ad vanished along with everything else when
we went through the Gate.
     "Sears and Roebuck," I said. "We couldn't ask for
better guardian angels."
     She nodded in acknowledgment. "How much time
did you spend with them before Fly and I met them?"
"Enough."
     She chuckled. "You don't like giving away the
details of your surprise."
     "You can figure it out. Sears and Roebuck have
more tricks up their sleeves than only synthesizing
food for us. They synthesized the ring when I asked. I
only had to give them the details. I didn't ask for a
new set of dog tags."
     "I'll live. Tell me, did you make any attempt to
distinguish Sears from Roebuck?"
     "Didn't seem worth the trouble."
"I know what you mean. Did you ask them to keep
the ring a secret until you could surprise me?"
"No. Once they made the ring, they gave it to me.
Now it was my business. Besides, I'm not sure they'd
be very good at keeping secrets. They don't seem to
have a privacy concept."
     "I was wondering about that. I don't think they
understand our concept of individuality, either. The
Klave sounds like a collectivist society."
     "Or more than that," I added.
"Yeah. I wonder how far the collectivism goes. It
would be interesting to find out."
     She stopped, waiting for me to say something. I
merely regarded her and listened to my heart beat.
Then I deliberately looked away. We were standing
close together over by the rail next to the floating
table. Overhead an aquarium drifted, the sea crea-
tures within swimming lazily. My soul felt a great
peace. I was finally witnessing strange things from
other worlds, and I didn't have to destroy anything. I
didn't have to take out the trash. I didn't need to fire a
rocket overhead and spill fish guts all over my lady
love.
     I was tired of shop talk. I waited for Arlene to bring
the subject back to us. The ring did it. Her eyes went
from mine down to the gold circle in her hand and
then back up again.
     "This means the world to me," she said. "The
universe." She said it as if she meant it.
     I wished she had long hair instead of a high-and-
tight. Hawaii Base had a barber, dammit! With long
hair, a strand would occasionally fall into her eye and
I could brush it out. She brought out my fatherly side.
I wouldn't violate my beliefs for her, but that didn't
make me sexually repressed. Whenever appropriate, I
intended to remind her of my proposal.
     She didn't make it easy. Fly kept saying she was the
bravest man he knew. The comparisons to a man were
most appropriate. She had the morality of a typical
modern man. My problem. Her problem.
     "Albert," she said huskily, "have you reconsidered
my offer?"
     "Arlene, have you reconsidered my proposal?"
She started to respond but left her mouth open in
mid-response. She looked cute that way. Then she got
the words out: "You used the p-word."
     "Sure did."
"Who would marry us?"
     "Captain Hidalgo is the captain of our 'ship.' The
medbot says he's recovering."
     "I can just imagine how he'd react if we asked him
to tie the knot."
     I disagreed. "The captain has grown a lot on this
mission. He's a better man. His horizons have ex-
panded."
     "Be hard not to change out here," she joked. I
didn't laugh. There were times to be serious and this
was one of them. "Arlene, will you marry me?"
I could tell she was disappointed in me. We were
playing a game where I wasn't supposed to be so
direct. It was okay for her to suggest any number of
lewd acts, and that was acceptable. There was one
rule, actually: I wasn't supposed to use the p-word.
She wasn't Fly's tough guy this time, not when she
used my least favorite line of modern women: "It
wouldn't be fair to you." I don't think there has been
a woman since time began who believed that particu-
lar sentiment.
     "I don't believe in fair. I believe in promises. You're
a woman of your word. You honor your commit-
ments. We both know that. You're afraid to make a
commitment you doubt you can keep."
     "Then why do you keep asking me?"
I shrugged. "We belong together. I feel it in my
bones."
     She sighed. "We can't plan for the future."
I took her by the hand, and she made a fist over the
ring. "Arlene, marriage isn't about planning for the
future. It's a promise that can last five minutes or fifty
years. Be honest. You're not afraid we won't have
enough time together. You're afraid we'll have too
much."
     She pulled away so quickly the necklace dangling
from her fist got caught on my thumb. It looked as if
we were attached by an umbilical cord . . . and then
we were separated.
     She sounded like a little girl when she said, "I love
you, Albert, but don't ever tell me how I feel. Or what
I'm afraid of."
     We'd faced the worst demons together. We'd
sprayed death and destruction among the uglies from
the deep beyond. But the gulf between us was deeper
and darker and scarier than a steam demon's rear
end.
     This time we were rescued by Sarge--good old
Flynn Taggart. He was back from his latest S&R
session.
     He was cheerful, at least. "If this keeps up, I'm
trying out for a new career as translator to the stars.
Captain Hidalgo will be with us in time for dinner.
Sears and Roebuck have laid out the plan to me."
"Shouldn't they have waited until dinnertime for
our briefing?" I asked.
     He shook his head. "Not these guys, Albert. They
figure what they say to one of us goes for all. I don't
believe there are any ranks among the Klave."
We waited for Arlene to say something. We'd gotten
in the habit. I must have upset her more than I
realized. She didn't contribute. So I asked, "Do you
think the captain will want us to be good marines
when he's restored to us?"
     I didn't mean to sound sarcastic. I had nothing
against the captain. Arlene could vouch for that . . .
when she wasn't pissed with me. But Fly took it as
sarcasm.
     "His call, mister! The captain is in command."
"Yes," Arlene finally spoke up. "Hidalgo is respon-
sible for accomplishing the mission. We must do our
best to support him."
     Fly and she exchanged looks. There was a bond
between them that nothing could ever weaken, includ-
ing marriage.
     "What did you learn from Sears and Roebuck?" she
asked.
     Fly told us.
We would accompany S&R on a little junket to the
Fred base. The mission objective was some kind of
super science weapon capable of initiating a resonant
feedback that would wipe out all the computer sys-
tems of the bad guys.
     Sounded good to me, but there was a hitch. The
enemy base was twenty light-years away, and it had
been hammered into all of us that Star Trek was
wishful thinking. There were only slow boats to
China.
     The journey would take twenty years! Then it
would take another twenty years for the feedback
virus to be transmitted to all the Fred computers. The
virus could only be installed on the system at the
base. I wished we had Jill with us.
     I had earned passing grades in school. I'd made
change when I worked a cash register for my first real
job. I could add numbers. Forty years!
     "We'll spend the rest of our lives on this mission," I
blurted out.
     "No," said Fly cheerfully. "That's what I thought,
too. It's not going to be that bad. We may not have
FTL, but we do have access to ships that travel fast
enough for our purposes. The trip will only be a few
weeks of subjective time, even though it will count as
forty Earth-years."
     "What will Jill look like by the time we get back?"
wondered Arlene.
     We took a moment to mull that one over. Then Fly
resumed his presentation on how to save the universe
in one simple lesson. The plan sounded a lot more
feasible than some of the other things we'd done.
We would leave the ship in orbit around a moon
outside the Fred detection zone. On that moon was an
experimental teleportation device based on Gate
technology. We could use the experimental
     teleporter--theoretically, and by the grace of God--
to reach the Fred base without the need of a receiver
pad on the other end. As we'd discovered on Phobos,
teleporters let you keep your gear. The plan ought to
work.
     As it turned out, the message aliens, the hyperreal-
ists, had first discovered the Gates some three hun-
dred thousand years ago and had been doing improve-
ments ever since. Yes, discovered. No one knew who
originally invented the Gates. The estimates for the
oldest ones were the kind of numbers that give me a
headache. There was an astronomer on TV who used
to talk about "billions and billions" of years.
So what if this mode of travel had a few bugs in it?
So did the American transportation system--the best
the Earth had ever known.
     I threw out a question: "Did you find out how the
Freds took our guys by surprise? That's been trou-
bling me ever since Sears and Roebuck started giving
out with the history lessons."
     Fly picked up a red ball from his unfinished meal
off the floating table. I couldn't stand the taste of
those things and hoped they'd come up with some-
thing better real soon now.
     All of a sudden he had a devilish expression. "I
wonder if I could throw this all the way up to the zero-
g zone you used to coast in, Albert."
     "Probably, but it wouldn't be polite."
Arlene agreed with me. "Don't do that, Fly."
"Well, they must have a remarkable garbage-
     disposal system," he said, "but I haven't see it work
yet."
     "Let's not find out it consists of enslaved marines,"
Arlene suggested wisely. I was glad to see her sense of
humor returning.
     "Point made," he said, popping the sphere into his
mouth, and making a face before he swallowed. "I
should've pitched it. Let me answer Albert. These
aliens have a very interesting idea of a surprise attack.
I wouldn't want to hire any of them as taxi drivers.
Takes too long to get a cab now. They take forever to
change anything! Once they achieved civilization it
took millions of years for them to make the same
amount of progress we did in--I don't know--say,
ten thousand years?"
     Arlene whistled. "Slow learners."
"Yeah," Fly continued. "Which is one reason the
Fred attack took them by surprise. Sears and Roebuck
say the attack came a lot sooner than expected--only
thirty thousand years after the good guys established
their observation base."
     "Just like yesterday," I threw in. "So tell me, Fly,
do you know what sort of opposition we may expect
on our new mission?"
     "Yes, Albert. After describing to Sears and Roebuck
some of our adventures, like how we took down the
spider-mind on the train, they said one thing."
"We're all ears," hinted Arlene, doing herself an
injustice.
     "They said, 'You ain't seen nothing yet!'"



     26

     I opened my eyes to a terrifying sight. A
pulsing pole loomed over me, its mad eye blinking.
There was a whirring sound, and I tasted copper in
my mouth. And then something darted on the edge of
my peripheral vision. It seemed to be circling, waiting
to pounce.
     Then the pole-thing moved out of the way so the
flying thing could attack! I tried to move, but my
limbs were immobile. I tried to shout for help but my
throat was frozen. Right before the airborne object
smashed into my face, I saw ... a face on a blue ball.
A friendly face. A blue sphere. It was another of the
blue spheres that had saved my life before. Now it was
happening again. If this kept up, I'd think about
taking some vitamins. I wasn't used to being an
invalid.
     The blue engulfed me, and I felt like a million bucks
again. Then I could move all I wanted. I sat up and
saw Corporal Arlene Sanders.
     "Welcome back," she said.
"Do you mind if I put on some clothes?"
     "No, sir," she said. Was that a smile pulling at the
corners of her mouth? I was definitely alive.
The team looked one hundred percent. Whatever
Taggart, Sanders, and Gallatin had been doing while I
was laid up must have been good for them. They had
so many things to tell me that formality would simply
have gotten in the way. We were so far outside normal
mission parameters that I realized the old adage of
Gordon Dickson fully applied: "Adapt or die." The
challenge was simply to keep Fly, Arlene, and Albert
from interrupting each other as they took turns filling
me in on the state of the mission as we ate our chow.
Mother of Mary! What had we gotten ourselves
into? I wondered how many incredible things I was
supposed to swallow along with the red things that
tasted like very old tomatoes preserved in vinegar. Fly
assured me they'd promised new and improved food
soon. Arlene and Albert seconded the motion. If a
sergeant and two corporals believed that strongly in
something, I was going to eat all the little red things I
could right now.
     Seriously, I was pleased and impressed by what
they had done while I was subject to the tender
ministrations of what Arlene called the medical ro-
bot. Waking up to see something like that was not an
experience to recommend.
     No sooner had I gotten used to the medbot than
along came Sears and Roebuck. I was glad they were
on our side. I wouldn't want to blow away anything
that looked the way they did.
     "We are glad your unit is complete," they told us.
I'd never had more unusual dinner companions. They
ate little pyramids made out of some gelatinous
substance. The pyramids were the exact same color
blue as the spheres that kept saving my life.
Arlene warned me not to eat any food that wasn't
human-approved. She needn't have worried. Being
fire team leader didn't mean I had to commit suicide.
I wanted to hang around for the mission with our new
alien allies.
     The medbot wouldn't leave my side until it was
convinced my recovery was complete. While we
munched, it volunteered some information. "For
samples of Homo sapiens, all of you are recom-
mended for upcoming missions of a military nature."
"We should hope so," I said.
     "You are dopamine types."
"Huh?"
     "It is a neurotransmitter strongly linked to seeking
out adventure. You have many exon repetitions of the
dopamine receptor gene. The genetic link to the D4
receptor. . . ."
     "Wait a minute," interjected Albert. "Are you
saying we are chemically programmed to want to kick
demonic butt?"
     "Yes," said the medbot.
Arlene clapped her hands. "This isn't one of those
pussy robots that says things like 'It does not com-
pute.' This one's got English down."
     "And without even going to college," sneered Fly.
"That's a cheap shot," Arlene threw back.
     "Why do you do that?" asked the medbot.
"Do what?" asked Arlene.
     "Call me a robot. I'm not a toaster. I'm not a VCR.
I'm not a ship's guidance computer."
     Arlene raised an eyebrow and asked, "What are
you, then?"
     "Organic tissues. Carbon-based life, the same as
you."
     "What's your name?" I asked the barber pole. Its
answer did not translate into English. I tried my hand
at diplomacy. "Would you mind if we continued
calling you, uh, medbot?"
     "No. That's a fine name. Please don't call me a
robot."
     Sears and Roebuck got us back on track. "Your unit
and our unit are ready soon go to war." Their English
might need work, but the meaning was clear. We
shouldn't quarrel among ourselves, even if we were
the type to seek out thrills and variety.
     Sears and Roebuck looked at each other. They sure
as hell appeared to be one character looking himself
over in the mirror. They reached some kind of a
decision and left the table, saying, "We are going to
elsewhere. We are returning to here."
     While they were absent, an alien who could have
passed for a dolphin on roller skates with one arm
snaking out of its head scooted over with another
course of the dinner. This stuff looked almost like
Earth food. It could have been enchiladas.
     "Who is going to try this first?" I asked.
"Rank has its privileges," said Fly, the wise guy.
A Mexican standoff. Arlene played hero and took
the first bite. I wish we'd had a camera to take her
picture. "That's horrible," she said, doing things with
her face that could have made her pass for one of the
aliens.
     "I'll try it," said Albert, proving there really was
love between these two. It's not like they could keep it
a secret. He proved himself a credit to his faith. His
face didn't change at all, but the words sounded as if
they were being pushed through a very fine strainer:
"That is awful, but familiar somehow."
     "Yes," Arlene agreed. "I can almost place it."
"This is not what I had in mind," Fly complained
before he even tried it. "The mess was supposed to
improve."
     "It is a mess," agreed Arlene.
While Fly worked up his nerve, I tried the food. It
sure as hell didn't taste like an enchilada, but I
recognized the flavor right away. "Caramba! No won-
der you recognize the flavor. It's choline chloride."
The worst-tasting stuff this side of hell.
     "Oh, no," said Fly, who had passed up eating the
red balls while he waited for the "good stuff."
We'd all had to take choline chloride as a nutrition-
al supplement. It was part of light drop training. The
others remembered it from then. I was still using it, or
had been right up to departure. The stuff was used by
bodybuilders; it was as good for muscle tone as it was
bad for the taste buds.
     "I wonder what's for dessert," Fly said hopefully.
Sears and Roebuck returned with the final course. But
it wasn't something to eat.
     "We have bringing you space suits for your unit,"
they said.
     "Why have you brought us suits?" I asked, unable
to recognize anything like space gear. They were
carrying one thin box that would've been perfect for
delivering a king-size pizza with everything on it.
"So you are going to your new spaceship," they
announced. I wondered what I'd think of an alien
craft. I already missed that old tub, the Bova.
"Where are the suits?" asked Arlene.
     One of them opened the box. The other pulled out
what appeared to be large sheets of Saran Wrap. And
all I could think was: I should've stayed in bed.
I never thought I'd say this about an officer, but I
was glad Hidalgo was with us again. He'd started out
a typical martinet butthead. Now he insisted on being
a human being. I guess if you drop an officer into a
world of aliens and weird creatures, he has no choice
but to turn human. The base must have been affecting
me as well: Fly Taggart, the officer's pal!
     Ever since we'd traveled over the rainbow I'd
stopped worrying about Arlene's attitude toward Hi-
dalgo. I'd worried what I would do if the guy turned
out to be another Weems. Despite my complaining, I
didn't think I could just stand by and let Arlene space
a fellow marine. Didn't seem right somehow, even to
an officer. I wasn't sure the end of civilization as we
knew it meant open season on fragging officers. Any-
way, it was ancient history now. We were a team in
every sense of the word.
     When S&R presented us with the high-tech space
suits, it was a test for Hidalgo's command abilities.
He'd been laid up for most of the tour of wonders, but
he knew we weren't crazy when we briefed him.
All of us had a moment of thinking S&R were
     playing a joke on us. Hidalgo was in command. He
had to decide that we were going all the way with our
alien buds. We'd moved into a realm where ignorance
could be fatal. The captain made the decision that
counted, the same one we'd reached in our hearts and
minds. Albert had the right word: "faith." We put our
faith in the twin Magilla Gorillas.
     Of course, we could rationalize anything. It wasn't
until we were outside the base that I really believed
the suits worked. We zipped up the damned things
like sandwich bags that I prayed wouldn't turn into
body bags.
     Inside the airlock, we felt ridiculous. The transpar-
ent material draped around us like bad Halloween
costumes. Only two parts of the suit were distinguish-
able from the Saran Wrap. The helmet was like a
hood, hanging off the whole body of the material. The
belt was like a solid piece of plastic. And that was it!
"Where's the air supply?" asked Arlene. S&R said
it was in the belt.
     "Where are the retros for getting around?" I asked.
Same answer.
     "How about communicators?" Hidalgo wanted to
know. Ditto. And ditto.
     Only one question merited a different response.
"How tough is this material?" asked Albert.
     "Can be damaged," said S&R. Nothing wrong with
that sentence. Just the chilling reminder that however
advanced these suits were, they didn't eliminate risk.
Once we were outside, the suits puffed up. We were
comfortably cool inside them. Light was no problem,
even though the sun was only a bright star at this
distance. The base gave us all the light we needed. If
we'd been in an orbit closer to home, we could have
looked directly at old Sol and our eyes wouldn't have
been fried. We were protected from all cosmic radia-
tion. Hell, I wished PO2 Jennifer Steven could have
one of these in her locker.
     The first thing I noticed was a familiar constella-
tion. Sure, the constellations were in slightly different
locations in the sky. My sky. Fly sky. If there were
picture windows in the base I would have figured out
that we weren't as far from home as I thought.
The second thing I noticed was the ship S&R had
promised us. It was right next to the base, and it was a
big mother. The light from the base outlined it clearly,
like a spotlight. We could make out all sorts of details.
There were black shadows crisscrossing the ice.
Yeah, the ice. S&R had briefed us on all kinds of
interesting details, such as the craft having an ion
drive, the engine taking up most of the space. They'd
neglected to mention that the entire ship was encased
in a gigantic block of ice. The little voice in the back
of my head made me promise to ask why when we
returned to base, unless someone beat me to the
$64,000 question.
     S&R were carrying a small object with a box on one
end and a tube on the other. They'd told us the little
whatsit was actually a fusion-pumped laser torch. The
rest of us carried nothing at all, so whatever could be
done fell squarely on the shoulders of the dynamic
duo. They reached the ice cube first and turned on
their powerful toy.
     We were busy mastering the use of the suits. It was
hard to believe how much compressed gas was in
those belts. When I snapped my right arm straight
forward--in the same motion I would have used to
knife somebody--the wrap became hard around the
forearm. By twisting my hand I could activate the
retros. Arm forward, suit forward. Arm back, suit
back. Neat!
     Albert was the first of us to master the suit. Go,
marine! So he boosted himself over to help S&R.
Arlene was next to get the hang of it well enough to
join in. I had the idea that S&R didn't need any help.
We were all along for the ride, to see the operation,
and to become used to a higher-quality space suit.
We could hear each other's voices as clearly as if we
were back in the "cafeteria." Hidalgo said a word or
two, but he wasn't trying to tell S&R their business. I
didn't see any need to horn in. I hung back, taking the
watch, in case a space monster showed up or some-
thing.
     When I heard the popping sound, I didn't realize it
was inside Albert's helmet. I heard Arlene scream his
name before I realized what had happened. There was
debris making it hard to see. Then I pieced it together:
Albert had been hit by the laser.



     27

     "Albert!"
     I couldn't believe it as I reached out to him. He
called my name faintly inside his hood: "Arlene,
Arlene . . ."
     The alien suits were so advanced that they seemed
like magic. But here was a grim reminder there was
nothing supernatural about them. While S&R used
the fusion-pumped laser torch, a high pressure bubble
had ruptured. The explosion had compromised Al-
bert's suit. I'd started to think the material couldn't
be torn. Then, adding injury to injury, he was burned
by the laser.
     Sears and Roebuck switched off the torch as I held
on to Albert. I saw him grimace through the hood and
heard his choking gasp. Flecks of blood appeared on
his face. I couldn't tell if the blood was coming up
from his waist injury or if he was bleeding from his
head. As he gasped, trying to catch his breath, I saw
blood trickle from his gums. His face turned white.
"Get that man inside!" Hidalgo ordered.
     S&R didn't move as I grabbed Albert, doing my
best to ignore his groans. Suddenly Fly was beside me,
helping me. I could hear Hidalgo's voice, talking to
the aliens.
     "They've got him," he said. "You can resume the
operation." S&R were as silent as the depths of space.
I couldn't bother with that now. My hands were full.
In a situation like this, the most dangerous thing any
of us could do would be to panic. Fly kept repeating,
"Take it easy," but he didn't need to. I willed myself
to move slowly and carefully. We were still getting the
hang of the suits. There might be features that would
surprise us ... and spell Albert's death while we spun
around trying to figure out which way was up.
We coasted toward the open lock as if we had all the
time in the universe. The lock was a port in the storm.
Momentum could be a monster or a friend, so we
didn't hurry, despite the irrational child deep inside
me demanding instant gratification.
     Floating to the hospital. First aid for a brave
marine. We wouldn't let Albert die. Wonder what they
do with corpses in the alien base? Do they jettison
them? Do they recycle them?
     No! I wouldn't let myself think that way. Albert had
helped mow down zombies, smash spider-minds,
blow away steam demons, kick bony butt, and eat
pumpkin pie. No freakin' way was it going to end
now.
     All we had to do was race against time and pay
attention to the laws of physics. We didn't have to run
and duck, fire and fall back, or even take turns on
watch. We simply had to fall through the quiet gulfs of
eternity, sailing between the stars, aiming not at a
barrel of poison sludge but at a black dot that grew in
size until it became the open hatchway only a few feet
away.
     Piece of cake.
We cycled through the lock. I was so worried about
Albert that I barely noticed that his suit had already
repaired itself. Unfortunately, the regenerative pow-
ers of the Plastic Wrap did not transfer to human
tissue.
     "The blue spheres," said Fly as we stripped off our
hoods.
     "Yes! Oh, my God, you're brilliant. We've got to
contact the medbot right away." In another minute
I'd be babbling.
     We humped back to the main section of the base as
we carried Albert between us. We'd left his suit on. It
might not be a cure-all but as it resealed itself it
helped stop the bleeding.
     Medbot found us!
Its voice had always been pleasant. Now it was
music to my ears: "Sears and Roebuck sent a message.
Part of your unit has been damaged."
     I slowed down, caught my breath, tried to be
coherent. "We need your help. We need one of those,
oh, you know--the blue spheres that help sick
people."
     "They are called soul spheres."
"How . . . appropriate," whispered Albert, hanging
on the edge of consciousness.
     "Yes," Fly got into the act. "Like the one you used
on Hidalgo."
     The medbot's voice was unemotional but not a
monotone. It could have been my imagination, but I
thought it sounded sorry when it said, "That was the
last one."
     "What?" I asked, knowing full well what I'd just
heard.
     "This base is stripped down," it said. "We have all
the necessities, but we are operating with a minimum
of supplies."
     All this time I thought we'd been in a transgalactic
Hilton. This was their idea of roughing it? Maybe that
was why we were having to thaw a spaceship out of a
block of ice.
     "This part of your unit will live," said the medbot.
More music to my ears. "He will require a longer
recovery time without a soul sphere."
     I was afraid to ask how long. While I pondered the
question, the medbot started to take him away.
"Wait!" Albert called out weakly. "I have to tell
them something."
     "Whatever you have to say will wait, big guy," said
Fly. "You just get on the mend."
     "No, I've got to tell you this," said Albert, his voice
growing stronger. "It'll save you valuable time dealing
with Sears and Roebuck. Should have mentioned it to
you earlier but the situation hadn't changed yet."
"Later," said Fly as the medbot began carting my
Albert away.
     He told the medico to hold up a minute. He hit us
with: "Hidalgo can talk to them while it's just them,
the same as you did, Fly. But I found out something
when I had them synthesize the ring for Arlene,
because we interacted with other aliens on the base.
There's a trick to getting along with Sears and Roe-
buck. They think we're a group entity."
     "I'd suspected the collectivism might go that deep,"
I admitted.
     "Not collectivism," said Albert. "They're part of a
true collective. A completely different thing! They can
only understand group entities formed from powers
of two--pairings of individual entities. They really
can't understand three people operating as a unit."
So that was why Albert brought the holopicture of
himself when he joined our session with S&R! But
surely they must have realized it was some kind of
virtual reality trick. Or maybe S&R just perversely
refused to deal with unacceptable combinations. A
cultural thing.
     "You require medical attention," said the medbot.
It sounded testy. Considering the absence of blue
spheres, we weren't going to hold up Albert's surgery
any longer. The barber pole hurried away, pulling
Albert along on a pad.
     "So here you are," said Captain Hidalgo, coming
over to us. He was accompanied by S&R. "I hope
Corporal Gallatin recovers," he said, watching the
receding forms. "They did miracles with me, so I'm
sure he'll be all right."
     This seemed like a good time to test Albert's theory.
Fly, that old mind reader, started the ball rolling:
"Sears and Roebuck, would you mind telling us why
your ship is encased in ice?"
     S&R became agitated. They did the looking-at-
each-other bit, but they started shaking their heads.
They weren't in unison with each other.
     Finally they tried communicating with the three of
us. "Fly and Arlene, the ship was put into icing as part
of ice comet going from cometary halo so avoid-
ing detection." Then they started all over. "Fly
and Esteban, the ship was put into icing as part
of ice comet going from cometary halo so avoiding
detection." Then: "Arlene and Esteban, the ship
was--"
     "Thanks, that'll do," said Fly. "We'll tell the
others."
     Captain Hidalgo had the aspect of a man whose
brain had been sent out to the cleaners and had
received too much starch.
     Arlene took it like a man. She should have been
happy. Captain Hidalgo had made an intelligent
command decision. I would have to be left behind. I'd
live. I'd be fine in several months, by Earth standard
time. The mission couldn't afford to wait for my
recovery. Hidalgo had needed only a few days to heal.
He was the CO. I was baggage.
     And while I grew old, Arlene would stay young.
Maybe that was as it should be. For all her guts and
strength, she made me think of a vulnerable child. I'd
always wanted to be a patriarch, and now it looked as
if I'd at least look like one by the time I saw her again.
If I saw her again.
     I could have predicted it before she said it: "You're
the man I want to marry. You're my man."
     I believed the latter. I had faith that she believed the
former, so long as they were only words. As she stood
by my bed and we held hands, I performed the simple
calculation in my head. I'd be sixty-seven years old
when she returned.
     "I love you, Arlene."
"That's not what I want to hear you say."
     I squeezed her hand and told her, "I know you
really love me, Arlene. That doesn't change what you
are--a helluva marine who will do her duty, no
matter what."
     The others were waiting to say their farewells. "Call
them in," I said.
     "No. Not until we've settled something."
Probably just as well that we weren't planning
nuptials. This woman wasn't obedient. She crawled
right on the bed with me. I guess you could call it a
bed, even though it was a lot better than most. Sort of
an overbed or superbed.
     "Arlene?" I tried to get her attention. "Just because
I'm laid up doesn't mean the rules have changed."
"What was that about 'laid'?" she asked, smiling
wickedly.
     "Arlene."
"Albert."
     "You're not going to ask to make love again, are
you?"
     "You will make love only to your wife," she
breathed into my ear.
     "That's right."
"All right."
     I'd been through so much lately that I no longer
trusted my hearing. My eardrums still ached from my
adventure outdoors. "Arlene, what did you just say?"
"I said yes, you big dope. I'm accepting your
proposal of marriage."
     I wanted to shout yippee and dance a jig. Couldn't
do that, so I settled for crushing her in my arms and
kissing her. This was no brother-sister kiss.
While we caught our breath, my brain started firing
on all cylinders again. "But what about the mission?"
I asked.
     She put her head on my chest, and I ran my hand
over her red carpet. Then she lifted up her face and
drilled me with the most beautiful emerald-green eyes
in the galaxy. "I'm still going," she said. "But we'll
have time for the honeymoon."
     "How long?" I dared ask.
"Six days," she said softly. "Captain Hidalgo says
we'll have six days. We can count on it. He'll be
marrying us."
     I kissed her again.
"You won't wear the silly G-string and pasties, will
you?" I asked.
     "How could I? That stuffs back on the Bova." She
nibbled my ear.
     "But Sears and Roebuck can synthesize anything,"
I protested.
     Her lips fluttered over my eyelids and came to rest
on my left cheek. "They can't synthesize everything."
Her voice was muffled against my skin.
     "Well, I would sort of like you . . . natural, you
know," I confessed, emphasizing my point by licking
her all-natural neck.
     "I'll be the girl next door," my wife-to-be promised.
"Need I ask if you've picked a best man?"
     We both laughed. It's not as if we'd give Fly Taggart
any choice. I considered the merits of asking Sears
and Roebuck to whip up a tuxedo for the ultimate
marine. There was something about S&R's name that
inspired the idea.



     28

     Dear Albert,
     If I write this letter quickly enough you may
receive it before too many years elapse. Sears and
Roebuck gave me the idea. The same technology
that makes Gate travel possible, not to mention
this incredible spaceship, allows me to use the
sub-light post office. The laser messages don't
move much faster than the ship at max, but
     remember how fast the ship is moving! If we'd
been crazy enough to send a message ahead of us
to the Fred base so they could roll out the red
carpet, we would have arrived about a half hour
after they received the message.
     "Sub-light" is a term that doesn't do these
speeds justice. Traveling an inch an hour is under
the speed of light. Both the Freds and our guys
can travel right up to that speed. S&R's ship will
reach a maximum speed of 99.99967 miles per
     hour, relative to the Earth. Isn't that incredible?
Gate travel without the Gate.
     I wish you could have seen the ship from the
outside when we finished melting off the ice. I
swear it looked just like a cigar. Fly didn't pick up
on my reference to Frank R. Paul, the science-
fiction artist from the 1930s who created a lot of
stogie spaceships. That style went out of fashion
in the 1950s when the flying-saucer craze started.
I suppose there are only so many shapes and
     forms possible. The human race has expended so
much energy trying to conceive of every possibili-
ty that we couldn't help but get a few things right.
By the way, I meant to say this to you before, so I
better do it now: I do believe there is every bit as
much imagination and intelligence in religion as
there is in science fiction. There'd have to be. It's
just that what you take as revelation I assume to
be imagination.
     Before the demons came, I thought the uni-
verse was pretty dull and predictable. It only took
seeing my first zombie on Phobos to change my
mind about that. Forever.
     Like this ship, for instance. I love it. Poor Fly
hates it. He can't stop bitching. I don't mean
complaining. I don't mean kvetching. I mean
     bitching.
He was spoiled by the artificial gravity on the
base. I sort of regretted leaving the Bova. Zero-g is
great for my tits. I forgot you don't like that word.
Breasts, I mean. When it comes to outer space,
the female body is simply better designed than
the male. Why do you think God did that to you
poor guys? Sorry, you know I'm only kidding.
Oh, I told you Fly was complaining, and then I
went off on a tangent without telling you his
problem. The Klave ship is a zero-g baby, just like
the Bova. If feet could talk, mine would whimper
for joy. I could spend my life in free fall. You
know how I feel about that after our honeymoon.
I'm so glad we found that sealed compartment in
one of the zero-g areas. You needed to keep off
your feet, darling.
     When Fly found out he'd be living in zero-g
again, his first words were "Oh, man!" You know
how irritated he becomes. Even so, Hidalgo con-
vinced him that the ship is brilliantly designed.
It's two kilometers long. Well, you already know
that. We could see this was no dinghy when it was
in the ice. It has a central corridor connecting all
the engine pods. There are no real compartments.
Sears and Roebuck don't believe in privacy. The
Klave would be Ayn Rand's nightmare.
     Anyway, there is no provision for spinning or
any other artificial gravity. There is a very good
reason for this. S&R told us there can be no
gravity generators on their ship like the ones they
have on the base. It's flat-out impossible. The
gravity maker where you are makes use of exist-
ing properties of matter. They say it's impossible
for a ship accelerating to near light-speed to use
one of these devices. Mass increases, you know,
as far as physical measurements are concerned in
our local area. The Klave ship is increasing suffi-
cient gravity on its own. In other words, if they
used the gravity generator, it would be impossible
to accelerate to the necessary speed. So thanks to
these laws of physics, my feet and breasts win
while Fly's stomach loses.
     Don't I write wonderful love letters, darling?
Would you enjoy hearing some more technical
     staff? Or would you rather devour every word of
my wildest fantasy? Well, I don't want to add to
your frustration. So I'll tell you more about the
Fly ride.
     The chairs--yes, we have chairs--can be put
in any position within the ship. They will be on
the ceiling when we decelerate. Fly keeps saying
they're not as comfortable as what we had on the
base. You see, I wasn't kidding about our big
tough marine being spoiled.
     S&R are proud of their ship. Until now I didn't
realize they were capable of pride. Unless I'm
losing my mind, they are easier to understand
when they are bragging about the ship. I may be
imagining their pride, but I'd make book that the
Klave have no concept of sentimentality, any
more than they do of privacy. The Klave do not
give ships names. I suggested they call this one
the Kropotkin, after my favorite collectivist, a
left-wing communitarian anarchist.
     A quick aside: did you know that S&R come
from a planet with a heavier gravity than Earth?
Imagine the backaches they must have under 1.5
gravity. No wonder they like a zero-g ship.
     Back to the subject of the ship, here are a few
more specs. It takes three to four Earth-standard
days for us to accelerate to the max, then three to
four more days to bring this sucker to a full stop.
When S&R said the ship moves relativistically, I
asked if the Klave were more like cousins or
brothers and sisters. They didn't get the joke, but
Hidalgo howled with laughter.
     We've learned a lot of things that would inter-
est you, beloved. First, here's something had been
bothering Fly all along. Why did the Freds attack
Earth in the first place? What was their motiva-
tion? The most they can extract from human
     survivors is slave labor, and slaves are expensive
to maintain; it's more economical to use ma-
chines.
     Fly and the captain and I wrestled over these
problems before we laid them out to Sears and
Roebuck. There are no natural resources that
can't be obtained elsewhere, and more easily, I
would think. S&R told us how their side figured
out that the Freds were eventually going after
Earth. They did this by analyzing the Fred pat-
tern of play up until that point. Of course, such an
analysis wouldn't indicate why the Earth was
chosen as a target in the first place.
     During the tens of thousands of years when the
good guys were in orbit around the Earth, watch-
ing and observing, t