Starplex

“Perhaps someday we’ll meet again,” said Keith, taking a step back now. “If you ever feel like popping through to the twenty-first century for a visit…”

“Perhaps I will. We are about to start something very, very big here. I told you at the outset that the fate of the universe is in question, and I—meaning you, too, of course—have a key role to play in that. I gave up being a sociologist ages ago. As you might guess, I’ve had thousands of careers over the millennia, and now I’m a—a physicist, you might call it. My new work will eventually necessitate a trip to the past.”

“Just remember our full name, for God’s sake,” said Keith. “I’m listed in the Commonwealth directory, but you’ll never find me again if you forget.”

“No,” said Glass. “This time I promise I will not forget you, or the parts of our past you have shared with me.” He paused. “Good-bye, my friend.”

The forest simulation, along with its motionless sun, daytime moon, and four-leaf lucky clovers, melted away, revealing the cubic interior of the docking bay. Keith started walking toward his travel pod.

Glass stood motionless in the bay as it opened to space. More magic; he needed no space suit. Keith touched a key, and his pod moved out into the night, the six-fingered pink nebula that had once been Sol staining the sky on his left, the robin’s-egg-blue dragon receding behind him. He flew the pod toward the invisible point of the shortcut, and as he made contact, he felt a faint itching inside his skull. He had just been thinking about—about something…

It was gone now, whatever it had been.

Oh, well. The ring of Soderstrom radiation passed over the pod from bow to stern, and Keith’s view was filled with the sky of Tau Ceti, Grand Central Station visible off to his right, looking odd in the dim red light from the newly arrived dwarf star.

As he always did when he came here, Keith amused himself for a few seconds finding Boetes, then locating Sol. He nodded once and smiled. Always good to know that the old girl hadn’t gone nova…

Chapter XXIII

Keith had always thought Grand Central Station looked like four dinner plates arranged in a square, but today, for some reason, it reminded him of a four-leaf clover floating against the stars. Each of the leaves or plates was a kilometer in diameter and eighty meters thick, making the station the largest manufactured structure in Commonwealth space. Like Starplex’s own much-smaller central disk, the outward facing edges of the plates were studded with docking-bay doors, many of them bearing the logos of Earth-based trading corporations. The computer aboard Keith’s travel pod received docking instructions from Grand Central’s traffic controller, and flew him in toward a docking ring adjacent to a large corrugated space door bearing the yellow-script symbol of the Hudson’s Bay Company, now in its fifth century of operation.

Keith looked around through the travel pod’s transparent hull. Dead ships were floating across the sky. Tugs were arriving at the docking bays hauling wreckage. One of the station’s four plates was completely dark, as if it had taken a major hit during the battle.

Once his pod was secured, Keith exited into the station. Unlike Starplex, which was a Commonwealth facility, Grand Central belong entirely to the peoples of Earth, and its common environment was kept precisely at terrestrial standard.

A governmental aide was waiting to greet Keith. He had a broken arm. It likely occurred during the battle with the Waldahudin, since the bone-knitting web he had on would normally only be worn for seventy-two hours after the injury. The aide took him to the opulent office of Petra Kenyatta, Human Government Premier of Tau Ceti province.

Kenyatta, an African woman of about fifty, rose to great Keith. “Hello, Dr. Lansing,” she said, extending her right hand.

Keith shook it. Her grip was firm, almost painfully so. “Ma’am.”

“Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you.” No sooner had Keith sat down in the chair—a regular, nonmorphing human chair—than the door slid open again and another woman came in, this one Nordic in appearance and a little younger than Kenyatta.

“Do you know Commissioner Amundsen?” said the premier. “She’s in charge of the United Nations police forces here at Tau Ceti.”

Keith half rose from his chair. “Commissioner.”

“Of course,” said Amundsen, taking a seat herself, “ ‘police forces’ is a euphemism. We call it that for alien ears.”

Keith felt his stomach knotting.

“Reinforcements are already on their way from Sol and Epsilon Indi,” said Amundsen. “We’ll be ready to move on Rehbollo as soon as they arrive.”

“Move on Rehbollo?” said Keith, shocked.

“That’s right,” said the commissioner. “We’re going to kick those bloody pigs halfway to Andromeda.”

Keith shook his head. “But surely it’s over. A sneak attack only works once. They’re not going to be coming back.”

“This way we make sure of that,” said Kenyatta.

“The United Nations can’t have agreed to this,” said Keith.