“Where is he these days?” the third admiral wanted to know.
Multx hesitated, but just for a moment.
“He’s been conscripted into the Space Forces and is due to begin training, here on Earth, very shortly.”
“What kind of training?”
“ ‘Advanced flight training,’ I think we could say,” Multx replied quickly. He didn’t want to dwell on this subject. It was the only bright spot in what had been a very dreary week. “I have no doubt that he will be an asset to our forces someday — and possibly the one good thing to come out of this incident.”
Another silence settled on the room. The six officers closed their briefing books on cue. Multx tried to steel himself. The worst part of this day was now at hand.
The first admiral smiled unevenly, then spoke again: “Well, now that all our preliminary business is over, we have an announcement to make. It is my pleasure to inform you, Star Commander Multx, that you and your crew will be given special citations for your role in this unusual action.”
Multx again nodded with as much dignity as he could muster. But he knew a very large bomb was about to drop on his head.
“And, as a result of discussions we had prior to your arrival here,” the top officer went on, “it has been decided that you and your crew will be reassigned as well…”
Multx grimaced. Here it comes, he thought.
“Instead of returning to the Fringe,” the second admiral announced, “we would like you to make a ‘goodwill tour’ of the inner Galaxy.”
That was it. Multx felt all the energy drain right out of his body. Those were the exact words he’d dreaded hearing.
“We are being sent to the Ball, sir?” he asked weakly.
“Correct,” the first admiral replied, trying his best to sound upbeat. “I think you’ll agree the citizens at the center of the realm have to wait far too long between visits of our grand ships. The appearance of the famous BonoVox in their midst will do wonders for their morale, not to mention their loyalty. Indeed, after what you’ve been through, you and your crew have earned such an assignment.”
The other officers nodded in agreement.
But it was all Multx could do to remain sitting upright in his chair. Being sent to the inner part of the Galaxy was the equivalent of an old racehorse being put out to pasture. The Ball was no place for any warship, never mind one that carried twenty-thousand highly trained special operations troops. The star systems there were dull, peaceful, ardently devoted to the Empire. There had not been a military action anywhere near the Galaxy’s core since the rise of the Fourth Empire nearly five centuries before.
Still, Multx could understand his superiors’ decision. That a Blackship had somehow been able to puncture the Ethers was very disturbing. Even more chilling was the possibility that the bandits had somehow tapped into the Big Generator itself. Such a thing would shake the Empire to its very foundations.
But of more immediate concern was the fact that twenty-two thousand troops and crew members of the BonoVox had witnessed the strange midspace battle and knew what the mysterious spacemen had been able to do. And though they had all been sworn to secrecy, there was no way the Space Forces’ hierarchy could take the chance of twenty-two thousand pairs of loose lips returning to the Fringe.
(Indeed, rumors of a strange battle were already making their way across the Galaxy.) Thus the decision to exile the BonoVox to the Ball, to float through the complacent seas of the core for an indefinite period of time, far away from any front-line forces to whom such a dark secret as this would actually mean something.
For Multx, though, the goodwill tour was a career-killer. In a perfect world, he and his starship should be leading the search for the origins of the mysterious Blackship crew, not running away from them. But that important assignment would go to someone else now, a close rival of his, no doubt. And should they be successful, the prestige and glory would belong solely to them.
Assigned to the Ball… Multx would have rather heard the words of his execution decree. For someone like him, this truly was a fate worse than death.
Thus the penalty of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
14
Erx and Berx were late.
A colossal traffic jam of people, people-moving machines, soldiers, robots, hovering air cars, you name it, filled the streets around the Big Bright City arena. The Earth Race was scheduled to begin in less than an hour. Anyone not already inside the vast stadium was scrambling mightily in these last few minutes, hoping to secure entry before the crucial moment of noon.
Erx and Berx had planned ahead of time to avoid this massive crush. Instead they were making their way through the labyrinth of alleys and courtyards that bordered the miles-long arena’s west side. They had thought this would reveal a creative shortcut to the main gate, and indeed, the way was clear when they started out. But in the last alley they had traversed before reaching their goal, they stumbled upon the main service entrance for the thousands of robots serving the arena.
This was not good. The narrow alley was full of mechanical men moving this way and that, sent out to this hidden street to tune down until they were needed again. The problem was that when they weren’t assigned a specific task, robots tended to be clumsy. This was especially true of the industrial models, which were barely two arms, two legs, a torso, and a square head. These robots were of the lowest service type imaginable. They could deliver a drink, light an atomic cigar, push a broom, and that was about it.
As more of then flowed into the alleyway, they were beginning to tune out, which meant they would shut down in a frozen position until being activated again. It was nearly impossible to move them once they were down; thus moving around them became a nightmare. Though close to it, Big Bright City was not a perfect place. Strange things were known to happen here, too.
“Only on Earth could a bunch of robots block off an entire thoroughfare on the most important day of the year!” Berx cried as they soon found themselves in a virtual forest of walking oil cans.
“I fear this bad luck will carry through to our wages on the race!” Erx agreed.
They were in sight of their destination; that’s what made it so frustrating. But they had only themselves to blame. They had chosen to spend the previous night drinking and whoring with holo-girls — and a late start this morning had been the result. So they would be late for the most prestigious sporting event in the entire Galactic Empire and miss placing their wager.
Blast the luck, they would have liked to think, but truth was this: The last week had been such a blur it was lucky they’d made it this far.
The reason they’d been sent to Earth in the first place was to watch over Hunter, to shepherd him through the pre-Earth Race process. To make sure that no other starship commander put his hooks into him and thus negated Zap Multx’s brilliant ploy.
But they hadn’t seen Hunter all week. Once Calandrx got him accepted as a finalist for race day, he was immediately sequestered. As his sponsor for the race, Calandrx was designated Hunter’s one and only handler. Thus Erx and Berx were stuck on Earth, in Big Bright City, with nothing to do.
Well, almost nothing…
Because since leaving Calandrx’s house that next morning, their unexpected vacation had devolved into an endless string of prerace parties, holo-girls, and indescribable feasts — all at Multx’s expense. Leaving their rented quarters too late on this day, the busiest morning in the Empire, had been just foolish.