Starplex

Why, he even left footprints in the soft earth, something most virtual-reality simulations tripped up on. Indeed, he could feel the texture of the ground through the soles of his shoes, feel it give with each step, feel the springiness of grass compressing beneath his feet, the sharp jab of a stone. It was perfect… And then it hit him. Maybe he was back on Earth. The shortcut makers knew how to cut across space in the twinkling of an eye. Maybe this was the real thing, maybe he was home — But there had been no second shortcut inside the docking bay, no flash of purple Soderstrom radiation. And besides, if this was Earth, where had they found such unspoiled wilderness? He looked again at the sky, searching for an airplane or shuttle contrail.

Still — his sneezing meant they'd actually manufactured allergen molecules, or were manipulating his mind on a very sophisticated level.

Suddenly Keith felt his throat constricting. A zoo/ A goddamned zoo, and he was a specimen in it. He was trapped, a prisoner. He turned around, about to rush back to his pod, and saw the glass man.

"Hello, Keith," said the man. His whole body was transparent, made of perfect crystal that flowed as he moved. There was only the faintest hint of color to the transparent form, a touch of cool aquamarine.

Keith said nothing for several seconds. The pounding of his heart was drowning out the wilderness sounds. "You know who I am?" he said at last.

"Sort of," said the glass man. His voice was masculine, deep. His body, although humanoid, was stylized, like a mannequin in a trendy store. His head was a featureless'egg shape, with the point forming the chin. Although the arms and legs seemed well proportioned, they were smooth, without any apparent musculature. The belly and chest were flat, and the transparent sex organ between the legs was simplified, rocket-shaped.

Keith stared at the glass man, wondering what to do next.

Finally, desperate to know his status, he said: "I want to leave."

"You may," said the glass man, spreading his transparent arms.

"Anytime you wish. Your pod stands waiting for you." There was no sign of a speaking orifice on the simple ovoid head, but Keith's ears told him the sound was indeed emanating from it.

"This — this isn't a zoo?" asked Keith.

There was a sound like wind chimes — glassy laughter?

"No."

"And I'm not a prisoner?"

The wind chimes again. "No. You are — is 'guest' the right word? You are my guest."

"How can you speak English ?"

"I don't, actually, of course. My reckoner is translating the words for you."

"Did you make the shortcuts?"

"The what?" "The shortcuts. The interstellar gateways, the stargates — whatever you want to call them."

"'Shortcuts,'" said the glass man, nodding. "A good name for them.

Yes, we created them."

Keith 's pulse was racing. "What do you want from me ?"

The wind chimes once more. "You seem defensive, Keith.

Isn't there some standard speech you're supposed to make in a first-contact situation? Or is it too early for that?".

Too early? "Well, yes." Keith swallowed. "I, G. K. Lansing, Director of Starplex, bring you friendly greetings from the Commonwealth of Planets, a peaceful association of four sentient races from three different homeworlds."

"Ah, now that's better. Thank you."

Keith was struggling to take it all in: the transparent humanoid, the forest re-creation, the beautiful starship, the diverting of his pod.

"I'd still like to know what you want from me," he said at last.

The glass man tipped his featureless head at Keith. "Well, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, the fate of the universe is in question."

Keith blinked.

"But, more than that," said the glass man, "I need to ask you some questions. For you see, Keith Lansing, you hold not only the key to the future, but also to the past."

Chapter II

A new sector of space — and one that had opened unexpectedly.

Keith and Rissa hurried to the bridge, entering through the port-side door . . which meant that Keith had to pass right by Lianne Karendaughter. Brilliant (a master's in electrical engineering from MIT), beautiful (luscious Asian features, mounds of platinum hair pinned up by gold clips), and young, Lianne had joined Starplex just six weeks ago, after a distinguished term as chief engineer on a large commercial hyperliner. She smiled at Keith as he passed — a radiant smile, a supernova smile. Keith felt his stomach flutter.

Starplex's bridge appeared to have no walls, floor, or ceiling.

Instead, it was enveloped by a spherical hologram of the ship's surroundings, its workstations seemingly floating amongst the stars.

The actual room was rectangular, with a doorway built into each wall, but the doors were invisible, lost within the spacescape. When they split down the middle and slid aside, it was as though space were opening up, revealing the corridors beyond. Apparently suspended in midair — but really attached to the invisible walls just above the doors — were trios of glowing clocks in each homeworld's time keeping system.