Shipboard power failed completely. The few not yet killed by the force of the explosion found themselves breathing vacuum instead of air. Backup power sealed sections from venting their atmosphere into space, but the punctures were so frequent that few of the bulkheads could hold long. Sections of the hull that had not been perforated were severely weakened. Under the continuing pressure of even the partial atmosphere remaining, they buckled and collapsed. In all the ship, only one section remained intact against the damage. And no crew were alive in that sealed tomb.

The Procurator touched the button on the trimensional recorder, deactivating it. Behind her, the sun had set and the night sky was visible. The dark was broken by myriads of shining stars.

"Gentlemen," she said, "my pardon for making you speak so long without a break. Would you care for some refreshments?"

The Doctor stood up from his chair and stretched.

"Yes, that would be nice. Iced water?" Then he arced his back, groaning slightly as he did so. "Old age is catching up with me. My body can't sit still for so long the way it used to."

"I feel a bit worn out myself," said Admiral Perry, "though I bet it has more to do with it being dark outside than anything else. The clock might say it's midday, but my body still thinks dark means time to sleep."

The Procurator smiled. "The price of having an office with a view on a planet where everything is underground. Museum's primary sets every twenty-seven and a quarter hours while planetary time goes full cycle in twenty-five. The last two days, I've just been finishing the day around sunrise."

"No time zones to worry about at least," said Dr. Drucker. "After a few years here, it's strange to visit a more traditional planet where the time is set by the cycles of their primary."

"Yes," she replied. "Museum is much more civilized that way. I can call someone on the other side of the planet in the morning and know I'm not interrupting their dinner. But I'm neglecting my job as host. A drink, Captain...sorry, Mr. Huston? Admiral Perry? A snack of some sort? Perhaps even one of those Oceanian delicacies...what did you call them? Jaffles?"

"That's correct," replied John, "though I've never heard them called a delicacy before. Some iced coroco would be nice."

"A tofaton for me, thanks," said Admiral Perry, "if that's possible."

"Our bartender is familiar with Herculean drinks," replied the Procurator. "I've yet to have a visitor ask for something it couldn't make. I think I will stick with local custom and have iced water. Pardon me a moment." With that, she moved to the door where she spoke with a guard.

"So that's how you did it," said Admiral Perry looking straight at John. "I heard you pulled some sleight-of-hand trick, but no one told me the details."

"Come again?" asked John. "I don't follow you."

"Your trick with the meteoroid shields at Janella. Neat."

"Actually, it wasn't my trick---as I said, it was the creation of a junior engineer. It was him, not me, that saved our skins."

"He's not a junior engineer, you know," said Admiral Perry with a hint of slyness.

"Not anymore," replied John. "I promoted him on the spot and the Navy confirmed it when we stopped at Maxel." Then he paused for a moment. "You know, it's funny, but I don't think he'll be a senior engineer any longer than he was junior. I've never had so...well, so COMPETENT an engineer who wasn't master rated at least. I won't be surprised if Warwick is assigned to a cruiser in a few years. I wonder how he came to have such a junior rank?"

"That's easy to explain," replied Admiral Perry smiling. "I gave it to him. Regulations required that he either start from the bottom and earn his promotions from there, or go to officer school for three years before getting rank. He and I both agreed that school would be silly or even disastrous when he'd know more than any of his instructors, so he started from the bottom...as a junior engineer on the Nikaljuk.

"You see, Warwick Jones was a master engineer just a year ago. But civil, not military, and permanently groundside. But after having been on the job for a few years, he discovered he wanted to work on ships, and he came to the Navy. The local recruiter was sharp enough to see that Jones was an unusual candidate and immediately passed him on to me.

"But Admiral or no, I can't bend rules to suit me. I had an eager young man qualified in all but logtime to be chief engineer on a cruiser...but without the ship time, there's no way I could even have put him in charge of a pleasure yacht. And giving him junior rank and placing him on a big ship would be disastrous, both for himself in lack of satisfaction, and for his bosses who couldn't help but notice his superior ability. A lot of people feel threatened when they have to give orders to a more capable officer. You can imagine what might happen in a situation like that.

"The obvious solution was to find a small ship, one large enough to interest him, but small enough that there would only be a couple of other engineers who might potentially get aggravated. Besides, mismatches in rank and ability are a little more common on certain small ships, or so you seem to allege."

"Oh?" said John in mock innocence.

"I recall you thinking yourself on par with me once upon a time," replied Admiral Perry jovially. "But I haven't heard anyone call you `Admiral Huston' yet."

"Well, thank you," said John. "For a moment there, I thought you were implying that I was incompetent and overranked."

"Maybe I was... But I digress. I knew I wanted a small ship, preferably with an Oceanian crew since Jones hails from there, and your name came up on the top of my list.

"In many ways, your crew was the most ideal. Jones would be joining you just at the same time you were changing to the Nikaljuk, so only the ship's permanent crew would be more experienced with the ship and they would not be surprised to find a highly capable engineer unfamiliar with the shipboard routine.

"The deciding factor, though, was how you work with your crew. I've heard what happens on your ship, playing games with each other like you do. Some of the officers who've served with you have mentioned it...or worse yet, tried the same thing on unprepared commanders elsewhere. I find it all most undignified and quite out of character with the code of conduct expected of a naval officer..." and as he said this, Admiral Perry's voice grew stern, then suddenly softened, "...but quite a lot of fun. You should have seen the look on Byron Parry's face when he discovered one of his senior engineer's had wired the Brach Y Pwull's bridge lights to start a strobe show every time someone used the officer's head! Our commanders could do with a few more safe surprises, and burning up the crew's energy on pranks improves discipline remarkably.

"So here I was with the perfect prank to pull on you, the original prankster himself. I told Jones to use his electrical wizardry on you whenever possible, then deliberately neglected to tell you anything about his background when he was assigned to you. And it all worked even better than I could have imagined. I warned Jones it might be quite a while before he got a promotion...and he came back from his first mission crowing victory in my face."

"Yes," said Captain Huston. "You managed to pull quite a joke on us all. Three quarters of my crew managed to get entangled in the attempt to find out if that gadget really was what Warwick claimed it was. J`ali thought it was the real thing while his chief engineer swore no such thing could be so small nor run on as little power as it did. And neither Warwick nor the device revealed a thing `til we stumbled on the Kalganian raider. He save our lives...and the chief engineer STILL insisted it had to be a fake."

"I wouldn't blame him," said Admiral Perry. "While this is the first time I've ever been privy to what exactly happened, I've heard a few whispers in the halls of power...and they are just as mystified about how such a useful thing was never made or even thought of before. Jones seems to have a real genius.

"It's just sad that proving his device cost twenty crew their lives, even if they were Kalganian." And with that, Admiral Perry stood up wordlessly and stared out the window.

"Did you notice her ring?" whispered Dr. Drucker leaning into John's ear.

"What ring?" asked John, disoriented by the sudden change of conversation and Admiral Perry's reaction.

"The Procurator's," whispered Dr. Drucker in reply.

"It's a signet ring," answered John quietly, still looking at the melancholy Admiral. "All upper rank civil servants have one. Why are we whispering?"

"Look carefully at the design..." but the archaeologist cut himself off as the Procurator returned.

"The drinks will be here in a moment," she said, then turned to the Admiral. "Beautiful view, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," said the Admiral, startled out of his silent concentration. "I always liked the night sky from Inner worlds. There are so many stars in the galactic plane. I grew up out on the Periphery where there are fewer nearby stars. Just the distant dusty white splodge of the galaxy."

As the Procurator talked with the Admiral, John caught a glimpse of her ring.

`The design is familiar,' he thought, `but it shouldn't be. Before this business with the Nikaljuk, I've never even heard of the Procurator of Museum. Where have I seen that design before?'

A soft bell tone sounded from the desk.

"Ah, our drinks are ready," said the Procurator. "Bring them in!"

One of the uniformed guards brought in the tray and placed it on the desk. He saluted sharply, then turned on his heel and left. Just as he did, John recalled where he had seen the signet design before...

`How can the Procurator of Museum be wearing the seal of the Federal Commander in Chief unless...'

"That's the imprint of the Secretary-General!" whispered John. "The only person who can wear it is..."

"Plotting something, you two?" asked Admiral Perry. "Come look at the view. Oceania can't boast a sky like this."

"True," said John, coming to the window. "Oceania's in an intermediate sector. Enough stars to dazzle the visitors from the Periphery, but so much less so than the Inner worlds that the ambassadors consider our sky bland. What about your home, Dr. Drucker?"

"My home is gone," Dr. Drucker replied flatly.

John cursed himself inwardly for not remembering. The room was silent for several minutes while they drank and looked out the window. John wrinkled up his nose at the iced coroco. `Every time I ask for iced coroco offworld, they mess it up.' He had been handed a glass of refrigerated coroco with an ice cube floating in it. On any of the Oceanian worlds, it would have been served blended with frozen cream instead of with ice. `It's easy to forget they don't serve it properly elsewhere.'

"Well," said the Procurator finally, "we should get back to business. But before we do, I have some trimens I want you to see." She turned to her desk and pulled out a set of prints from a drawer. She passed them to John.

"These were taken from...well, I'll let you guess."

John looked at the first on the pile. It showed a silvery spacedock orbiting a blue planet with the characteristic white streaks of water vapour clouds. The spacedock seemed tiny there, dwarfed by the ball beneath it. Even from as far as the trimenograph had been taken, something did not look right. There appeared to be a gash in the outer hull and several of the protruding arms of the dock appeared snapped, others warped, and there might even have been some missing. John was not familiar enough with space engineering to tell, but from his experience of approaching docks, he knew roughly what they tended to look like. This was wrong. He handed the print to Dr. Drucker.

The next shot was taken much closer and showed the damage much more clearly. Smaller pock marks showed in the hull and the gash now appeared to have ripped through almost all of the hull. Plates of metal were twisted and distorted, bulging outwards where they had been softened by heat and yielded slightly to the pressure of an atmosphere behind them. Other sections of the hull had been heated so fiercely that the metal had vapourized, exposing the interior to the cold vacuum of space.

The next print showed the interior of the dock. There were bodies...

John stopped looking. He knew what he would find. It was the space dock at Janella. The close up images looked similar to the brief shots the Nikaljuk had made before they had been ordered to Maxel. The Kalganians had gutted and destroyed the entire station, killing all the personnel. Intellectually, he had known that already. They could hardly have left a ship to ambush the Nikaljuk with an operational space dock in Federal hands at their back. But he had not thought further. The few brief images caught by the Nikaljuk were not taken close up and he had not examined them closely before handing them over to the commander at Maxel. He had not thought what that destruction would look like...

"How did you get these?" asked Dr. Drucker. "These pictures are from Janella. The Nikaljuk got attacked by the folks that did this and even we haven't seen these before."

"You've both admired my ring," replied the Procurator with a slight smile, "so you know my position. I have access to such things." She leaned forward and took the prints from Admiral Perry as he finished with them.

"But you are wrong," she continued. "These images are not from Janella. They were presented to me by the ambassador of Turnay after his release. This is what the Federal Navy did to the space station at Turnay two weeks later. However, the pictures taken by the Haiphong at Janella are remarkably similar. It seems the tactics of evil Kalganians differ little from our own...I can show you the images from Janella too if you wish."

"No, thank you," said John with a hint of firmness in his voice that conveyed certainty.

"Why are you showing us this?" asked Admiral Perry.

"I will come to that in the end," replied the Secretary-General.

"If you're the Secretary-General..." began Dr. Drucker, "who has been the Procurator of Museum for the last five years? I mean, this is the first time I've ever had even a hint that you weren't in command here. And what are you doing here? What's this inquiry really about?"

"I have been the Secretary-General of the Federal Galactic Union for ten years, ever since my father passed the title on to me. I've also been the Procurator of Museum for the last five of those years.

"I had always dreamed of having a job like this, but never thought that holding the federal scepter would ever let me. Then there was the assassination attempt by the Kalganian Intelligence Service. It was not the first, but it came within an ace of succeeding and no other threat to my person had ever been so serious. I went into hiding, eventually coming to Museum when the previous procurator resigned.

"It has been the perfect disguise. My first years of office were anonymous enough that I have not been recognized save by those I wished and as Procurator of Museum, seeing my face in any corner of the galaxy is perfectly in place. Whenever and wherever I am needed in my role as Secretary-General, there is sure to be a nearby historian, anthropologist, or archaeologist to justify my official appearance. The government on Throne is a mock structure to draw the fire of the assassins and quell the doubts of all but the most inquisitive."

"But you've just revealed yourself to us!" said Dr. Drucker. "Why? And why does our expedition to First World merit your attention?"

"The most important reason in the Galaxy, Doctor. But let me deal with that when we finish this recording..." and so saying, she restarted the recorder on the table.

Jesse Allen is an overworked, underloved graduate student at the Universityof Iowa. In his copious free time, he pretends to teach, do research, keep in touch with the few friends he has left, write science fiction, weave, and have a social life. He is currently working on a thesis on Radio Emission From X-ray Binary Stars (Read as "How to get to Australia at the U.I.'s expense" -- a preliminary feasibility study made it to New Mexico.) He can be reached at jsa@vesta.physics.uiowa.edu during those rare times Vesta actually is working.

Earth as an Example will be condluded next issue.