“True,” Erx and Berx spoke at once.
“Then what event upcoming on Earth might warrant this man’s attendance?”
The explorers looked at each other and thought a moment. It came to them simultaneously.
“The Earth Race…” Erx whispered.
Multx smiled.
“Bingo,” he said.
The Earth Race was an annual event that pitted the best pilots in the Empire against each other in a twenty-five-thousand-mile, obstacle-strewn, multidimensional contest.
Few things in the Galaxy generated so much excitement. The Emperor himself claimed to be a starfighter pilot in a previous life and thus had great affection for the competition. The hundreds of trillions of subjects within his domain did as well.
It was no exaggeration to say that the winner of the Earth Race would find the Empire at his feet. Untold riches were showered on the champion, including a permanent residence on Earth itself. By tradition, the winner also could have his pick of any assignment at any rank at any post in the Empire. Neither he nor his family would ever want for anything again; in fact, the largesse would be so vast, the winner’s descendants would be well off for many generations to come.
But the rewards of the Earth Race did not stop with the winner himself. Those responsible for getting the right pilot in the right place at the right time in the right machine — they, too, were grandly compensated.
For years, Multx had kept his eyes open, looking for a pilot of extraordinary skill. Throughout the many battles he’d fought, the thought of spotting a special flier in action was never very far from his mind. It was the same for all high officers of the Empire Forces — and the most ordinary of citizens, too. Being associated with the winner of the Earth Race could be the crowning achievement of a long lifetime.
“My God,” Erx whispered now. “Our brains have been dulled! This should have been our first intuition as soon as we realized what Hunter could do.”
He turned back to Multx. “What is your plan, Zap?” he asked in a very conspiratorial manner. “And can we be involved?”
“If this man is all you say he is, the answer is yes,” Multx replied. “The race is but a few weeks away, so the stars are on our side. I have a close connection within the organizing committee. At the very least this person will observe our pilot. If he’s that good, my friend will get him in.”
“You can get him through the Pluto Cloud?” Berx asked.
“Not a problem,” Multx replied.
“But we must be very cautious,” Erx urged. “It has not been unknown for a new pilot to be snatched away by people higher in stature than us. My fear is word of Hunter’s ability will travel fast, and some counsel to the Emperor will co-opt us. You know how nasty that Most Fortunate Earth crowd can be. They would vaporize their favorite relative if it meant getting close to the winner of the Earth Race.”
“As would I,” Multx said without missing a beat.
“And I,” Berx said.
“That’s why we must be wise, my brothers,” Multx went on. “And keep all knowledge of Mister Hunter very low.”
All three were silent for a moment.
“The fact that he is a man from nowhere can actually work in our favor, then,” Erx finally said. ”Even if someone hears whisper of his name, there will be no way of looking him up.”
“Indeed,” Multx said. “Now, we all know the race organizers love a bit of intrigue, so entering an unknown at the last minute will probably be to their liking. I will arrange with one of them to get Mister Hunter through the Pluto Cloud. But until then, we must keep this among ourselves. And Mister Hunter must stay obscure.”
He regally cleared his throat.
“Now I cannot place myself on Earth to pursue this matter so early in the game,” he went on, fingers to chin, stroking his goatee. “I have many things to do, and not doing them would be considered a dereliction of duty. You two, on the other hand, well…”
“What? We have nothing else to do?” Berx asked, insulted. “Is that what you’re getting at?”
Erx interrupted again. “If it is, he’s exactly right. It will take us months to get another ship. If he can arrange it, I’ll happily go to Earth.”
Erx again turned back to Multx.
“But we still have a problem,” he said. “How do we justify taking this man Hunter from his home?”
Multx thought a moment. “Ah! I will arrest him on suspicion of being a spy. The way things are out here on the Fringe these days, just about anyone could be held on suspicion of espionage.”
“I protest!” Berx cried. “This man is hardly a spy. There is nothing out here to spy on…”
Multx relented on that point. He thought a few more moments.
“Well, how about this? According to you, he vandalized a ship of the Empire to build that vessel of his,” the commander said. “That’s certainly an offense that warrants arresting him and transporting him for further investigation.”
This time it was Erx who erupted.
“His actions can hardly be called vandalism,” he told Multx loudly. “My brother, from those dull pieces he created a flying machine of extraordinary ability. It’s truly a work of art. You cannot put a man in irons because he created a masterpiece, no matter what the pretense.”
“They’d skewer you on Earth, Zap,” Berx agreed. “If spinning art was known to be his offense, then the wives of every one of your superior officers will demand that you ride the Ball for the rest of your career.”
Multx shrugged and gave in again.
“Well, then this matter needs some constructive thinking,” he said. “Which is something I don’t have time for right now.”
He released the room from its hum-beam shield. Erx and Berx knew it was time to go.
“We sail in one quarter and five,” Multx told them. “I’m sure we can squeeze you two in someplace comfortable.”
“And our friend below?” Erx asked.
Multx continued stroking his beard.
“I’ll keep you informed of my plans,” he said.
Hunter had never seen anything like the BonoVox.
The gigantic starship seemed twice the length of the hulk on the other side of the mountain, and at least half again its width. And unlike that shipwreck, this vessel was covered with weaponry. Towering gun spires, ascending arrays of missile launchers, forests of Z-beam tubes and space-torpedo ports. There were thousands of weapons-systems modules attached to its hull, with thousands of portholes running between them. It looked chaotic and perverse. But it had an undeniable strange beauty, too, all 3.5 million tons of it.
And here it was, right above his house, floating as if it were light as a feather.
Sitting near the southern comer of his roof, Hunter had been staring up at the enormous starship since it arrived earlier that morning. He knew nothing would be the same after this. Many days and nights he’d spent gazing up at the star-filled sky, wondering if there was civilization out there, somewhere, in the Cosmos. He’d had his doubts. True, this planet was littered with space wrecks. But they were all so old and decayed, they seemed ancient. And why had no one ever come here to salvage them? And why couldn’t he see lights moving between the stars at night? Or any unnatural lights at all?
It was a strange yearning, this one he had. He could feel it either in his heart or his head, but it was always the same, a kind of frustrated anticipation. He was homesick — but he didn’t know where home was. He could wind up living a long life, but what good was that, if this was not the place he was supposed to be? No, there might be a difference between loneliness and being alone, but the end result was the same: The soul cries. It wants to move on. East, west, up, down. It didn’t matter. But to where?