 
### Arandice

Copyright 2018 Douglas Blair

Published by Douglas Blair at Smashwords

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Prologue

MEMORANDUM

TRANSMISSION CLASSIFIED

4.14.3247

TO: Marshall R. Toffin, Commander of Federation Empire Armed Forces, Venaticorum Sector, Servant to the Emperor

FM: FedEmp Security Services, Center for Imperial Defense

ENDORSED BY: Surrexurant//SEAL AFFIXED//

FED EMP CICSC MINISTRY OF STRATEGIC SERVICES Report 68 (Excerpted)

SECRET ASSESSMENT FOR THE SURREXERANT SEAT

In a shrinking galaxy, which now faces the threat of Illyrion warfare, it is not an adequate ob-jective merely to seek to check the Ultra Democrats design, for the absence of order among planets and the terror of the Freedom of Man is becoming less and less tolerable. This fact imposes on us, His Imperial Majesty the Surrexurant Throne, in Our own interests, the re-sponsibility of galactic leadership. It demands that We make the attempt, and accept the risks inherent in it, to bring about order and justice by means consistent with the principles of Federation (FedEmp) and the interests of the Empire and seek to mitigate the effect of the heretic rebellion of the Twenty Suns.

It is only by developing the moral and material strength of the FedEmp that the Ultra Demo-crats terrorist rebellion will become convinced of the falsity of its assumptions and that the pre-conditions for workable agreements can be created. The policy of "containment" seeks by all means short of war to (1) block further expansion of Ultra Democrat power at the limit of twenty planetary systems, (2) expose the falsities of Altairan pretensions, (3) introduce a retraction of the Ultra Democrat's control and influence i.e. Freedom of Man, and (4) in general, to foster the seeds of destruction within the Ultra Democrat system that Altair is brought to its knees and homage and respect to his imperial majesty, at least to the point of modifying its behavior to conform to generally accepted galactic standards.

As We, Ourselves demonstrate power, confidence, and a sense of moral and political direction so those same qualities will be evoked in the Royal Houses of the civilized galaxy. In such a situation, we may also anticipate a general improvement in the political tone in from the planetary systems of the nether regions and the real beginnings of an awakening among the Ultra Democrat Citicons.

In the absence of affirmative decision of Our part, the rest of the Royal Houses are almost certain to become demoralized. Our friends will become more than a liability to us; they can eventually become a positive increment to Ultra Democrat power. Caladan alone may be on the verge of military techno breakthrough.

There are risks in making Ourselves strong. A large measure of sacrifice and discipline will be demanded of the planets of the FedEmp. They will be asked to give up some of the benefits which they have come to associate with their freedoms.

It is estimated that, within the next four years, the Ultra Democrats will attain the [Illyrion] capability of seriously damaging vital planetary centers of the FedEmp, provided that, it strikes a surprise blow, a blow could so seriously damage the FedEmp as to greatly reduce the capability of the Royal Seat to maintain superiority in political and economic.

The development of a dominant planetary class of our Illyrion weapons is necessary in order to assure the effectiveness of any FedEmp blow. Illyrion attack, of the weight which it is estimated the Ultra Democrats would be capable of delivering, would endanger home world planets.

We hereby delegate decisive action to His imperial servant..
Chapter 1 Commander Smith

Man is born free; and everywhere he is in chains. One thinks himself the master of oth-ers, and still remains a greater slave than they. How did this change come about? I don't know...

_Rousseau 1762_

September 12, 3247 R.T.E.

The silent scream was heard, over the roar of the inferno, signaling the death of the freedom of man.

Commander Roderick Smith heard it too, standing at the lip of the opening into the side of the granite mountain. He was flanked on either side by nervous guards and assistants. A panorama of destruction lay before them. The city at the foot of the granite mountain was in flames. That morning it had been the home of many. Now it was fire, casting them in an eerie orange pall. Awkward looking FedEmp fighter-bombers had almost completed their attack and now only sporadically dove in and out of the ash-blackened sky delivering loads of fire and death. As they watched some of their own Altair Congress, air defense craft appeared on the scene and chased the attackers from the sky.

A messenger emerged from the darkness of the cavern's mouth and hurriedly reported to Commander Smith. "Sir, commo is completely interrupted with the capital. The status of the President is unknown. Sir, you are now, by default, acting commander in chief. Field elements have begun reporting in and have acknowledged your new position. They are awaiting orders."

The commander turned slowly from the scene below and faced the messenger. His face was thin and drawn with heavy circles under the eyes. Deep lines etched his face. "Very well. The status of the planetary shields?"

"Surprise was most complete, sir, at least ninety percent of the planetary shields were lost in the initial bombardment. Sir, no one expected, I mean no one thought they would employ solid chemical explosives and free-fall bombs." The messenger paused and glanced at the burning city. His family had been in that city this morning. He swallowed in a dry throat. "Shields have been restored to twenty-five percent coverage. We can expect thirty-seven percent restoration within six hours. And sir, of those shields almost all primary space to planet assault windows, are blocked. The empire cannot exploit."

Commander Smith pondered this momentarily then turned on his heel and headed back into the cavern. The others fell in behind him. As he disappeared into the darkness, he called over his shoulder, "Well gentlemen, let us now make them pay."

The Altair Congress was five years old but would not last another. Of the original twenty rebelling systems, some thirty-three habitable moons and planets, Altair IV alone remained, unconquered. The War of the Twenty Suns, however, was drawing to a close. That the war had lasted as long as it had was attributable to a score of officers, both brilliant and ruthless, Commander Smith included. This group had led the Altair Congress forces in confounding the massive military might of the FedEmp at every turn of the war. Until, at last, by sheer weight of numbers, the FedEmp had smashed planet after planet.

In the end, Altair stood alone and would fall alone.

It was those thoughts of defeatism which occupied Commander Smith's mind as he absently stroked his son's hair. Paul was four years old and was earnestly applying his young artistic energy to a sheaf of his father's documents. He was assisted by his new friend Renvall, who was orphaned and would never see his father again.

Roderick had smiled little in the past two years and not at all in the past six weeks. Responsibility and worry had been heaped upon him, and the toll taken could be seen in his face and graying hair. However, he could not but smile now. He grabbed several documents out of the pile and chuckled to himself that two four-year-old children were defacing all of his Army's wonderful secret plans and programs. As far as he was concerned, only one thing remained of any true importance. It was outlined in the memorandum in his hand. Smith marveled at the memo itself for a moment. Despite the imminent collapse of his army and the crash of the Altairan world, a clerk had prepared a document to exact military regulations. It was a simple plan presented at the daily command staff update. It also might preserve a legacy for the Ultra Democrats of Altair. The catch was that it would also assure the destruction of Altair. He fumbled around until he found his sig key and signed them in several places and set them aside. Young Paul had crawled onto his lap.

"What are you doing, daddy?" the child asked. Commander Smith began to talk softly and reassuringly to his son.

"Paul, you will probably never understand what I am doing now and what will happen. So, I guess that makes two of us. When you grow to be a young man, you may feel as I did, that you could accomplish anything you wanted, that the galaxy was yours for the taking; then you will find, as you grow older, that this galaxy will present great and challenging problems to you. Lord knows it did to me. When I was younger, I dreamed, we dreamed we could bring man a great and glorious new society, and we did to a score of suns. Then I thought we might be able to stop the empire and preserve our way of life. Then I hoped perhaps we could negotiate an agreement and save a handful of worlds and finally I can only gamble that some of the children might be saved. I chose to seek my glory and fame as a soldier, and it has led to my destruction and the defeat of everything I believed. You might however survive and someday grow to understand what will happen here. There is so much we will never have, and you're so young, so young."

Paul had listened attentively, and like all young boys, he could not doubt the infallibility of his father. He knew what his father was telling him was important but very sad. He wanted to help, so he hugged his father. "Everything will be alright dad, you'll see."

Paul was returned to the makeshift nursery school that the command maintained for the children who had survived the attack on the nearby city. Sitting in his command office, Roderick Smith closed his eyes and began to reach out through the Neural Nets to his remaining fellow Ultra Democrats. With the death of Klein, he became the acting Archon of the Polis, the ancient title of the leader of the democracy. Smith began to relay the proposal, and within minutes could perceive the millions in the network registering support or opposition to the proposed swap. This being an emergency proposition direct to the citizens of the democracy, he quickly had support. Neural Nets were at the core of the Ultra Democrats participatory government and their society. Their adopted philosophy "Freedom of Man" took the tenets of ancient Athenian democracy. It harkened back to the Greek city-state of Athens and the system of direct participation of all the qualified citizens in government. Under the Ultra Democrats derivation of the Athenian system, all citizens had equal political rights, freedom of speech, and the opportunity to participate directly in decisions affecting the government and society. Citizens involved in direct democracy where they made the decisions by which they lived. They were also expected to serve in that government, so they directly controlled all parts of the political process. The UD's took the concept but, with an 'extreme' technological enhancement. Each qualified UD citizen was implanted with a net token which connected them to all others in society. Neural Nets had been in existence for centuries. The tech was powerful but dangerous and led to such prevision and misuse that is sparked by the Eugenics Wars of the 22d century. They were subsequently taboo in FedEmp civilization except for military communications and certain government officials. However, a black market existed, and the very wealthy were often rumored to have had implants.

The UD's had secretly adopted the 'NN' tech for their use in the application of their form of democracy. It was their secret weapon used over and over to forestall and slow the FedEmp march across the galactic quadrant. Instant communication among the populace and armed forces was essential to their survival in the face of overwhelming odds. But, like the ancient eugenicists of the past, they would not leave well enough alone. They developed, and by a vote of the UD, created DNA level bio-net tokens, such as those found in Smith's cranial nerves. No longer was a device implanted at the base of the skull through the Eustachian tube to the cochlea of the inner ear. The DNA based enhancement integrated itself by biologically combining with the auditory and optic nerve. It was not known, however, what would be the effect on the next generation, the offspring of parents implanted with the DNA. The first of that generation of genetically modified children was born four years. Renvall's father and mother, of course, had the DNA, and Paul also had the structures from his parents Roderick and Gayla Smith.

Archon Commander Smith summoned the chaplain and the commander of congressional ground forces. To the chaplain, Commander Smith presented his signed concurrence to the plan that would evacuate almost 350,000 children and other non-combatants to the protection of the FedEmp. It was Smith's gamble, and it was being done within the prisoner exchange three days hence. The risk was that the children were being sent despite repeated FedEmp refusals to negotiate on that point. To the other commander, Smith presented his approval of the last counter offensive and conversion of the Altair forces to guerrilla warfare. This was not a gamble; it was the last gasp of a dying planet and an Army near defeat. Before the commander of ground forces departed, he paused, "Sir, intelligence has confirmed the FedEmp have brought an Illyrion weapon into orbit. When they receive the children in the prisoner exchange, our intentions will be abundantly clear. There will be no guerrilla war. I have little doubt that the Red General will employ the weapon."

Smith nodded in agreement, "Indeed, you are correct. It is painfully clear that nothing need be held back in the offensive. The Federation must pay dearly for the last of our soil and blood.

Commander Roderick Smith, the last Chief of the Allied forces of the Altairan Congress, snapped to attention and saluted his subordinate. "To the greater glory of man's freedom."

His subordinate hesitated then echoed the reply, "To the greater glory, sir."

On the flagship of the FedEmp fleet, the doors of the command suite flew open, and the startled Marines who stood guard gripped their blasters, but it was the General himself who flung the doors. There was fire in his eyes as he shouted "Command Major, Admiral, to the command deck! Now!" His aides and guards trailed the large thin commander as he headed down the hall to the main or command deck of his flagship. In his hand, he clutched a document marked 'SECRET' with the Surrexurant and FedEmp seal. Surrexurant was the affectation of the recent Emperor, and its symbol was a flower, the rose. This Emperor reached into ancient times; he took a word from a language used in a great empire 3000 years ago. It meant 'arose,' as in 'to rise up'. It was perhaps a joke on his part. The general though found nothing funny in this communication.

When he burst into the command deck, the dozens of officers and staff who were intently commanding the battle on Altair jumped to their feet. "As you were" shouted the General "Command Major, post here." he pointed to his side and walked directly up to the giant holographic representation of the planet and the ongoing operations. Colored dots and symbols moved hither and yon and winked on and off in the giant display. The general turned to the Command Major a hard-looking woman now at his side. He handed the document to her and instructed, "Run another scan. It must be here. If this is true, we have been fooled, all of us."

The Major barked out orders and the hologram shimmered as the scans of the planets were run. The seconds ticked by and the General peered at the display. "General" the Major interrupted. The General looked up, and the Major shook her head and formed the word No.

"Damn you, Smith. Damn you. Fool." The General spat out the last words and spun on his heel exiting the deck. The report and the scans confirmed. The Ultra Democrats did not possess the slightest amount of Illyrion anywhere within a parsec. The assumptions and beliefs of the entire empire and the posturing and claims of the Twenty Suns and the threats of such weapons was untrue. It was a bluff, The Ultra Democrats had postured for years and sent signals and signs designed to fool FedEmp intelligence that they had Illyrion power. It had been a ruse, which had now failed, and it would bring them their ruin.

Chapter 2 The Red General

Ainsworth Bartholomew Higgins was a man of diplomacy. He was imperturbable in the face of high stakes negotiations. He was suave at the numerous cocktail parties, receptions and other social functions he attended in his position as Assistant Deputy Minister of State. All in all, Higgins was the resolute diplomat of the realm. His abilities had come to the attention of the imperial court. He was slated for bigger and better things, at least until Altair. He, like scores of bureaucrats and soldiers from the farthest reaches of the galaxy, had jumped at the only chance of a war in their lifetimes. Unfortunately, it seemed most dreams of glory, fame and career advancement were being cut short by the harsh reality of war. The War of the Twenty Suns had turned from a nice tidy little war into a horrifying interstellar conflagration.

After reading the latest communication from the prisoner exchange site, Higgins' face turned crimson which was in sharp contrast to the pastel suit he wore. "Children!" he screamed as he pounded his fist on the desk. "Children!". The outburst was not aimed directly at Hurst, his aide who had passed the communication to Higgins, but Hurst cringed nonetheless, after the last outburst, Higgins collapsed in his chair, and the aide regained some composure.

"Children," this time he whispered the word as if he did not quite grasp its meaning for, he did not. The aide, having regained some courage, swallowed hard and proceeded to provide the latest additional information not contained in the message. "Yes, your excellency, quite a few of them, to be exact, some 297,000 at the last count."

"At the last count," echoed the ambassador, "and our troops, held prisoner?"

"All released as per the exchange accord."

"And thousands of little children?"

"Yes sir, and the children and sir there is one other thing."

"What?"

"The Red General, ahh desires your presence. There is an escort outside, your Excellency."

This time Higgins swallowed hard.

Higgins marched to the meeting with great trepidation. The armed guards led him through the winding corridors of the command starship toward his audience with the Red General. He at least had time to review the situation, but it was of little help. He was most assuredly disgraced by the rebel trick. His negotiations and the exchange follow up would make him the laughingstock of the foreign department. His career in the diplomatic corps was over.

After the Ultra Democrat representative, a chaplain had agreed to the prisoner exchange, Higgins jumped at the idea. He was confident that the settlement of hostilities could be negotiated. He would achieve the peace which so many of his peers had been unable to attain. It was now clear that the exchange and ceasefire had merely been ploys to allow the rebels time to regroup and stretch their criminal war a little longer. He had hamstrung the imperial offensive and the military would surely wish a piece of him as well, and very quickly.

All too soon he had reached the entrance to the command center. The stern junior lieutenant in command of the guard halted and announced to Higgins, "The General is waiting for you, through here."

Higgins swallowed hard and entered. The double doors parted silently, and Higgins moved cautiously into the room. Whatever he had expected, this was not it. After passing two security checks, he was admitted to the war room the command and control center of the imperial forces. It was large and oval, lit only by red and green glows from com screens and other technical stations. Various staff officers of the different services were bent to the tasks over systems stations commanding the war. However, the centerpiece of the room was a beautiful holograph, seven or eight meters in diameter, of Altair itself. Varying colors and military symbols decorated the sphere, blinking in and out, changing locations and shapes.

Higgins peered about the room, and his attention fixed on a figure seated with his back to him, who was intently studying the hologram. The junior officers exchanged glances and finally, one moved to the figure in the chair and spoke a few words.

The Red General stood and turned to Higgins. "Your Excellency, thank you for coming," giving the slightest hint of a bow, "please excuse the abruptness of the request. Events transpire, and time is short, as I am sure you are aware."

This was indeed not what he had expected from this man. And despite his dread he managed to get out, "General Toffin, I am most pleased that we finally have this opportunity to meet, face to face." The diplomat in him began to return.

"Quite," the Red General only looked more amused. "Mr. Ambassador, did you realize that you and I were practically classmates? I can tell from your expression that you did not. We both graduated from the University of the Americas in the same year. It was strange, Mr. Ambassador, they told us our generation was to go out and make history. Well, we have, and we are. Marcus, Ryson, Jones, Merrick, yes all class of '26. Politician, musician, scholar, and banker, and now you and I have made our marks, as questionable as those might be. We must not, however, judge ourselves too harshly. We will leave that to the historians. I fear that you will be known as the diplomat who could not find peace and I the warrior whom victory eludes."

The General turned and waived casually in the direction of the electronic representation of Altair. "There it is my good ambassador, your stumbling block, to be sure, perhaps mine soon, but that is to be seen. Most likely the empire's as well." His hand fell to his side, and he stared at the hologram as if in a trance. His aides had all stopped work, and when the General did not stir after too many seconds, they again looked nervously at one another and finally stared at anything but the conversation taking place in front of them.

Higgins could only stare at Toffin. It was now clear to him that much more was afoot than he had realized. He was not being reprimanded and disgraced. Yet, the military was apparently not ecstatic that it now had a free hand in the war. The General was entirely correct that Higgins was unaware of their attendance at the university at the same time, and despite his present perilous situation, memories of school long ago were stirred. Higgins cleared his throat.

"Sir, are you forgetting one other from our class, Roderick Smith," said Higgins. At the mention of the enemy, the General's eyes flared, and he scowled at Higgins. It passed but, the General was now all business.

"Your excellency tell me one thing for the further education of my command." The General sternly examined the officers around the room. "What is the relation between the man of peace and the man of war?" he asked of Higgins.

Higgins dared a slight smile, "They each clean up the mess made by the other." It was an old joke, probably from school.

"Adjutant," barked the General and a colonel stepped forward handing him a small case. The General opened it and removed a military decoration. It was the Imperial Armed Forces commendation medal and the General strode forward and pinned it on Higgins' tunic.

"By the authority of my command in the Federation Empire, I present to you this honor for meritorious service to the realm. Higgins, you have freed many thousands of brave imperial troops from captivity, and for this I thank you. As for the other little matters, let us retire to my office."

When they were both seated in the sparsely adorned office adjacent to the command center, the General began again. "It is Ainsworth, is it not? Please call me Red."

"Red? Why I thought...".

The General laughed, "Yes, so do most, but it really is my nickname, has been all my life, it's the red hair. Now we really must get down to business. Time is short, and we both have missions to complete. Mine is perhaps clearer than yours."

Higgins flushed and began, "Sir, Red, no one could have foreseen what the rebels did- children. But I must accept responsibility."

"Good, you will, more than you may have yet realized but don't feel so bad old classmate. My conduct of the war has not been exactly exemplary. Mistakes have been made, and some very horrible deeds done by both ourselves, and our enemy in these past few years. The worst has yet to come. The Emperor has put extreme pressure on me to conclude this war before the elections. And, Ainsworth, it cannot be concluded hastily through conventional means. I have been graciously provided, by the Emperor, an Illyrion weapon."

Higgins gasped. For the first time, he began to understand what was at stake. "You mean to say the rebels had stalemated the empire.?"

"That is not completely correct, but the rebels will of course resort to a low intensity dispersed guerrilla warfare. It would take a minimum of one standard year to subdue the planet and track down units that have fled throughout the sector and perhaps farther. That is unacceptable to his majesty. To all concerned."

The Red General, the Empire's best, had been trapped by events. Higgins shuddered, the man in front of him was calmly discussing the incineration of an entire planet.

"I can see that you see." said the Red General. "My last battle approaches. And my legacy? History's greatest butcher." The General paused shaking his head. "In a few days, the issue will be decided one way or the other. The killing will come to an end, and I will have earned my name and reputation. That is where you, Ainsworth, come in. While I may kill more than any other person in history, I, in one fell swoop, will save and bless the innocents of this entire matter--the children."

The General pulled out several documents and began signing the first. "This is a blanket grant of citizenship to every man, woman and especially child the rebels dumped on us. This one is a blanket land grant to each child. I am giving them that first hellhole we conquered some years back. Krin something is the name I believe. Yes, here it is, Krison. It is quite livable now, corps of engineers can sometimes work wonders, and they have there. This, Ainsworth is your resignation from the diplomatic corps. Now, don't start, your career is finished despite that little trinket I gave you. And I have a new job for you. This is your appointment as military governor of that little planet, Krison, and your guardianship of several hundred thousand little children. You are now a father, Ainsworth. The guardianship will never hold up in FedEmp court, but it is a nice touch, don't you think? The other document is ironclad."

Higgins sat blinking and signed.

"And Ainsworth, someday, tell the children that the Red General was sorry that he killed their mothers and fathers and that and that his hair was red long before his hand."

He stood smiled, saluted and left Higgins alone.
Chapter 3 The Destruction of Altair

Commander Smith stood amid a vast plain. For miles on either flank, his defensive lines were prepared in a fan-shaped network of trenches and bunkers. The most forward positions were about a kilometer within the leading edge of the protective umbrella of the generated shield. The "black cap" as it was called extended out from the granite mountain like a flat black disk. This shield had been lowered to only about a dozen meters above the plain. As long as the shield stood, hiding the rebel positions beneath it, FedEmp air/space superiority was nullified.

The only access to the defensive forces was either to tunnel under and attack from below. Or attack the shield hidden troops edgewise on the surface, by ground assault. Short of using weapons that might destabilize the planet, the FedEmp ground forces were faced with a barbaric combat assignment, the likes of which had not been seen since the carnage of trench warfare in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Tacticians had informed the infantry commanders that they were to take the positions by storm.

He could see activity in the distance. The monitors in the forward command post confirmed his observation, FedEmp troop ships were disgorging imperial storm troopers just out of the range of the Altair laser and cannon fire. The stormtroopers regrouped and began the advance.

Missile launches, lasers, and explosions set afire the dry grasses of the alien prairie, winds chasing the flames and smoke to the horizon. To the troops under the black cap, their dwindling world was now was one of blackness and fire. War machines lumbered about, smoke stung Smith's eyes. The stormtroopers contacted the front lines of the rebel forces. There were no probes or feints. It was simply a massive assault across the entire forward edge of the battle area. The FedEmp's strength of reserves was inexhaustible. After three hours of close-in fighting, which often was ended in melee, the Altair line existed only as unconnected remnants of blasted units, and the first assault spent itself. But, two more times the FedEmp threw everything it could at the line only to be repulsed. What was left of the defenders was pulled back before the fourth attack could hit. The ring was drawn tighter around the granite mountain.

After three days of combat, the defensive ring was gone. Many thousands of troops had been ordered out escape tunnels and into the countryside or risk fleeing by remaining aircraft. Only a handful of Altair battalions remained as a defensive covering force, and these had been drawn into the mountain's maze of tunnels. The FedEmp assault continued and by the end of the fourth days all resistance, save terrorist and guerrilla attacks, had ended. Remaining Altair forces formed into small bands and fled West to the mountains. The FedEmp forces secured the mountain complex.

The special detachment dispatched by the Red General found Smith's body where it had fallen on the morning of the third day. He had been directing the fire of laser battery when an enemy projectile round had blown off the back of his skull. Although, medics had confirmed the body as Smith's the Red General insisted on seeing it personally and issued orders that it be casketized and flung into the sun.

The imperial representatives and diplomats arranged a ceremony to be broadcast to the galaxy, by which the imperial pennant would be posted atop the granite mountain signifying the end of the War of the Twenty Suns. This was despite the advice of the Red General and other commanders. There continued sporadic, yet dangerous hit and run attacks by rebel bands. The live speech of the Emperor was followed by the feed from Altair of the raising of the flag. What the billions of viewers saw was a rebel missile attack which killed seven dignitaries, wounding an additional twenty-seven. The assembled viewers saw a charred and tattered imperial flag.

Despite the FedEmp Security Information Analyses that some several hundred thousand of rebel forces remained on the planet to conduct a guerrilla insurgency, the FedEmp forces were withdrawn to their troopships. The ships returned to the orbiting star cruisers which were in turn withdrawn to the very edge of the star system.

Bartholomew Higgins sat in his room aboard the command starship viewing his com screen. Altair was a dim, brownish smudge on that screen. Higgins cursed himself, the Red General, the rebels and the Emperor. Mostly he cursed events which had spun out of the control of he or any other man in the galaxy. The Emperor, if anything, was not a fool, but he was desperate. He was also well versed in the history of Emperors, Presidents, and kings. The Senate and the public were weary of the long war. Blame was being placed on the royal person himself. The Red General was being hailed as a hero, and as a replacement on the throne. Truly, what the Emperor feared was the Red returning victorious to Earth at the head of a fleet of a thousand ships and million combat veterans. Like the Roman Generals three millennia before he would seek his triumph, perhaps even the throne. The media would make a god of him. Thus, the Emperor needed a victory over the rebels and fast, yet disgrace of the Red. The rebel policy to go guerilla could not be viewed only as a stalling tactic. The rebels were fanatics, and several hundreds of ships had escaped the planet in the fog of war presumably to carry on the struggle elsewhere. The revolution and the "Freedom of Man" scattered throughout the galaxy.

To the Emperor the solution became simple: An Illyrion weapon was released to the Red General. He would use it against the rebels because he feared casualties to his troops and further battles. The Emperor would announce to the Senate that he had reluctantly succumbed to the General's demands for the weapon. The rebellion would be extinguished; the General would be considered far too dangerous to a squeamish senate to place on the throne. The Emperor would be preserved.

Higgins watched the brownish smudge on the screen. It suddenly flashed white as if a brilliant star. When the flash dissipated, the brownish smudge was gone. Higgins was still staring at the blank screen when the shock waves jostled the starship. The War of the Twenty Suns was over.
Chapter 4 The Tears of Orphans

Ninth Month, 3250 R.T.E

The late afternoon sun shone lazily on the golden grass of the gentle slope. Paul and Renvall lay drunkenly in the field, heads propped on elbows, the half-consumed pail of "new" KK whisky between them.

KK Scotch, Irish were the only true and native product of Krison other than the care, and maintenance of KED's children. Many were convinced that a rare combination of planetary rehabilitation after the war, coincidence and agronomy would give the fledgling economy of Krison a cash export product: booze. While still considered a fluke by many and an upstart by some, those who had sampled KK's drink universally acknowledged that it was probably the finest nonterran whisky and whiskeys to be distilled in the known empire.

The spot on the slope was chosen because it afforded them an unimpeded view of the Royal Marine detachment's evening "colors" ceremony some half a kilometer distant. Several military ground transports appeared on the service road working their way up the hill to the base of the flagpole, which held the fluttering imperial colors. Troops disgorged from the vehicles and formed up at the barked orders of an NCO. Several marines busied themselves with the ceremonial cannon, while others prepared the electronic music.

At a command from the NCO, the audio system at the base of the flagpole began blaring an almost unrecognizable version of the anthem. A malfunction had caused the patriotic melody to spew out at several times its normal ponderous cadence. The NCO in charge erupted into hysterics screaming at the operator. Paul and Renvall giggled. Renvall started getting to his feet. "Prepare to salute!"

"Aye aye, sir!" responded Paul and climbed to his feet as well. They unzipped their trousers and began to urinate as the anthem got properly underway. A puff of smoke and a loud report from the cannon startled the marine holding the flag's lanyard. He lost his grip and with the wind, the cable went swinging and the flag billowing and fluttering downward, blanketing the now near apoplectic NCO. The two watching boys were now laughing so hard they were almost unable to zip up their pants. Paul, staggering backward, stepped in the whisky pail and fell to the ground. Renvall also collapsed, but, from laughter.

After some minutes they quieted, and Renvall turned to Paul.

"I'm getting off this fucking planet."

"Sure" replied Paul, "And I'm a leprechaun."

"Dammit Paul, I'm serious." and Paul finally looking at his friend saw that he was indeed serious.

"How are you gonna' do that, we're gonna end up barley farmers or still workers, and you know it. There's no ticket off the big K for us."

"No.," said Renvall, looking sideways at Paul, voice quiet, but emphatic.

"I'm joining the Marines."

"No way." Replied Paul laughing, "Like, certainly they're gonna let a rebel son join the Emperor's finest, you know the law no FedEmp employment for any of us, we're not even citizens, I think, and the FedEmp embargo, no one leaves until the Surrexurant says so."

"Fuck the Surrexurant. Yes, I am," replied Renvall unfazed, "I got it all worked out."

Paul, sitting on the ground, was examining the pail, now removed from his foot, for any surviving whisky. He put the pail to his lips and extracted the last few drops.

"Sure, you do." he said. "Listen. Last week when I was on that delivery detail, there was the marine sergeant again. Gunny Lassiter. I gave him a bottle of the new stuff, and we got to talking. Well, he says he likes it here and wants to retire – here! Of all places, and he wants to retire on some lake, and he's getting out of the service in a year. I told him I wanted to be a marine and he laughed. But he quit laughing when I told him I wouldn't 'be needing' my land grant if I could get an enlistment and a ticket out of here."

"Ren, what are you talking about." Paul was sobering from his friend's serious tone.

"I'm trading my land grant for an enlistment. He will legally adopt me, and sons of retired marines get top priority for enlistment. I'm gone on the first ship, and in the fifth month. I'm not waiting for any stupid graduation either."

At that moment old Gillgallen came staggering over the rise, a bottle of the real aged single malt in one hand, his walking club in the other.

"Well at long last I've found you, young gentlemen."

"Gil!" the boys shouted, too loud.

"Gil," shouted Paul, "he's joining the marines."

"Whaee?" Gil asked eyebrows raising.

"Ren, Renvall is"

"Ah, he's aff ta fit for e's king, and country is e. And seek is fem and furtune, and he the bairn of a rebel."

"Your damn right I am" shouted Renvall to the group as he leapt to his feet. "I want out of here; I want to get out. I want to see the worlds, the stars, look at them" He waved his arm at the twilit sky. Renvall stopped and stared at the slowly appearing stars. His jaw worked without sound, struggling for his thoughts. "I just want something more."

"Ay, he gats the wanderlust otay him, e duz," said Gil, shaking his head.

Paul's eyes locked onto Renvall's and he started to say something but, Renvall shook his head slowly, almost imperceptibly from side to side. Paul remained silent.

Gillgallen launched into a story, "Well 'at reminds one of eh stairy..."

The boys were feeling the whiskey and in high spirits when they began their journey home in fits and starts. Paul placed his arm around Gil. As they clambered across the craggy landscape, Paul suddenly remembered he was to meet Jean that night. Beautiful Jean. His future partner, at least that was what he hoped. Paul just needed to get her away somewhere quiet and, well, that was always the problem in KED City- where to be alone. He and she had snuck off once out on the rocky plain, but it did not go well, they were interrupted by bugs and then a nosy little furry Grendel dog that found them interesting. "Gil," Paul said stopping the both of them as Renvall sauntered ahead, "Gil, could I, uh, use your, place tonight while you're on shift. I won't make a mess or anything."

"Well, whit is the young Paul up to I e wonder" croaked Gil with sarcasm.

"It's Jean; you know the one with the red hair."

"Ahh, say no more, the place is yours and maid o' Erin's, I shan't be needing it 'til the wee hours, anyhoo, have yir fun."

Gillgallen headed off for the distillery where he would be working the late shift. Paul ran ahead and smacked Renvall on the butt and kept running. The startled Ren took off after him.

By the time they reached KED City limits, it was dark and the boys laughing and out of breath from running stopped leaning up against the wall of dark supply building. They were entering the city from the northwest quadrant, Q1, which was generally unfamiliar to them both. They had spent their entire existence on Krison -- living, schooling, working, playing, fighting, in the southwest quadrant, of Krison, Q4.

Since the beginning of KED City rivalries had developed amongst the quad populations over sports, fads, and music. And the things that make up the world of children and young adults. Theoretically, after your eighth school year, you could travel the city and surrounding plain freely. Practically, it was wise to stay out of the other quads, especially at night. Usually, if you or your friend wandered into another quad, you could expect some taunts and insults, or a rock thrown your way to hurry you along. In the worst cases, you could run into some quad section bully and his gang. And if you could not run fast enough, they would rough you up pretty good. Or maybe worse. There were some boys such as Renvall, though, who thrilled to the exploration of all the quadrant's and had, in fact, honed their fighting skills in many a square go. In fact, out of boredom, they would sometimes seek the occasional scrum.

When the two of them caught their breath they looked around, and Paul asked, "Ren, you know where we are?"

"Yeah" came the somewhat uncertain reply, "wait, I know this place, sure, this way." Ren pointed down a dark and rugged alley closed in with anonymous, dirty structures. Ren struck out, and Paul followed, their boots crunching on broken glass and splashing in puddles that remained from the morning rain. Ren looked from side to side and over his shoulder. They were 50 meters into the alley when Ren stopped cold and held up his hand for Paul to do the same. A stone throws ahead, a figure stepped out of the shadows and stood to face them in the dim light. Paul looked behind them and saw a second figure blocking their retreat. Ren motioned Paul to his side. "C'mon."

Paul was scared.

He wasn't the fighter Ren was, but he had little choice but to follow his lead. Ren strode right up to the figure, another boy about their age who said, "Well if it isn't the trash from Q4 blowing in, we don't like your kind because you smell..."

Paul could hear others coming up behind them. For some reason, Paul, always the little politician, decided to step forward and said: "Look, we don't want any trouble, we're just going home..." The next thing he knew was the figure pulled back his right arm and punched Paul squarely in the face. Paul was so startled he put his hand to his stunned jaw and said "What?"

Just then Renvall stepped in between the two of them and began to say, "Hey no trouble; we're not starting anything." With that Ren's fist flashed with a vicious right left right. It left the other boy sprawled on the ground moaning. Then in one motion, Ren snatched up a long dark pipe- like object off the ground spun around and with full force swung at another that had come within a meter of the now frozen Paul. Two others, who were closing, stopped. "Does anybody really want a piece of this?" snarled Ren who lunged forward. The three broke and scurried back into the shadows. Ren grabbed Paul. "Let's get out of here big talker; they'll be back with more."

They lit off at a run for the safety of Q4.

Chapter 5 Seasoning

It was the weekend of the seasoning when the new whisky was aged to perfection, and the old craftsmen distiller would tap the old wood kegs taste it and pronounce it 'fit' or 'unfit.' It was all just a crock of hype. It was always deemed 'fit.' The whisky flowed and tasted the same out of the stainless-steel vats any time of the year, and everybody on Krison knew it. It was just a big end of summer party and another excuse and another night to get drunk in the wasteland of the Krison Educational Development. Drunk they got. The seasoning had developed into a raucous sometimes violent holiday, part Octoberfest, part homecoming. A parade and festival in Krison Education Development city center brought back tens of thousands of the former residents- the Ones to Thirteens, now alumni. The kids call themselves by the number of years to be spent in the orphanage. Paul, who was four when he arrived was a Fourteener – 14 years to his age of majority, adulthood, and release from the institution and guardian. Paul was oblivious to the festivities. He raced to his dorm. He had to meet Jean and dared not be late.

The Krison Education Development, KED, or KED City as it was called, was truly the oddest city that had ever been in the history of humanity. It was originally comprised of 83,000 children from infancy (the Seventeen's) to 17 standard years old (the One's). These children were 'the dispossessed' of the empire. They were the children from the prisoner exchange near the end of the War of the Twenty Suns. The wounded soldiers from the exchange were tried as traitors and executed by the thousands and imprisoned or banished by the tens of thousands. The adult non-combatants who were able to clear their citizenship disappeared into the vast universe, never mentioning the Freedom of Man again. Non-combatants of the exchange without imperial status (WIS) were sent to re-education and then relegated to caretakers of the 83,000 children. If one parent survived and made it to Krison and there were several thousand, they were allowed visitation with the child(ren), no more. The decision to create Krison Educational Development was attributed to the Red General, the conqueror of the Freedom of Man and the victor of the War of the Twenty Suns. It was a topic of heated debate throughout the human worlds. Some believed it to be no more than a training ground for neo-Altaians and a threat to future peace. Others knew not what to make of a sad world of orphans imprisoned on a barren world in a Spartan military base. Whatever they were, all of them were confined to this planet. All worlds were off limits to them. It would stay that way until the Surrexurant throne deemed otherwise. There was no sign of that yet.

KED City was built by the FedEmp armed forces in three months; When finished it was a huge troop installation occupied by the 83,000 kids and some 35,000 adults. In the first year of peace after the war, KED City cared and schooled the thousands; but by the time of Paul's thirteenth school year, the population of KED City had dwindled to about 18,000 kids and several thousand adults who ran the system. They were rattling around in a huge installation that was falling into disrepair, run by several thousand contracted employees counting the days until the last student turned 18 and they could leave for better worlds. As the kids made it the 18 standard years, they left the dreary compounds to other dreary and uncertain futures.

In five years, the empire's largest orphanage- the largest orphanage known to man- would be empty of children.

To the children, Krison, in its first few years, was nothing if not a struggle to create a social structure and a culture. The challenges of struggling through a world of children were daunting. The passage into adulthood was frightening to most and terrifying to many. Suicide among those over children and new adults was epidemic. At eighteen, you were done with KED City. Your choices were few; an uncertain and difficult life as a homesteader, subsistence farmer, 40 acres and you had to grow the rye for the distillery, with no capital and no experience, and hard-scrabble land. Farming was not an easy choice. Claim-stake mining in the vast unexplored regions was another dicey choice. Word was that some kids had struck gold and other minerals of value here and there. Then there was the option of a slave-like job at the Kristen Klub distillery as a slag hauler or heaper. Of course, there were those that made no choice and wandered away from life leaving behind a trail of empty KK bottles. The adults tried to help, but they didn't have much either. They had lost the war and now had to watch their children pay and pay again. Others had thought they could steal what they wanted and discovered the harsh and deadly justice of a marine blaster.

Paul found a working shower amongst the dozens of shower bays. Under the shower he let the water pour over him as he pondered the fate of an orphan in the land of orphans. His dim vision was to partner with Jean, beautiful Jean, he thought, and homestead a beautiful fertile river bottom. And, well there wasn't much more to think about. That was his hope; tonight he would tell her the plan; he would ask her to partner. He finished his shower and toweled off and went to his room. Renvall was just leaving.

"Ho, good luck roomie," said Ren, slapping Paul on the back.

"Yeah, well tonight, maybe both of us will figure it out."

Ren threw back his head, laughing, "I don't know about that beautiful Jean stuff..."

Paul bit his lip, "It'll be fine you'll see."

"Sure."

"To the seasoning."

"To the seasoning." Replied Paul, forcing a smile, "See you there."

****

"Paul Smith, where have you been?" Jean was visibly upset. "If you had not just come around that corner I don't know what I would have done. Why this nice Harley, you know Harley, don't you, had just offered to escort me at the seasoning if you had not of come. Harley was just telling me about the wonderful job at the distillery his mother has arranged..." Paul cringed, he had never liked the half-orphan Harley, and now he loathed him.

"Hi Harley, come on Jean, we better get going. I've got a lot to tell you."

****

The older crowd, the alumnus of KED City, were beginning to head home to the southwest suburb. The music had concluded, and the whiskey tents had closed. The crowd was wildly drunk. It was a warm night, and the sky had cleared, and the star blazed across the sky.

Renvall had been drinking on and off since the afternoon and fairly steadily since early evening. He had staggered away from the crowd and was leaning against the wall of a building on the south side of the square.

"Fricking marines, arggh," Ren shouted to no one in particular, and none noticed. Except across the street, a KED with a bruised face pointed to the lurching drunk Renvall for the benefit of his three larger companions. The group started slowly across the street moving through the scattered crowd. They closed in on Renvall. Through slowing increasing comprehension, he began to sense the imminent danger.

"Whaddyyawaant?" drawled Renvall, trying to clear his head and assess the situation. Turning from face to face he recognized the bruised kid. "You, huh?" it was the kid from the Q1 alley. Blood rushed through Ren's body; the fear adrenaline hit; he tensed as they backed him against the wall, one on each side, chests against his shoulder. He could feel their breath on his face. He knew his only advantage was they were in too close. The one in front struck him in the jaw. Ren was not surprised and not hurt. More blows followed in rapid succession, there was blood, and Ren slumped, and his assailants let him fall to the ground. "He's got nothing." said the one on the right, and they all started to laugh. Ren desperately scanned the broken concrete walk and saw what he needed; a broken piece of the street lay within arm's reach. Ren seized the rock and viciously swung at the knees of the laugher closest to him. A crunching sound followed the impact, and he went down screaming. A crowd had begun to form and was focusing on the kegger. Ren lashed at the next one's knee, smashing it solidly. The kid went down in a heap. The third, the hitter, backpedaled and bumped into the crowd who shoved him back. Renvall came up swinging and landed blows as people scrambled. Renvall had been in dozens of keggers in his KED days, and the rules were clear and known: a square go, one on one, was nothing but bare hands. Ren could use his rock or whatever when outnumbered, but once it was square, it was only fists. Renvall landed several big rights, and the lug went down. In flashes of seconds, it had taken, the crowd had reformed and, to Ren, were cheering wildly. That's when it happened. In slow motion. He turned, starting to smile, toward the square, and into the light, sweat and blood showed dripping off his face. That's when he saw the bruised kid, face darkened by the shadows. He reached under his coat and pulled out a shiny metal blade and came at him. Ren's face exploded in pain and blood. Adults in uniforms came crashing through the crowd. Renvall collapsed into blackness.

****

Paul was walking down the path, sullenly. He had spent the weekend at Gil's. Jean had not. She had left Friday night, early. There would be no partnering. Paul's head hurt; his mouth was dry. He had drunk far too much when she had left. The morning sun hurt his eyes.

He could hear shouting, he could not imagine why, and it was getting louder. A figure was running towards him, shouting, "Paul, Paul..." It appeared to be Trigger, running at him. Paul stopped and then Trigger was there, in front of him. Trigger was from his Q4, the 13th house and was a floor leader, Paul knew him well, very well. They were on the council together. Paul was, of course, the President.

"It's Renvall, Paul its Ren." Trigger spouted, "he's in trouble, he's hurt really bad. Shuttleworth nailed him, he going to throw him out of KED City, he already announced it."

Trigger gasped for breath. Paul stared at him for several seconds, "What?"

"It's Renvall, he got jumped at the seasoning, and beat real bad, a kid named Logan from Q4 pulled a knife he cut him on the face real bad. There's trouble back at the house. All the thirteens are real mad." Trigger paused again, "Paul, man, everybody's been asking for you. You're the President; they want you to do something. You gotta do something."

"Where's Renvall?"

"Nobody knows, the police took him, and they didn't even arrest the other guys. Logan and the others got clean away. Paul, you gotta get back! There's gonna be more trouble." Paul and Trigger hurried back to Q1. Outside of KED City, for they generally could not go in, Marine patrols were out everywhere. Out of instinct, Paul and Trigger slipped through a culvert, some back alleys, and empty building to avoid being stopped. Q4,13 dormitory, their "house" was a complex of four, 4 story buildings, each capable of housing 350 kids. They housed 1,084, seventeen-year-old, 13th-year students in the fourth quadrant of Krison Educational Development. The four buildings formed a large square courtyard. When Trigger and Paul approached, they found that square completely filled with hundreds of classmates. The crowd was in an ugly mood. Ren had many friends in Q4,13. He had starred in sports and fought fights for many of his lads and made many his close friends. Paul had roomed with Ren for five years. And he was the Q4,13 President and the crowd turned to face him, then around him all talking at once, "This ain't right, we should..." "Let's go over to Q1 and get that Logan and..." "Shuttleworth threw him out it's not..." "It's wrong; it's not fair." "What ya gonna do Paul?"

"What are you going to do!"

Paul shook himself free. His mind was racing, then it came to him, something he had read about in a history video. He walked to the steps of the A building and mounted them like a podium. He turned and waited for the crowd to quiet and press in close. Many others watched from the dorm windows.

He waited and began. "You all know what happened. Renvall got cut bad, and they threw him out of KED City. Shuttleworth threw him out." He paused. "We're not gonna take it anymore..." the crowd murmured agreement. "It stops here. We don't move until Renvall is let back in. Now, everybody, sit down." The crowd looked at each other, unsure of what to do. Paul sat down and crossed his legs on the top step. "Like this, he shouted." They all began to sit down, feeling a little odd. Paul rose to one knee, "THIS IS A Q4,13, POLITICAL ACTION. A SIT-DOWN STRIKE. A NON-VIOLENT PROTEST. NO MORE SCHOOL! NO MORE DISCIPLINE! NO SHUTTLEWORTH UNTIL RENVALL IS BACK! WE SIT!"

Now the crowd understood and roared its approval as one voice. By late that afternoon Q4,12, all 989 strong, marched into the square and joined the protest. At twilight, the commissary was looted for food and water. At nightfall, a bonfire of bedding was set. An adjacent storage building was torched as well. By midnight the several dozens agitated adult police were confronted by 2,000 silent, sitting kids, arms locked. Paul stood and shouted, "WE WANT SHUTTLEWORTH, FREE RENVALL!" The crowd took up the chant and, the police backed off. The next morning Dean Shuttleworth, the highest official in KED City requested the FedEmp Marine detachment intercede and restore order, forcing an end to the protest. Marine Sergeant Major Lassiter refused the request stating it was a school matter and demanded to know where Renvall was being held and his condition and what was the status of the investigation into his assault. Lassiter stated it, meaning Renvall, might be a FedEmp matter. At 4:00 pm, Shuttleworth addressed the students; Renvall was to be readmitted and return to KED City when he got out of hospital: Logan was arrested and expelled.

Paul, however, was quietly detained the next day. He was suspended, then detained in a jail cell. No one knew what happened to Paul. Renvall, with pink scars still showing on his face, briefly returned to school said his thanks and goodbyes and was put on a military transport off the planet and to marine training. The following day, an armed marine detachment appeared at Krison Detention, claimed FedEmp/imperial jurisdiction over Paul Smith and released to finish his time at Q4,13. Lassiter retired shortly thereafter, took title to Renvall's land grant, where deposits of crystals, containing precious stones were quickly discovered.

Chapter 6 Hand of Freedom

It seems that then law is not always directed to the common good as it is toward its ends.Just as the sovereign of a state governs the state, so every father of a family governs his household. But, the sovereign of a state can make laws for the state. Therefore, every father of a family can make laws for his household.

_Saint Thomas Aquinas Summa Theologica_

The "long walk." That was Paul's name for the long walk to the Dean's office. Not very creative either. Paul bitterly counted that he had done it eight times since his arrest and Ren's departure. He was, at times, merely exiled from the classroom sessions for baiting and battling the teachers. But sometimes, his so-called political activities resulted in the summons by the Dean. Paul knew he was pretty smart, and that alone often saved him from the sterner measures of discipline. Yet, that alone did not explain the providence that had been granted to him time after time. He would never forget the detachment of FedEmp Marines in full battle kit with body armor, blasters drawn, arguing with the police and finally shooting open the door to his cell. Nothing had been the same since then.

KED City was the city of orphans; almost all with stories as sad or sadder than his. Most were orphans outright, full orphans, 'FO's' like him. Some had mothers who had been included in the prisoner exchange, PO's. They could only visit at times. Most of the children older than he remembered their lost parents. He felt fortunate that he knew his real name Paul Smith- and his age about seventeen years. He could not be sure of his birth date, but, as the secret and illegal tradition dictated, he celebrated his birthday on the anniversary of the prisoner exchange.

His memories before the exchange were void of all but the dimmest recollections. Uniformed soldiers, he could recall, but not a face, not a name. And like most of the children, he secretly believed his father or mother, or both, to have been great soldiers for Altair who were taken from them by the empire and the Red General. He remembered the time an old man, a janitor in their school, had taught them the Altairan salute. He disappeared shortly after that.

It really didn't matter. The past didn't mean anything, Paul was just another orphan among thousands- or was he, he wondered. He had thought he had the place figured out. He was being called in for stealing new whisky, though that seemed somewhat unlikely. Punishing drunkenness in KED City was like screaming at the stars in the night sky for twinkling. It was a wasted effort. Most of those over eighteen standards worked at the distillery; common drunkenness in KED City was just that - common.

Paul marched into the administration complex, waved hello to other clerks and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, turned down the hallway, opened the large frosted glass door and stopped short. The routine was for the kid to enter the Dean's office reception lobby and take a seat on a hard-flat plasmeld bench fastened to the wall. The errant student was to cool his heels there for the proper amount of time, a minimum of ten minutes. The administrator assumed that "bench time," as the students called it, humbled them, gave them time to consider the error of their ways and consider the manner by which they might beg for mercy. In truth, the "bench time" had just the opposite effect on those about to be disciplined. Generally, one could gather his thoughts and try to ascertain exactly which of the KED rules he had violated. The student also had time to talk with and gather valuable "intelligence" from the student secretaries and clerks in the office, such as whom he would be facing, the assistant Deans or counselors (known to the students as the secret police). Finally, "bench time" gave the student time to assess the mood of the office which reflected directly the emotional state of the Dean that day.

Today a royal marine of impressive dimensions ordered, "Halt!" in no uncertain terms, "State your name!" Paul complied.

Paul froze. Suddenly Shuttleworth, the Dean, intervened,

"It's him." In fact, Paul thought, the Dean, now pressing in between him and the marine, look positively relieved at Paul's arrival. Shuttleworth was a tall, gaunt man who generally presented a grim ascetic countenance; ruthless when he needed to be; and on the occasions when he spoke to the children of KED City, he was terrifying, booming voice and stern manner. When he placed his long, bony arm around his shoulders, Paul could not have been more surprised than if Shuttleworth had done a backflip.

Paul was steered into the office proper brushing against the marine at the door, and a second stared at him from in front of the Dean's office door. Otherwise, the usually bustling outer office was deserted.

"Something significant is about to happen to you, Smith, and KED for that matter. Something quite brilliant and challenging, but perhaps perilous. I do not completely know what they will tell you, but the Imperial Sector Governor has not stopped by to discuss the weather with you." Shuttleworth mopped his brow and continued as if talking to himself. "We have tried to do the best we could with 'you' children here on Krison, Lord knows you were a challenge, and you especially Smith; but when we go into my office try to act like a man, and be careful what you say," Shuttleworth looked Paul up and down and returned to his form. "And get your hands out of your pockets, your hair is a mess. Well, nothing's to be done now, let us proceed," Shuttleworth escorted Paul into his office, the marine in attendance opening the door. A fat bald man was sitting at the Dean's desk- Bartholomew Ainsworth Higgins.

Shuttleworth left Paul standing in front of the desk and melted out of sight. Officer of the Foreign Service (Ret.), Imperial Sector Governor of Krison, Guardian ad Litem of the Children of the Twenty Suns, and Representative of his Imperial Majesty, Mr. B. A. Higgins sat at the Dean's desk sipping a glass of the blend, Krison Klub, or KK, whiskey. Higgins smiled and chuckled to himself, a few well-placed cases of this whiskey had swayed several bureaucrats on Earth to concur in his decision to send Paul off to college. Their fathers exported revolution and the sons would ship booze.

Shuttleworth began to speak, and Higgins waved him to silence. He examined the boy for a moment and inwardly shivered. In the past dozen years, he had become quite an expert on Altair and the Smiths, Paul and Roderick. The boy was a twin of his father at sixteen.

"Do you know who you are, boy?" demanded Higgins.

Paul replied slowly and carefully, "I am Paul Smith, and I am a man from Altair."

Higgins raised an eyebrow, snorted and addressed his glass of KK.

"And truly who is Paul Smith of Altair?"

Paul considered a defiant anti-imperial reply, hesitated and said, "I don't truly know, but I fear that you might tell me." Paul tried to look confident, but something wrenched in his stomach, he began to feel lightheaded. This man did know more about his past than Paul did. All the children knew the rumor of the governor's secret files kept on each of them, with their actual names and identities.

"Correct on all counts, accepting one. In your youthful arrogance, you fear little in this vast galaxy, let alone this fat man in a comfortable chair drinking whiskey in the morning." Paul suppressed the impulse to add bald and merely nodded. "Enigmatic young man, you and I do understand one thing very clearly, I know who you are. What neither of us knows is what you will be. Sit down, young man. I have something of great significance to tell you."

"I prefer to stand, sir."

Higgins snorted again and flipped a switch on a small electronic device.

"Very well. The conversation which is about to occur will not have happened. Any reference to what is said here will be denied. You must never discuss this under any circumstances. When I finish, I believe you will understand why."

Higgins took a deep breath and began again, "As you are probably aware, at the conclusion of the War of the Twenty Suns, the Emperor ordered that certain information about the refugee children, including you, be sealed, indefinitely. This information included such items as information on children's families and birthrights. I have decided to release certain of this information to you and Dean Shuttleworth if you so desire. By releasing this information to either of you constitutes a crime against the Surrexurant throne. However, I am led to believe the Emperor has acquiesced in this situation, but I ask as a matter of courtesy if you wish to hear what I have to say?"

"Yes," said Paul.

Shuttleworth looked at Paul and then at Higgins and then down, "Yes, yes."

"Good." Higgins was smiling as if recalling some long-forgotten jest. "Paul Smith, that is your full and proper name, no middle name."

Paul stared; it was a statement, not a question. "You were born, by Terran standard, on the 27th day of the eighth month of the year 3031. I see, then that you accurately are seventeen years of age. Now let me see," Higgins began to read off a document, "Your mother was Anne Drice Smith, nee Pell. Your father, may he rest in peace, was Roderick Smith. Young man, as you know, Roderick was the final commander of all Altairan Rebel forces, with the titular rank of Marshall, it is a name that is both revered and reviled in our fair empire." Shuttleworth had again put his arm around Paul's shoulder and helped him into a chair. Higgins began to sip from his glass again and considered the ceiling of the Dean's office. Paul stared at the floor.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Higgins chuckled again, "Why indeed, you might as well ask the Red Marshall himself. He got us all into this mess, now didn't he. Yes, your father and the Red Marshall and even I were classmates at one time, close friends they were, in fact, but not I, at the University of the Americas, that is. Yes, indeed, ask the Red. He strongly supported my releasing this information to you. He is, all things considered, a rather sentimental old chap." Higgins fell silent considering memories of days far in his past.

"Oh yes, here is some information that you may tell anyone you wish. Paul, you are going to Earth. That is why I told you. You have won a competitive appointment at the University of the Americas. You will depart for Earth at the end of this academic year and begin university in the ninth month standard. It is called 'fall' on Terra, and I am sure you will like it. Young man, if this were different times, you would be a prince, the son of a dead king or a President. Your father and the others who ruled Altair, however, may have been greater than any old Earth kings. Though he ruled only for a few weeks over the collapse of his world, he fought for certain dangerous and outlawed ideas of which you have no doubt learned from the older children. Your father and his comrades fought the combined forces of the Fed Emp to a stand-still. They rattled, no, they nearly toppled the foundations of the Federation and a throne almost five centuries old. Young man, what you are unaware of is that out in the greater galaxy mere reflections upon the War of the Twenty Suns, even today, thirteen years later, evokes a flood of images, emotions and above all, controversial unanswered questions the government, let us say, does not feel confident in confronting. For these reasons alone, the ahh... Emperor, the Senate and the legions of bureaucrats on Earth would not abide the son of Roderick Smith attending school in their backyard. Your identity should remain a secret, but you must endeavor to keep it so, at the cost of your life."

Paul nodded in agreement numbly, but managed to ask, "But the Red Marshall, I don't understand, how could he have been involved with Smith, my umm father and me?"

"Oh well, that does remind me." Higgins fumbled in his pocket and pulled out an object and handed it to Paul. "It is the buckle of the official uniform of the Altairan Congressional Army. The Red Marshall, he was a General then, removed it from your father's body at his funeral. The Marshall forwarded it to me after the decision regarding you had been reached, to do with it what I desired. I do not know the connection the Red Marshall has to you or your father, but I know that he has, shall we say expressed interest in you from time to time. More than that, I will not say. This I desire for you to have. Guard it well. It is a rarity."

Paul turned the object over in his hand. The buckle was of a common synthetic, fabricated, near indestructible material, but Paul had never seen plasmeld. It was rectangular with a relief of a bird, an eagle from ancient earth. The inscription read, "To the Greater Glory of Man's Freedom."

****

The last three months of school were a blur to Paul. The official announcement of Paul's impending trip and acceptance into the University of the Americas electrified KED City and the other people of Krison. The appointment was generally hailed as a sign from the Federation of a thaw in the relations with KED City. It gave hope that Krison and the other eighteen remaining rebel planets might someday rejoin the community of Imperial worlds. It also gave the young population of KED City something new, a hero.

Paul, unfortunately, was afforded little opportunity to enjoy his celebrity. Old Man Shuttleworth was nearing the end of a long and undistinguished career which would dead end on Krison. It became Shuttleworth's burning passion that Paul Smith would be made worthy of his cover story, the ruse, as a winner of a competitive appointment. A fire was lit in the Dean's eyes as he solely supervised Paul's accelerated tutelage.

Paul was deficient in numerous subjects, as were all students in KED City, and others were entirely unknown to him. His school day increased from the usual three hours per day to twelve, thirteen up to eighteen.

Shuttleworth felt it was not enough and decided to cross a line to give Paul Neural Net implant. These were outlawed for the masses, but he had secured a surplus Marine implant from the garrison on the planet. It had cost him heavily in KK Whisky barter, but he never hesitated. The doctor was much more difficult and far more expensive -- an enhanced land grant of over a 1,000 kilometers of prime land.

Chapter 7 Procedure

Paul waited quietly in the medical procedure room of the shabby KED City hospital. Without preface, Dean Shuttleworth strode in, a medical officer absently followed him into the room. She had long dark hair, and some would say beautiful features. She was not young and looking very distracted almost as if she were drugged or had just awoken from a deep sleep. Shuttleworth announced, "This is Dr. Schwartz, and she will be performing the minor procedure, Paul, as we discussed, this will enhance your ability to access the neural training we want to employ with you." Shuttleworth had already explained to Paul his plan for accelerated education.

Finally, she looked at Paul realizing he was the patient and with blinking eyes, "Smith, Paul Smith, I am medical officer Schwartz, I will be performing a minor procedure. An implant." She glanced at the small case she held in her hand. It had a FedEmp logo and label. "This is a very interesting technology, Paul." She then looked at Shuttleworth. "Are you certain about this? You know this is, well forbidden, at least on a child."

"Do it," hissed Shuttleworth, "We've been through this before. It's the only way."

Neural nets were a technology that had taken human civilization to new levels of knowledge and learning but also caused horrific perversions, and it ultimately contributed to the system-wide war and collapse in the early 2d millennium. The empire was adamantly opposed to the widespread use of the technology, and due to the high cost, it was accessible only to the wealthy or the highest-level officials and for military use. It was illegal under FedEmp law and had been for several hundred years, for most citizens to use neural nets, and it was absolutely forbidden on children. Shuttleworth, with Higgins' concurrence, was now 'allowed' to use them on Paul, who despite is size and intelligence was legally a child.

"Very well then, Dean." She dragged out 'dean' clearly displaying her insouciance. "Well then, Dean, please excuse us while I proceed." She then visibly waved her fingers to show him the exit.

"Yes. Very well, then, report to me afterward," Shuttleworth ordered.

Dr. Schwartz began to say something and just rolled her eyes, "Of course, my Dean."

Shuttleworth's nostrils flared, and he clenched his jaw but exited as instructed.

Paul watched the doctor carefully as she went to the corner and studied a sophisticated com screen, bigger than any he had ever seen, and she opened the case.

Paul cleared his throat and began, "What are you going to do, how does this work? I mean what will happen?"

The doctor considered Paul as if he were only now coming into focus. "Hmm, all good questions" she replied, "let me see here." She examined the screen and the device, "Hmm this may hurt a bit. Then maybe not. Hard to tell. I've never done this you know."

Paul blanched, "Well what does that mean? Can you do it I mean?"

"Well, of course, I can do it silly. Those marine saw-bones do it. You know every Marine has one of these, I think, so I, a trained medical professional can certainly do this too." She smiled to herself and envisioning the naked Marine Lieutenant she had just left at her quarters after spending another intense night together.

"Hmm, let me see," and she began reading something on the screen, studying it with several puzzled looks. "Oh, hmm, I see, this is an FMC753 Neural Net, Infantry, Squad Leader, C-M-D, I think that for command and C-N-T-R-L, must mean control. Hmm, yes this is for the neural command and control of a FedEmp Marine combat fire team, not to exceed eight nodes. Nodes, that what they call persons attached with one of these. Hmm, this is designed for implanting in those with a rank of sergeant or others commanding small unit action teams. It connects the leader to up to eight other people. I assume Marines. You can communicate, without aural speech directly with your eight Marine nodes via the neural nets they generate. Interesting.

"The Dean believes we can use this device" she held up the case, "to flood your mind with knowledge, great amounts of knowledge. We are going to reverse the polarity here, and you will have eight nodes, rather conduits or channels flowing to you, well into your brain. Interesting, hmmm, yes, there we are." She fidgeted with the com screen and looked satisfied. She turned to Paul and stared at him intently. "You know we could all go to prison for this. But, well we are already there aren't we." And she laughed "Okay then, let us see what kind of mind you have. She picked up a wand about a half meter in length from the case.

"What's that," asked Paul.

"This?" she looked at the wand, "Hmm this is an FMC 753-3 ANALYZER, hmmm, just an analyzer. It will see what's inside your head and assist in the direction of the implant. Now, we can see whether this mind that the Dean thinks so highly of is any good. Sorry, that was just a joke."

Her hand, quivering slightly moved the device around his head, down his torso. She took a deep breath and said mostly to herself. "Well, that wasn't too bad" With a flip of her long hair, she returned to the com screen and began to study the results. Her expression became more and more serious and intent as she fiddled with the com. She sat quietly for several moments.

"Hmm, well this is interesting indeed, actually, verily, I have never seen anything like this before." Looking at Paul, she narrowed her eyes, "No reason I should know, I never did a deep scan on one of your kind." She looked differently at Paul.

"What kind is that?" asked the naked Paul.

"Why Altairan, of course. There have been rumors you know. I never believed them. The Marines said some of the young ones could see things. See things they couldn't. You know, some have said the Altairans were using Neural Nets on everyone, maybe even the children." She shuddered.

Paul did know what she meant and paused as he began to dress, "What do you mean, see things."

"The stories from the Marines' years ago, practically a myth now about two of your, what do you call yourselves, your numbers I mean..."

"The fourteeners." Paul's said carefully,

"Yes, that's right. You numbered yourselves by how many years until, well you are legal and done with KED City. Which means you were all of four years old when you arrived. It's quite, adorable in a way." She smiled in a rather disturbing way.

"Released, you mean."

"What? Well, you arrived when you were four and oh yes, I see released at 18 years. Hmm, never thought about it that way, but yes, you would be released to well this world. Us too I suppose, finally and maybe get off this rock. But the legend or myth was that some of you fourteeners were different. Some can see things."

Paul said nothing.

"The Marines tell the story of how one of you orphans was being attacked, molested that is, by some perverted man in the early years. What was the name."

"Uumba." Whispered Paul and stared at her.

"Why yes. Yes, and the boy and girl, they were so little then. What were their names? I can see them. I met them; you know I had to examine them. J, John, no Jonathan and uhh..."

"Charlotte" finished Paul. "Charlotte and Jon Amberger. The twins."

"Yes, that is right; they were twins quite remarkable. Strange you recall their names. Well, of course, you would have known them." She looked again curiously at Paul. "And they went to the marines and told them a boy was being hurt. In a different quadrant, they could never have been too at that young of an age. They were so insistent and somehow convinced one of them, the marines, to take a look. And it was true. Those two knew somehow. And there were other stories that you knew what each other was thinking. They called it telepathy."

"No, that's nonsense." Said, Paul. "They just heard about it from other kids, from Q4 they just reported it."

"Well, how do you explain this my Altairan Fourteener?" And Schwartz spun the Com in his direction. It was a holographic rendering of Paul's head and brain. She flicked the Com, and a highlighted path lit up from behind his eyes to the center of his brain and then to just behind the ears. "Look here she pointed, "just behind the posterior commissure."

Paul stared, and she tapped the screen, and a small blob lit up in orange deep in the center.

"This is new, unprecedented actually. I mean this is not found in normal human anatomy. You have a new and extra region in your brain." And she then stared again at the screen. "You are different. What we have is a new bundle of nerves and connections running to the optic nerves and your cochlea. Hmm, what, one wonders, do they do."

Schwartz froze and stood up straight walked over to the FedEmp case and examined it again. Then back to the Com. The hologram of Paul's head was replaced by a diagram of a brain in black and white. It had arrows and written instructions on how to insert the FMC753 neural net. It showed the implant inserted into the center of the brain.

"Yes." Said the doctor. "It goes to the commissure. The little switching station in the brain between the hemispheres. A perfect spot to insert data from a neural connect. And you have a special organ, right there." Schwartz then slid the hologram back on the screen, and the orange dot in his scan matched directly with the spot where a military neural net connector would typically be placed.

"Hmmm. Interesting. It would appear that your altered brain has a biological version of the FMC 753 in place, wait. It seems some of the connections are incomplete. Incredible, this was done at the genetic level." She fiddled with the screen and paused, the screen flickered, and she scrutinized the results. "Oh my. It is in your genes. But, incomplete, only from the Y side. From a father. No contribution from XY." was all she said. Paul stared at the screen. It was true. The younger kids knew it. A few of the Fourteens, Fifteens, Sixteens, and Seventeens could supposedly talk to each other. They were the ones that always knew when something terrible was happening to one of the young ones. That was how the predator Uumba was caught and executed. It was only among the children that arrived who were four years old or younger when they arrived on Krison. They were different. Paul knew of them and had wondered about it. For some reason, they were sensitive and always knew when one of the other kids was scared or was hurting or in danger. They would soothe and calm you with their touch. Those few had done some act of kindness and intuition for hundreds upon hundreds of their fellow orphans, and they were accorded a special status among them. Charlotte had when they were very young, once touched Paul on the arm and he felt it. She smiled at him, and he felt peace. They were not quite honored but beloved and protected by the others, Paul included. Their difference kept secret and hidden by those that benefited from their near prescience.

"I best contact Shuttleworth. He will want to know and call off this dreadful procedure..."

Paul was sensing great danger and fear about this being exposed. He stood and grasped her wrist firmly and forced her down into the chair. "What are doing, how dare you." She struggled briefly.

"NO." he shouted. "You will NOT tell Shuttleworth. You will NOT tell a single person about this." He loomed over the shocked doctor. You will do the procedure on me, and you will not tell anyone." The doctor started to protest, and Paul cut her off. "There are a lot more of us kids than you. If we are different, and maybe we are, and word gets out, things could go very badly here. Do you think the FedEmp is going to let a bunch of Altairan rebel children with special brains run around the galaxy? What do you think would happen to anyone that knew about this? They will ask a lot of questions. We would all be in danger — especially you because you would be the witness and have the evidence. You would have to go. Remember, they murdered all of our parents."

Schwartz trembled as she saw the wisdom in what Paul said. If something about the children were to frighten the FedEmp, they might take a dangerous interest in Krison. Her thousand-kilometer land grant might become worthless and her future ruined. Even fifteen years later, Altair was a dangerous subject. "Yes. Hmm, I see your point." She looked at Paul's hand clenching her wrist now turning white. "Please."

Paul looked down and released her, and she rubbed her wrist.

"Give me the com." Schwartz grabbed the device and quickly began to delete all the images and data on Paul.

That completed she turned to Paul and said seriously, "The implant may have an unanticipated impact on your unique physiology young man. You could be harmed."

"Do it," Paul said.

The doctor blinked at him and said, "Hmm, most interesting." She pointed to the exam table, and Paul lay down.

She removed from the FedEmp case small glowing, shimmering wire. "There are two, one in each ear. You may feel a small amount of pressure, but it's nothing to worry about." The doctor approached and carefully set the shimmering device in his ear. It moved on its own through the auditory canal; she watched on the com as it traced a path to the commissure. Paul's head exploded in pain, and then he felt nothing more as he passed out.

After his recovery hours later, Paul suffered massive ongoing headaches and seizures but recovered day by day. Dr. Schwartz checked on him daily and provided ongoing pain medication of great strength whenever Paul needed it. The pain was compromising the plan to channel information to his brain, so Shuttleworth tried doses of hypno sleep training with increasing success. In the hypnotic sleep state, they did flood Paul's brain with the knowledge of the universe. But time was running out; he felt Paul would never succeed on Earth without much more information. Paul all but took up residence in a conference room in the administrative complex and slept there many nights. Dr. Schwartz continued to deal with the pain. He was force fed subjects from celestial mechanics to economics. Also included were Terran culture, history, languages, and etiquette. He had little time to reflect on these efforts.

After Shuttleworth imposed a grueling marathon session downloading mass amounts of information, far beyond the limits of the FMC system, Paul had trouble waking. Blood trickled from his left nostril; his left arm was numb. Schwartz revived him and spent the night in the room and provided what relief to Paul she could. She was quite furious with Shuttleworth and advised the old man that there was some weakening of cranial arteries that required repair in a better medical facility better than Krison, perhaps on Earth. Shuttleworth knew that was out of the question, too many questions, they must take their chances. But he relented and severely reduced the flow of information. Still, Paul was stricken with terrible headaches afterward and dreamed at night of things the nets had transferred, and he would be exhausted and weak.

In addition to being hooked by neural to educational machines, Paul received multiple streams of tutoring by department heads or the few quality instructors at KED City and when that completed Shuttleworth was testing him. When Paul felt his head was ready to explode and he could take no more, he would, late at night disconnect himself from the net and sneak out of his barracks or his conference room look at the stars and think of Renvall. Paul knew his situation was extraordinary. His impending departure, from Krison, was known to everyone on the planet. Every orphan and FedEmp caretaker knew his name. Anyone he met, on the occasions when he was freed from the conference room, greeted him and thanked or congratulated him. He was to be the first orphan ever to be released from Krison. He was going to Earth, and it was a wonder. The hopes and dreams of every orphan saw his success as a sign that someday the embargo would be lifted, and they would be freed from Krison as well.

The school's graduation ceremony was moved up several days to coincide with Paul's departure to Earth. The crowd at Paul's Q4,13 graduation was held outdoors, and over ten thousand attended. When he appeared, he received a thunderous ovation for five minutes. The next day when Paul and several tons of KK blasted off from Krison in an aging space freighter over 100,000 turned out from the KED City environs and covered the parched field which passed for Krison' s spaceport, just to send Paul off. As they watched the ship lift off from the planet, they saw the hope of their own freedom. Governor Higgins declared the day the first Krison world holiday.
Chapter 8 Meeting

September 1, 3254 R.T.E.

Paul managed to survive to the fourth year at the university and was now seeing another class arrive. It had been difficult and challenging, but he was making it. He discovered early on that being from Krison may have made him tough, but it had left many rough edges. At the mention of Krison, many would be offended, embarrassed or they would shun him. He had even been spat on, once. "Was it as bad as they say?" "From Krison, I didn't know they were allowing those people off that planet." "My father died in the War of the Twenty Suns, in an Altairan prison camp." He learned about sophistication and that he did not have it. The neural nets and teaching did not teach what to do. It had only provided data, memories he did not know how to access.

At least he was no longer relegated to the back half of the assembled crowd at the opening ceremony. For that was how Paul surveyed his progress at the at the great University of the Americas on the first day of his second year and found his place in the middle of the classes. He was one of several thousand students who now stood in a swirling mass on the university commons. Friends shouted greetings, pumping hands, and pounding backs. Student advisors bellowed out instructions attempting to order the officially gowned students of the many services.

Star Service cadets clad in black from head to toe held themselves aloof, yet still sweated in the hot autumn sun. The Diplomatic Service candidates were serene in light blue and talked quietly among themselves. Crimson, the color of war, was worn by the future officers of the Imperial army, who hooted and hollered and barked friendly insults to the star service cadets on one side and the green agronomy students on the other and anyone else who came by. The star service remained quiet, the green students laughed good-naturedly and yelled back at the soldiers.

The bodies and various colors began to sort themselves and clustered around class pennants whipping in the breeze above their heads. Paul pressed on towards his color, through the civil service, nodding to few acquaintances from interdisciplinary classes he had attended. Studies let alone majors, that provided a general education with the classical liberal survey of topics were rare. The empire had become a universe of specialists. Paul's sub-specialty was more narrowly refined to the point that it put him on the fringes of the academic world. He had studied Koenig and taken to be true what he had written of the empire's historical tendency: "The many essential purposes of the ones obscure the direction of the whole." That was fortunate for humankind. Paul had gleaned from a study, that the imperial palace embraced this thought and strove to offset the effects of the specialization, with great success in the millennial long line of Emperors, with a series of generalists. The University of the Americas, however, was a notable failure, the galactic Mecca of the specialist.

A huge roar erupted behind Paul. He turned with the crowd, straining his neck to see. A hapless black figure was being "passed" bodily hand over hand over the heads of the troopers, and the Aggies were eagerly awaiting the fellow. University and military officers were shouting unheard, to unhand the poor man in black.

Paul pressed on through Science and Technology (white), Law (dark grey), and finally to his own the miscellaneous brown of the Liberal Arts -- academics, researchers, and instructors. Just as he identified several familiar faces from his class, he saw her. Or rather, she collided with him, spilling her in processing documents onto the ground. They both blurted apologies; they bent to the ground to gather up the papers. That's when he got his first real look at her. His face was very close to hers. Her eyes were very grey and looked at him like no one else ever had. Paul righted himself and tried to say something witty. Her eyes continued to distract him, so he just attempted to say something coherent. "Uhm, here's your papers, ahh Constance."

"Well, thank you, but how do you know my name."

"Well, rightly I don't," said recovering his aplomb, "and in fact, I have never heard the name Constance before, lovely as it is, but I just read it off your folder, there." he gestured at the papers she was clutching. She seemed to become even more flustered.

"Oh, I see." She paused and looked around, "This is all, well, so imposing, you know."

"Yes, it always impresses; that's why they do it, I suppose."

"I see you're academic also."

"Indeed, Paul Smith at your service."

"Thank you, Paul Smith," when she smiled, her face lit up, and Paul got a funny feeling, "could you tell me where I am supposed to go now?" Paul directed her to the entry-level section and bade her farewell. She said, "I hope we will meet again, soon."

"I hope we do," replied Paul.

The final calls to order rang out, and Paul found his place in the mass formation. The University Officers and Imperial Service Level Nines appeared on the dais and officially opened the new academic year. These moments always gave the brown academics a bit of pride, for it was one of their own up there starting off the ceremony. The assembled mass stood, eyes on the speakers passing on blessings, advice, and invocations.

Paul glanced over his shoulder trying to catch a glimpse of her.

He spied her gold hair and caught her eye; they smiled at each other.

****

It was several weeks before he was even able to talk to her again. He was surprised how often he had caught himself thinking of her. Paul had begun to hit his stride academically at the university, and there was little time for dalliances. The pressure was on from the faculty. Though he was unaware of it, they had seldom seen the likes of him. From the very first days, in many of his classes, he was "The Student." After more than one curious instructor had checked his records, the word spread amongst the faculty; he was the one from Krison. But Paul never spoke of his background or his home to anyone. He learned early on if confronted by inquiries into his past, he merely shook his head and walked away.

Paul grasped the nature of the empire's political structures instinctively.

Lightning quick insights, only in part due to his immense neural enhancement, into the issues raised by his teachers, would startle, as often as amaze them, and sometimes even frighten them. One incident even led to a private agreement amongst the political faculty that extra caution would be exercised with Mr. Smith.

An overnight analysis by Paul of a lecture on planetary government, finance, and taxation, left the lecturer, Dr. Gromyko, dumbfounded. The course included actual examples of government tax collection from an insignificant planet. Paul, from public records, picked out a minor discrepancy in the transfer and handling of tax receipts before deposit with the sector Imperial Bank. Paul, through news reports, new that, the Ascella VI banking industry was under scrutiny by the FedEmp authorities. Paul pointed out in class that the those involved on Ascella VI were almost certainly carrying this out by taking advantage of deadlines for deposits of taxes with the central government, interest fluctuations and currency exchange between different systems and time changes found throughout the galaxy.

Paul half-jokingly surmised the conservative businesspeople/politicians in Ascella's ruling party were probably maintaining a political slush fund on the profits.

Gromyko approached an old colleague now with the tax service and told him of Paul's assertion. The official confirmed that was what more or less what was occurring, and prosecution was imminent. But, warned him to take care, the governor of Ascella VI was the cousin of the Emperor.

When the fall of the Ascella government, the scandal, and the embarrassment to the throne was mentioned in class later that semester, Paul stated quite seriously that a small dark horse agricultural movement would soon take power. It did. The instructor did not call on him again.

Paul's passion for studying the rise and fall of governments, civil war and revolution disturbed those teachers who knew how one came to be from Krison. Because of this interest, Paul was almost wholly given over to the teaching and guidance of Dr. Em El Cal. Dr. Cal was the only professor with enough background in the area to even discuss revolution with him. At the academic level it was considered arcane and a poor subject, elsewhere on Earth it was akin to treason. Revolution, except for the Altair anomaly, had not occurred in man's empire for over one thousand years. None further were expected or would be allowed. The Emperor's starships maintained the peace and his beneficent rule would continue to grant man new frontiers and the guidance to pursue them. The "Peace of Man" it was called by the official historians.

By the end of the second month of his second year at the university, Paul was being excused from all classes and began full time directed study under Dr. Cal. He was put through several weeks of intense, rigorous research, both on machines and with humans, until late October when study only brought back memories of Old Man Shuttleworth and Governor Higgins.

Paul was mentally drained. He had been striving for a clear and resolute definition of revolt and revolution. Again, and again they had gone over the ancient concepts. It was a chilly crisp autumn evening at the end of a stressful week. Paul sat in the empty faculty plaza sipping KK whisky from his stash, trying to clear his head. Paul had reached the limit of his allotment for time linked into the net, the headaches continued to plague him, but he and Dr. Cal had made progress.

"Revolution and revolt differ, objectively." he had argued with Dr. Cal.

"Despair is at the heart of the revolt. Revolutions are fraught with hope. In a revolution, the individual might, I emphasize, might die, for the glorious cause, the creation of the new order. Revolt remains immature, a paroxysm of violence, throwing off the shackles of bondage. Look at the example of Spartacus, the leader of the slave rebellion against Rome. He stood with his army at the open gates of Rome but, did not enter. He had nothing to give, only violence. For the rebel, be he victor or vanquished, the result is negligible. It is the act itself that atones. The rebel relishes only the freedom of death."

"And the revolutionist, what sets him apart?" prodded Dr. Cal.

"The revolutionist seeks to transform or replace the old with the new, whatever that might be."

"Transcend?" Dr. Cal questioned.

Paul ignored her joke, all but for his weak smile. "Revolution requires three discernable prerequisites. The oppression must be recognized. Progress disturbs the synchronous machinations of the established order, which allows oppression to ferment. The opposition must have a face, and it must be recognizable by the people, not only the oppressed. If it has a human face, and it always does, it is vincible. They must have hope; the hope of escape or victory over that face of oppression. The face of the enemy may emerge from a single event or occasion or opportunity, or it may be the accumulation of events. Oh yes, and a good slogan is also useful."

Dr. Cal laughed, "And the revolution is the unexpected, the surprise visitor on the doorstep of history?"

"Rejected," Paul went on, "the historian tells us revolution is not the result of a sinister conspiracy. History claims it is a lesion onto a spontaneous movement, an accidental upheaval of synchronization."

"Of what?" interrupted Dr. Cal.

Paul ignored her, "This I reject. While true in many, many revolutions, it is not universal. An extremely high correlation of factors; demographic, social, economic and so on exist between most revolutions. These are incipient in revolt and revolution, and they precipitate the event. It is the leader or leaders; the plan or the event that is the catalyst. It is the leader with a plan that differentiates the rebel and the revolutionist. I further postulate that under the proper environment or social system, with the proper tools, all these criteria can be fabricated."

"Simplify and summarize," Cal ordered him.

"Well, the people see the oppression.

"The people see the hope of escape

"There is one who will lead them

"All can be manipulated?"

"Now use math and codify it, but on Monday, get out of here. You look terrible. Go have some fun; you've done well." He was doing better than good. When he came off the machines like this, it was sometimes astonishing.
Chapter 9 Floating Fish

November 3254 R.T.E

Paul took one more drink from the flask and stuffed it into his coat. He rose unsteadily from the plasmeld bench, the material which always fascinated him, on which he had been resting and began wandering about the campus. He stopped before the massive library entrance. "My sanctuary from the turmoil of the real world." And it was, Paul made no friends and kept to himself. He missed Renvall terribly and wondered for the thousandth time what had become of him. Had Renvall made it to the marines, had he died, was he on Earth or back on Krison? Would he ever know?

He had not told Dr. Cal everything.

He went into the library. It was that damn name: McGraff. He had run across the name in the nets and on the machines and even in some obscure texts and tapes. The man had seemingly trod a similar path of research centuries ago. He had not found the original work itself, but his ideas were similar to Paul's and were repudiated by numerous generations of historians. The last reference was over two hundred years old.

He had come to the center of the library's main study hall. The enormous distances of the room and the bright lights made Paul blink his eyes. He glanced at his surroundings and came abruptly out of his musings. It was her sitting at the console, head down.

In the past weeks since the opening ceremonies, he had talked to her only twice in passing. Just hello, a little chat and they were off their separate ways.

He walked up to her table. Her head was in her hands as if she were crying. Painful memories of growing up at KED City stabbed at him; in the land of orphans, tears had fallen like rain.

Paul cleared his throat. She started up, surprised, "Oh, it's you, Paul."

He was suddenly embarrassed, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," but he had.

"I had better go."

A stricken look crossed her face, "No!" she blurted out and grabbed his arm, as he had begun to turn. Startled, Paul dropped into the seat next to her. "I mean, please, stay here and talk with me."

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Connie shook her head and waved her hand at the com screen full of equations.

"It's just the pressure and, and..."

"And you're homesick too."

"Yes." she wiped her eyes and looked very grim.

"Now it can't be all that bad."

"But it is, I am all alone, and my family is so far away. It is so different here; my teachers on Caladan warned me that I had led a sheltered life; they were right. Earth and the university are so, so overwhelming. Do you realize that I had never been in a classroom with students who were not of my family until I arrived here? I feel so helpless I did not even know how to clean up after myself. The other girls call me the poor little princess, and that is just what I am."

"The poor little princess.?

"Yes, that is what they call me." The way she said it with her aristocratic accent made Paul smile and laugh. He never doubted her.

"Oh, please, don't." But his laughter caught her, and she smiled at him.

"Are you really a princess?"

She looked at him carefully for signs that he was teasing. "Well, yes, I am the daughter of the Duke Artemons of Caladan. It's supposed to be a secret that I am here, but, well..."

And with that, the worried frown returned to her face. "Do you hate me for that, like the others?"

"Stars no, but really, the daughter of Duke Artemons, the true and benevolent?"

"Oh please, do not tease," she paused, "One moment, how did you know that?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tease, but yes I do know of your father."

"One of the new royal houses. You know I have never met a real princess before." She blushed and, but a smile flickered across her face.

"And I have never met a student like you, Paul Smith, excused from all classes for independent work- that is most impressive." It was Paul's turn to blush. He was embarrassed and somewhat frightened of his growing reputation at the university. He was sure it would soon die down.

"I think I have some advice to share with a princess. A couple of hours ago, my professor kicked me out of her office and told me to get some air and have some fun. Perchance m 'lady would like to join this humble servant on a cavort?"

Laughing now, "Well," she hesitated, "I would be honored to accompany the esteemed academician Paul Smith but under one condition. You shall call me Connie. No titles please, Paul."

"Agreed!"

And they were off.

****

"They used to call it 'Strawberry Spring,' nights like this. I read that or picked it up on the net somewhere." Paul and Connie lay together on the new grass gazing at the sky. They were far away from the city lights and on this extraordinarily clear night, the stars shone like they seldom did on Earth. It was many nights since their meeting in the library. They had spent much time together and had become very close. Both of them knew it but did not speak of it. Theirs was not to be. Tonight, though, the stars were beautiful.

"That is a strange expression. Earth is so full of them. I wonder where it came from." Paul remained silent. "Caladan is there somewhere," she pointed high to the Northwest, "where is your home mystery man. I mean which star is it that you come from, tell me?"

Paul stiffened momentarily and sighed, "It fell from the sky some years ago, where it is in the sky now, I don't know, but you'll know the name and you may not like it."

"No riddles now tell me," she commanded.

"Altair," he said.

She sat upright, she thought for a moment and leaned towards him, "Paul that is not funny, a lot of people died there."

"I know," he replied, "My parents among them."

He told her the story of his life, what he knew of the prisoner exchange and life at KED City, and even who his father was.

When he finished, Connie looked stunned. He was afraid she would despise him. Instead, she kissed him and whispered, "Oh, Paul, I'm so sorry."

They were silent and held each other.

"There was something I read today that reminded me of you. I was reading about Ire-land. It was in rebellion for a thousand years, a sorrowful tale. I came across a collection of revolutionary songs and ballads they had sung in those times, and there was one that reminded me of you." Connie moved closer to him. "Her eyes they shined like the diamonds; you would think she was the queen of the land. Her hair hung over her shoulder tied up in a black velvet band. It was a very sad song." Connie kissed him on the cheek.

"You'd make a beautiful queen, Connie."

"Duchess." she corrected. And here is my royal seal. She pulled a necklace out from her blouse; it was a gold disc with brilliant green jewels in the shape of a fish floating above the glittering jewels of blue water. The fish had a black almond shaped eye. Paul admired the beauty of it and marveled at the sheer extravagance of the object. He recognized the fish symbol from his research on Caladan just a few days ago.

"Unfortunately, you won't. Katrina, your sister, will assume power someday."

Connie sagged. "That is true. How did you discover that?"

"It was in the Imperial Royal Register. I looked it up in the library."

"Oh." She said and relaxed a little.

"Connie, what's going to happen to us, my princess?" Connie put the royal brooch back under her blouse and sat up again and turned facing him, running her hand through his hair. "We have never talked about it you know."

"Yes, Paul," she paused, "you know that I will be returning to Caladan this summer."

"Indeed, and it will be the longest most lonely summer of my life," said Paul.

"Yes, and mine too, love," she took a deep breath, and Paul closed his eyes.

"However, I will be returning to Caladan before the new semester."

He knew it would come sooner or later, but it still hurt. Constance had grown over the past months; her confidence returned, her aristocracy, her base. She delivered the blow as if a royal pronouncement, with the grace and aplomb of a princess. She went on explaining, but Paul did not hear all of it. "My father is not well...I must remain close to home. All is not well in the Majora Ursae sector. I will continue my studies at Australis University on Caladan... my father insists on a career of law...there may be a political marriage. I will serve the empire as a counselor or an ambassador... it is undecided... the days of royalty are coming to an end... I must serve my line... Paul, I am sorry... you have your work, and I have my duty."

When he opened his eyes, the moonlight made the tears on her cheeks glitter like diamonds. He kissed them away and held her close. He thought sadly, "Yes I have my work."
Chapter 10 Losing Constance

Therefore, the prince stands on a pinnacle which is exalted and made splendid with all the great and high privilege which he deems necessary for himself -

_John of Salisbury_

_The Statesman's Book 12th Century A.D._

April 3255, R.T.E.

The room was cast in a dim, desperate twilight that seemed to last and last. The approaching darkness brought no promise of coolness, no relief. He was caught in the emptiness of love.

They lay naked, unmoving on the bed. Their bodies were barely touching at the hips and shoulders. The angry roar of the city was a distant background accompaniment to their breathing. Children played in the street under the window. She would be leaving soon. He had long known that.

Unfulfilled passion held Paul and swirled amongst his frustration and anger. Her body was coated softly with perspiration, as was his. Her breasts cast dancing shadows as her breathing was deep, labored. She might have even been on the verge of sobbing, but Paul would never know, did not want to know. He had no right to know and struggled not to care if she truly loved him. He loved her desperately, wildly. But he might as well have been a peasant and she a royal princess who was promised to another- certainly, never to be his.

This was the end, she had again told him, they would never again make love, and she had said to him that she loved him, too.

Perhaps even as desperately as he did her.

Paul thought he remembered once that she had cried when he viciously attacked her pretensions and attitudes. She had not, though, he only thought she had; he had wanted her to. The social gulf between them was vast and could not be bridged. That they were both exceptional among the thousands at the university, he had no doubts. However, their love and un-slaked passion could not overcome or protect them from the direct collisions between their complex immaturity and the reality of life after graduation.

Tenderness, genius, cruelty, and passion were theirs alone- their secret whisperings and groping, like a scream in the night or the heat of a burning pyre. He felt her body become taught as she drew into herself. Night slipped into the room and robbed him of his last day with her.

As dusk surrendered to the evening lights and dark grime of the city sky, she asked. "Do you love me more than any other woman you have known?"

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat, then stood. He stared at the battered dresser immediately next to the bed. He fumbled for a glass of water on the bedside table.

There was a memory; he remembered the brilliant blue sky of the autumn day, now almost three years past when together, they had bought it from Bailey's- a resale shop around the corner.

The store was a hoard of treasure for the poor students, though it was not unusual to see a well-dressed man in a suit and tie picking through the junk alongside a skid row derelict. It operated on cash, barter or pawn. Jim, the owner, was a kind and mysterious fellow. He not only seemed to know where everything was in the colossal mess of his shop, but he always seemed to know what it was you were looking for- sometimes before you did. With a kind or gentle word for all, he would sell you the treasure you desired for whatever you could afford. Like the dresser. And the brooch he had secretly bought for her.

They laughed as the wind blew leaves around their feet as they carried the dresser down the street to their apartment. She had just moved in, and this was their first purchase together. They had barely gotten it in the door before they fell into the bed in a tumble and made love into the night. He gave it to her that night with only the light from the moon and the stars shining in the window of the small bedroom.

A glint of silver light reflected off her brooch and caught his eye. It was resting on the flotsam atop the dresser. He reached for it and fingered the cold metal as he moved to the foot of the bed. It reminded him of winter. It was triangular in design with etching and made of purest, most brilliant silver. He had thought it as beautiful as she when he bought it.

From where she lay, he stood framed in the double French doors which opened into the living room. The last rays of twilight back lit him and obscured his face.

"Yes, and forever." He replied.

The shadowy shape of her body did not move, but her head fell to one side, and she stared out the window at the concrete and grime of the building across the alley. He tossed the brooch aside and lay down again.

He had inscribed the brooch before he gave it to her.

"When it is darkest, never give up hope."

****

The alarm sounded in darkness, but Paul had not slept. He rose and prepared for the day. Constance had left around midnight and through quiet sobs, wished him farewell. He ate breakfast, checked for his borrowed journalist's pass and as the sun began to peek over the building, Paul headed for the tram stop, this took him to the main chute, which led in and out of the southwest part of the city, with a stop at the spaceport. Paul took a seat in a car with the thousands of other commuters. The agent of FESS that is the FedEmp Security Services, following him that day was astounded. This was the first unusual, unanticipated behavior from Paul that the agent Edgar had ever witnessed. It was pure coincidence that he, the senior agent had taken the duty for the day. He was doing a favor for a younger sick colleague. He watched Paul sit and stare grimly ahead.

At 7:00 AM prompt, the Caladan valet and the princess' royal assistant knocked on Constance's dormitory room door. She was ready, dressed conservatively, in the custom-tailored suit she had ordered. It cost the price of a half year of tuition. Her hair and overall appearance had been crafted by the finest of professionals in the last several days. She transformed from the drab proletarian look of the UA student to the dark, sleek conservative and so exquisite look of an aristocrat, a royal. The assistant frowned at the princess' eyes, red from crying with dark circles from lack of sleep. They had work to do. By 7:45 am the princess had stepped aboard the ground air shuttle parked in front of her dormitory. Caladan agents quickly carried her personal belongings from the room to the shuttle. Several students, up at that time, gaped at the site. The shuttle lifted off and headed for the spaceport at subsonic speed. Constance stared out the window at the beautiful capital for the last time. She passed over the chute carrying the day's commuters out of the city. At the spaceport, she was ushered into a private room and briefed, for the third time that week, by the delegation's public relations person.

Her hands were shaking, and she was pale. The PR person was worried. At 9:00 A.M. she exited the room and walked onto a stage into the glaring lights of the assembled galactic media. She read a brief, prepared statement and then accepted questions from the Earth press. Generally, most of the press, were openly hostile to the very idea of minor royalty considering them a frivolous affectation in a modern universe; a foolish drain of resources. Many harbored, albeit secretly, contempt of the Emperor as well. But the tabloids loved the royals and thrived on their existence and covered every step and misstep of the dozens of Royal Houses. They were present in force.

Paul exited from the shuttle and hurried through the glass-walled walkways and brightly lit corridors until he found the media reception. He flashed his borrowed UA student media credential and was waved into the press conference by a bored port authority guard. It was already underway. He made his way slowly through the crowd working his way to the front. Constance spotted him in the middle of an answer and trailed off, her eyes locking on his.

"Wots ya' favrit reclection of Earth Miss Constance, I mean princes?" queried a disheveled journalist, Arboga Chicago, who among other muckraking entertainment publications was a stringer for the Galactic Entertainment Inc., one of the most massive and most unscrupulous holographic broadcast news feeds, or tri-vid tabs as they were known.

"That I was able to meet the most wonderful people one could ever come to know and to love them and to hope that they would never be forgotten."

The PR official, alarmed at the princess's sudden agitated state and the tears on her cheeks, abruptly called an end to the press conference. Arboga was struck by the fact that the princess seemed to be staring at someone in the back of the crowd. He followed her stare. It was directed at a young man of college age in rough clothing, and he was staring intently at her with a grim expression.

Arboga, sensing a story, pushed back through the small crowd to get closer to the man. The young man began to turn and head to for the door, and Arboga focused his tri-recorder on him and got but a few seconds of the man and a glimpse of his face. Then he slipped out the door, and Arboga was cut off by the crowd and could not pursue.

Constance was whisked out of the room by Caladan security agents to a waiting ship and left the planet.
Chapter 11 Arboga Chicago

Arboga Chicago hurried back to his tiny apartment transmitting a quick edit of the story for Galactic as he ran. His apartment was not far from the university but located seven stories underground in a poor section of the capitol. It served as his office, residence and editing studio. He needed access to nets from his apartment so that he could research the mysterious young man. A small payment from Galactic hit his account as he opened his door. There was a message from his 'editor,' who purchased his celebrity stories. It said simply, "More dirt!" Chicago quickly re-did the vid and laced it with clips of several young, handsome playboy royals and linked them all to the princess. He even blamed her tears on being jolted by one Seanus Trancension, the dashing star-hopping mega rich son of an industrialist who was the 'in' thing right now.

But Chicago had a hunch about the look the princess got from that young man. Those two were up to something. He replayed the 3v over again and again. He finally extracted the face and started a run on it linked with University of Americas. In microseconds up popped a student id holo of one Paul Smith. "Well, now we are getting somewhere. A little classmate of the princess huh?" The picture was a sandy-haired young man with intense expression and a powerful face. "You will look wonderful on Galactic, young man!" Chicago was giddy. This was a juicy story; he could feel it. But, where the trail started, it ended. Chicago found nothing. Not another whisper of this man. As frustrated as Chicago was, he began to tingle. "This has got to mean something AC."

He keyed in the associate editor's assistant copy editor of the trash gossip section on royals, "Calvin Ekberg, it is I, Arboga Chicago, Galactic's finest journalist."

"Arboga, you drunk hack. No more about that Rikki sex thing."

"Ahh, Ekberg, you flatter me. That was a good little bit, though."

Ekberg grunted.

"And here is the thing, my glorious editor, there may be a commoner involved, with a mysterious secret history."

Ekberg for once focused on Arboga, "A commoner you say?"

"Yes."

"Well, get me the dirt."

"I am, I am, or I will. There is just a little matter of a small sum that I owe to U Research, and I cannot research without a bit of assistance.'

Ekberg sighed, "How much?"

"A mere pittance actually, just 6,250 Galactic."

"What?"

"Let's call it 7,000 to be safe. What say you, my fine editor?"

"A commoner linked to a beautiful royal princess. Hmm, Ok This commoner thing better be good, Chicago. No games this time."

Ekberg clicked some buttons and reestablished Chicago's research account.

"Oh Calvin, I promise it will be spectacular! It will be the stuff of headlines, I promise!"

"You have 48 hours." Ekberg shook his head and clicked off.

****

Deep in the bowels of the imperial secret service complex far underground, a little red light flashed on the console of a sleepy analyst. The analyst roused and looked at the intercept. It was a TriVid feed received from an unknown source by Galactic Entertainment. It was a clip of a press conference and the face of some man. It indicated a potential search breech of a persona non-grata that for whatever reasons was considered so secret that no one was allowed even to try to find him. The analyst pulled up the attached protocol. It instructed to arrest the individual for a violation of the Imperial Secrets Act, notify 193WM "Edgar," the 'FEDEMP CICSC' (Commander in Chief Space Command), and someone called Clinton Hurst, Guardian Ad Litem, Krison Minor Dependents, Department of Foreign Affairs. What in space was a guardian thing? And a CICSC, that was the Red Fleet- strange. It did not matter; he did not need to know anymore. This persona non-grata was too hot, and the less he knew, the better. She followed the protocol, sent it off and went on break.

****

Hurst scanned the secret service alert and blanched. He linked Edgar in immediately, "This must not happen."

"Hurst, you are a master of understatement. I should never have let this happen. I will now clean up your little mess." And he clicked off.

****

Ekberg was sipping his morning hot caf drink to soothe his aching head. He had a foggy recollection of last night, celebrating the now hot story from Chicago. That hack said it would be good and the story pulled great ratings during the past cycle. If Chicago came up with a commoner connection, he could get a follow-up and maybe a promotion from this glorified errand boy position of his. Ekberg was picturing himself moving up to the top floor in his own cube when he opened his eyes two very large and very scary Galactic Security officers stood at his desk.

The black one said, "Ekberg, come with us. The Imperial police wish to speak with you."

The white one said, "Ekberg, don't touch anything and don't say a word."

And they marched him off.

****

Arboga Chicago's legwork saved him from arrest. He could neither run very fast, nor dance, but he had been forced to go and find Smith personally and ask him. Smith did not respond to inquiries and was not in his dorm. Chicago went out and talked to people at the University that knew of Paul. There were many. He apparently was quite the student. Another student in his building told Chicago that Paul had a place off campus and described where it was. Arboga was literally going door to door and running names on doors through the nets when an old run-down apartment came up with a fake name. Jules M. Robens did not exist. On further checking with the landlady, she identified Paul as the center and the beautiful lady as a visitor. She only knew him as Jules.

'A secret apartment for him and the princess.' I got it! Their little love nest! Yes'.

He linked up Ekberg immediately, "Ekberg, Ekberg. I got it! I got the story!"

"Mr. Ekberg is unavailable at this time." said the earnest man on the screen. "Are you Arboga Chicago? We would like to speak with you..." Chicago cut the link and thought quickly. That was no editor. That was police. They had Ekberg and wanted me. Royal, commoner, hidden identities. Chicago ran and tossed his comm into the sewer. He was slow, but his quick thinking saved him from the Imperial Police lift that was descending on the apartment he had just visited.
Chapter 12 The Eagles

The bird creature slid over turbulent currents of air. Vicious snow squalls swirled between the peaks of the mountain valley. A black chasm, the sides of the peaks fell into the planet beneath. Kwiswath momentarily felt a twinge of fear. Instinctively, his kind feared both the enclosure of the chasm and the danger of the bottom of the world.

An icy blast of gale force winds raging about the sky rolled him over on his back. The suddenness and force of the buffeting winds scattered his fears. He then thought of the food below. He mused at what the human had called the mad beasts blue bears. This day great skill he must take, to strike two gwains with one swoop. The winds momentarily checked, and the bird glided effortlessly, without apparent movement through the gray sky.

After seemingly becoming motionless in the sky, Kwiswath rolled over and began the descent. He checked sense of location, brought in his wings and plummeted like the wind into the depths below. Snowflake sniffing and foraging gwains were seized by stampede terror only moments after the first had seen the avian burst from the gloomy overcast. Kwiswath was large and strong, and a skilled flier, even among his kind, and this split-second decision to seize, and try to lift the two gwains in one swoop was not without thoughts of future boasts. The four hooved beasts were racing in blind fright for the rocky walls of the canyon. He checked speed again when he was almost directly over the herd. Slightly to his left, two animals looking over shoulders stumbled and almost collided. Kwiswath had his targets. With a snapping flutter of white wings, long talons plunged into the shoulders of both beasts and wings beat for lift, straining against the sudden added weight. The beasts thrashed wildly and tried to reach back and snap at the legs that held them. His grip, though, was firm enough to last for the seconds he needed. When he circled high enough, he released the animals above a patch of solid ice. The beasts, in a near convulsive state of fear, flipped wildly in the air. The sound of bones shattering and ice cracking with the impact filled the valley and echoed off canyon walls. Plumes of snow, driven up by the impact of the beasts on the ice, settled gently, back down upon the now lifeless animals. With the remainder of the herd shuddering in fright behind the rocks and in the crannies of the sheltering walls, the valley was silent excepting the wind.

Kwiswath descended on the now dead creatures and scanned the valley floor with his regular sight. He raised his head and shrieked in triumph and victory. All beings, great blue bear, and tiny snow mouse fled before his shout.

After gorging himself on one of the beasts, Kwiswath, washed and preened himself in the unfrozen, warm, open water nearby. When he was satisfied that his plumage was resplendent, he hopped over to the other creature and snatched it up with his long claws. The blood and flesh of the beast warmed his talons. He headed up into the mist and for home.

When he cleared the falling flakes and penetrated the roof of the clouds, he switched to visual. He reached out with the sense, towards home to mate Shiwu and felt her warm force. He felt others to the North and East and the West, but to the South, the new and strange noise blotted and obscured any voices. It was indeed not the garbled sense of the humans whom he found so endlessly amusing, nor was it from their huge nests. There was none of their kind within many days' journey. This must be the other force- noise his father had fled twenty days ago. The noise of which others had spoken. Someday he would see for himself. But, for now, all was peace and Kwiswath was the king of his own wide, white world. 
Chapter 13 Final Lecture

Discretely, the agent Edgar entered shortly after Paul began and sat in the back of the ancient lecture hall. He sat in the shadows studying the lecturer. It was the first time he had ever seen Smith in person in all these years. His sandy hair had grown long, almost to his shoulders, this surprised Edgar for some reason. An actual lecture was a rarity in the modern empire, and Smith's series had drawn much attention. Word had spread. The hall was full. Smith had a real presence about him and while his students were few, several hundred were in attendance. Smith's reputation and the stated topic which seemed to imply democracy, was risqué and in vogue, at least in this academic world; it was anathema to the FedEmp. Edgar studied the hall and its antique ornamentation and only half listened as Smith droned on about communism. He remained alert for a reference to dreaded democracy. He did not have to wait long.

"So today we will compare the two historical, dissimilar political social arrangements – communism and democracy and the current societal bulwark of the reg tech. The audience rustled at the word democracy.

The lecture now had his full attention. Edgar turned on his monitoring and listened closely.

"Let's start with communism. The success of the old Soviet form of bureaucracy aside, a Marxist synthesis of the real world tends to end in folly. The historical examples we have, of head to head comparisons of Marxist dominated governments versus democratic capitalist societies demonstrates that either model leads to similar fates; despotism it seems, is both their end games.

"Communist societies tend to fail abysmally in a shorter time span. Economically, unable to meet the most basic materialistic needs of the populace of a modern society they crash on the realities of simply feeding, clothing and housing their proletariat. Furthermore, socially, the Marxist societies were voids of art, science, free speech - even thought was required to conform to a strict, but broken Marxist line."

"What we see with the attempts at Marxist communist societies are the general subversion and outright suppression of the individual's rights. Such a socialist state necessarily undermines the rights of its citizens. Lacking free market and freedom of choice, the resulting economy would invariably foster centralized coercive political regimes. Forced redistribution of property is a form of coercion. From its first occurrence when communism was put to the test in the Soviet Roosha this new communist society had to create revolutionary forces to keep the rule by means by extreme violent means.

"The value of labor is problematic. Communism modified thinking pertaining to value, thus creating a new approach. Value was determined by the 'socially necessary labor'. This disconnected a good, product or service from natural tendencies to have value, based on the utility or pleasure its purchaser received, or from its level of scarcity. Thus, Marxist theory can claim that the working class was exploited under capitalism, because only labor creates profit and disconnects price and value.

"This disconnection of price and value removes the normal signals that sellers and buyers receive from prices. There is no mechanism to equalize production and demand for a good. The result is surplus or shortage and a misallocation of societal resources, black markets and general market disruption.

"Incentives to produce a good that would, with normal price signals be heavily demanded do not exist. A producer may tend to manufacture that which is easy, not what is needed.

"Analysis of Marx's value theory and law of the tendency of the rate of profit to fall, and I quote King here 'are internally inconsistent.... Marx drew conclusions that actually do not follow from his theoretical premises that aggregate price and profit are determined by and equal to aggregate value and surplus value... which is simply not true, and the exploitation of workers is the sole source of profit.'

"Communism militarily had some success, the Nazi-Communist World War in the mid Twentieth century, you can look it up, but even so, that was ended when the old United States introduced nuclear power. The old communist Russian empire finally collapsed when it could not match the capitalists' ability to wage what, at the time appeared to be meaningless colonial-type wars of occupation and attrition. The capitalist US fought the communists to a standstill on the other side of the planet, right about here," Paul pointed to the spot on the holo of Earth, "in South East Asia, for some fifteen years. The Russian empire attempted the same thing here, in Afghan land. Both wars appeared to be failures at the time but within a few decades, almost all of Asia was a thriving capitalistic market, Afghan land had reverted to theocracy, and the Russian empire was history.

"To summarize the flaws inherent in the Communist system, include the suppression of individual rights, the modified labor theory of value, removal of price signals, distorted incentives to society and philosophical inconsistency and military deficiency.

"Democracy and its economic support system of capitalism, requiring unrestrained private ownership and market-based decision-making leads to the concentration of capital, employment and power in the hands of an oligarchy. It also eventually leads to the almost complete destruction of economic freedom. There is the loss of individual democratic power. Usually by the erosion of the value of a single vote and decline in relative economic power. The super concentrations of money and property, in the hands of a very small minority of the human population down to a 99.9 to .1 ratio of over 90% of wealth hoarding was what we tended to see in the later years of the Athenians and the Americans. The removal of over 90% of wealth from the 99.9% majority severely restricted the totality of the culture and destabilized the system to the tipping point. Capital that could have benefited society was insulated and active only in a loop closed off from society as a whole.

"But capitalism could allocate products and goods. Stars knows, it could. Why in the nineteenth century a single corporation called Sears sold from its data base 33,000 different consumer goods from clothing to houses. That was from just one of many, many corporations that existed. By comparison the communist society might have hundreds or a few thousand in total, at best. The FedEmp Regal Technologica, which manages our access to technology has on our current domestic approved consumer product list, and I emphasize just consumer products, the list is around 250,000. However, on old Earth by the early twenty first century a capitalistic corporation was selling over three billion products, not all consumer, but three billion directly to citizens." Paul paused for effect. RegTech severely controlled production and goods and consumers, including students complained endlessly, especially about clothing. A number of students glanced around and there was a slight murmur as they digested that statistic and considered the restrictions of RegTech.

"Loss of democratic power though, was extensive under the capitalistic system where individuals would forfeit their rights to corporate beings created under the rules of capitalism. You might be competent to vote for a national leader but not for a corporate boss or corporate policies.

"Creeping Totalitarianism was the cancer that eventually ate away at the institutional protections of a constitution or rule of law. Failure to adhere to the rules which governed the people and those governing, such as an emergency military action unsupported by the people, led to further encroachments until the point where the society morphed into a totalitarian oligarchy ruled by a government that was democratic in name only with vague processes that mimicked that of a true representational system.

"Democracy over time became hierarchical, bureaucratic, and dominated by large corporations, pursuing profit over social welfare.

"The periodic or cyclical devastating economic and financial calamities dispelled the notion that capitalism is a viable or safe economic system leaving a populace always fearing the next failure.

"Thomas Jefferson, remember him, he was the name of the man that was one of the key designers of the old American democracy and the USA government.

"Here is the quote from Jefferson, "I hope we shall crush [...] in its birth the aristocracy of our moneyed corporations, which dare already to challenge our government to a trial of strength and bid defiance to the laws of our country"

"We all know how that turned out.

"Before I move onto the RegTech.

"I want to respond to a question I received earlier about relevance. The question was whether the social sciences, political and economic sciences are suffering. Forgive me if I embellish your simple question, a severe degeneration as a result of purely inward searching intellectual pursuit which has no application outside a small circle of researchers seemingly arguing issues of no more consequence than the number of angels that might dance on the head of the pin.

"Yes, there seems to be a state of perpetual disagreement pervading political science, and unlike the pursuits of the natural sciences. We cannot yet concur on an accurate account of the processes by which our galaxy operates. In fact, the study often seems to be drifting aimlessly from one debate to the next.

"To conclude that this is futile is entirely incorrect. For social science is the pursuit of an understanding of human behavior.

"I submit to you, as an example the decision of the Emperor some 150 years ago to install harsh tariffs and quotas on trade between Earth and the outer planets had little effect on the laws of gravity. But it certainly changed the demand for Martian diamonds. And that is why we study our political behavior."

"Back to the main topic now."

"Those of you who regularly attend my class know I consider that our universe can be represented by a model, a triangle, pyramid. This figure, as one knows from life experience, is a fundamental structure of human society. It permeates religion, mysticism, architecture, engineering, sociology, and of course, the subject at hand, the organized and consented authority of one man over his fellow man. Turmoil exists in the all-pervasive triangle. It seems to bind our existence.

"I refer to the ordinary form of human organization. Work, for example, has its broad base of laborer and ordinary functionary, supervisors, the foremen, and the managers through to the apex with boards and executive officers. This triangle structure pervades our work, our religions, our schools the clubs and the government.

"I reject the belief, so prevalent through my academic discipline, that our social structure may become unbalanced, non-supporting, falter and collapsed. Or for that matter be altered.

"The pyramid of social nature exists as surely as this planet revolves around its star.

"As surely as the Surrexurant rules the known universe.

"What is consequential is how power is distributed within the triangle. Humankind is not static rather it, a dynamic force, roiling in response to certain factors which we are now for the first time beginning to see and understand. In our society, some persons will gravitate to one place than the other. Some will tend to be at the top or near so, others remain at the base. This we know. There is, of course, freedom and mobility within the triangle. Great men arise from nowhere to perform wondrous and noble deeds. To the casual observer, these men are singularly exceptional, phenomenal. This was true when humankind was confined to the small cradle of her infancy, Earth and the Solar System. Even through the later years of humankind on a single planet with 25 billion, these great men did arise. In those times before the "breakout," the societal triangle was densely populated but not so vast that one could not move from the base to the apex with all of such a movement's implication. A pauper might aspire to be a king, and it sometimes happened."

"Now today we have the RegTech." There was a murmur at the mention of the philosophy underpinning the FedEmp. With broad historical strokes, he explained the sudden explosion of man upon the universe, the population growth, the turmoil, and the scourge of technology undermining of society. "Today the question is, does the triangle remains intact? The regal bureaucracy, which over the centuries developed the philosophy of the Regal Technologica -- the guiding hand of the appointed would protect humankind from the darker impacts of capitalistic technology run rampant. Along the way it facilitated a universal empire of humankind."

"Ours is now a RegTech existence, a far-flung empire, yet the triangle remains intact. The eddies and currents within are now truly massive. The trillion of the empire has now become monolithic in certain demographic aspects. And there are challenges to RegTech. Let us take recent history and the Twenty Suns.

Silence in the hall.

"The occurrence of democracy in the history of humankind is as rare as is its long-term survival. They have failed. All of them. It infrequently appears in the timeline of history seldom supplanting the rule warlords, kings and despots. There have been few. The ancient Sumerians, the Indian sanghas in the 6th century B.C., Sparta and Athens of Ancient Greece, the Americans and the Altairans are the notable examples. The flaws that plagued the Athenians, Rome, the British and Americans did not or did not have time to take root in the Ultra Democrat rule. I think otherwise and I am going to speculate that the use of that forbidden technology provided internal strength to the triangle of UD society such that they were immune to the problems of historical democracy. The UD's determined to make use of forbidden technology to specifically avoid the cancers of oligarchy, corporation and inverted totalitarianism. They used what the Regal Technologica labeled 'a perversion of humanity'. It is my belief, based on a study of the historical record that they used telepathic technology, 'TT' for short. They used this TT, and not just for limited uses by the military or special persons in the society. It was the basis of the UD existence. Every citizen of the Twenty Suns may have used TT. I believe it was a requirement to be a citizen. The societal power of a system combining a pure democracy with the complete and universal communication of TT was immense. The increased power that ubiquitous communication afforded, allowed them to avoid the inherent problems of democracy and harness it full potential. Corporations were completely transparent, and all work relationships were open to society, oligarchy became irrelevant. The accumulation of large sums of wealth was avoided because unfair advantage was eliminated. Inverted totalitarian decisions, government decision that would subvert democracy, could not take hold. At any moment the entire population could always engage the entire government on all matters. The citizens did not need elected representatives. Their concurrence to be governed in any manner was direct and constant. A citizen could be involved in practically every decision affecting society. It magnified the capabilities of a small population in many ways. We will never be able to prove it but the destruction of Altair by the most powerful weapon in the history of humankind was a confirmation of the power and strength of the UD.

"I thank you and I wish you all the best of luck in your future endeavors. Class dismissed." Edgar sat stunned and grimaced. The boy had figured it all out. The military and intelligence minds of the FedEmp suspected much the same. It was a state secret. And this boy just laid it all out in a lecture to several hundred. And the RegTech. Three billion different goods in the old days; a lost world to the Reg Tech. How could something like that even function. Edgar shook his head and thought to himself, "This boy must be gone" and slipped out an exit.

It was the last lecture Paul would ever make at the university. A long line of students waited to shake his hand and wish him well.

Within a half of a year, he could complete his theory of class structure and blow major holes in some ancient beliefs of the empire and Regal Technological and fallacy of the Surrexurant. If he only had six more months. The posting had recently come down, and with it, the administration had halted his research activities and confiscated his records.

Chapter 14 Guardian Ad Litem

Clinton Hurst welcomed his posting to Earth. In fact, he broke down and wept tears of joy when he was informed. The years spent on Krison with Higgins had been difficult. His career advancement had, to a great extent, depending on Bartholomew Ainsworth Higgins. After the scandal of the prisoner exchange and the Altair children, he accepted that his record was ruined as was Higgins'. But he had underestimated his mentor's resourcefulness. He had not only managed to secure the Krison governorship but somehow, but he had also done all he could to re-habilitate Hurst's career.

The unique commonwealth status of Krison created out of thin air by the Red Marshall, required a unique representative on Earth: part ambassador, part foreign service officer. The former lacking the amenities, the latter the security. It was a balancing act where one had to represent the interest (or non-interest as the case might be) towards Krison; and the planet's interests on Earth. He had never quite dreaded the delicateness of that balanced position as much as he did this day.

For several years, his offices had spent an increasing amount of time with the issue of Paul Smith. Hurst was one of a handful of people in the Empire who knew with certainty- who the young man's father was. Hurst recalled his immense amusement (and perhaps that was where the seeds of his current cynicism had taken root) at the time the 'FESS' the FedEmp Security Section or secret police, had reported that his young charge, student and son of rebels, Paul Smith, had apparently fallen in love with a student from Caladan, a minor house, that was an actual royal princess. He had strange feelings about the information. At the time, he was quite proud that one of his children could have taken up with a royal. And a Caladan of all the royal houses. That house was dangerously out of favor with the imperial court. There were rumors of new tech that the Caladan had developed and been hiding. It was alleged to allow uncalculated warp travel. He did not understand the physics but knew enough that it was a revolutionary change in space travel. Oh, my young Smith.

'Damn aristocrats,' had thought Hurst, 'a worthless anachronism, royalty, you could be certain the Altairans, had any been alive, would have been appalled at the thought of Roderick Smith's son dating a royal.'

Thus, had begun the first great ironic prank that Hurst perpetrated on an unsuspecting, and for that matter unknowing, empire. It was only for him to enjoy, or so he thought \-- he let the relationship continue. He even insisted that his FESS contact keep tabs on the whole affair and report back to him regularly. Then he found out that the Caladan delegation, bless their blue-blood, had discovered that their precious, little royal princess was spending far too much time with a radical student from Krison. Caladan agents were planning who knows what to vent their official displeasure; something was being designed to happen to Paul; Princess Con-stance, apparently going to get a stern lecture or whatever it was that Royals did to discipline each other. But Hurst moved first. He summoned his FESS contact Edgar and warned him that the Caladan interference with Paul and Constance would jeopardize the "secret matter" at hand. FESS intervened, Hurst never did figure out what they did, but he suspected FESS disliked foreign royals as much as he and Paul and Constance were given their time together on Earth.

Hurst smiled and sighed. Today, though, was another day, and Edgar, who had just departed his office and who was not sure but suspected, the true identity of Paul. He had delivered documentation about the young man who possessed a security classification beyond anything he had seen. It was merely locked in a sealed vault on Luna by verbal order of the Emperor. Possession of the knowledge was accorded the status of a state secret, by only a few persons on Krison, the Surrexurant throne, the Red Marshall (from Higgins) Hurst and precious few others. None knew better than Hurst of the danger Higgins had flirted with in forcing the decision to tell Paul of his true father.

Hurst wondered if they would all live to regret the decision. Once again, Paul had come to the attention of the authorities. Edgar had been the FESS case office on Paul for almost as many years as Hurst. He knew much of the matters of Krison, the children and most recently, Paul. Edgar had made, and Hurst had gladly accepted the "suggestion" that Paul be removed from standard classes and put into purely independent study. The agent was discreet to the extreme, but the little he had revealed, with his quiet investigations, made clear that Paul's name had been mentioned in the imperial court.

His studies of revolution always seemed to lead back to Altair. His scholastic analysis and research, as the official had put it, "were considered by some to be unsound" With the sincerity of an old uncle who had seen a nephew go astray, the agent sadly informed Hurst that Paul Smith must leave the University and Earth as well. Their young genius had become far too unsettling to both remain in the imperial seat and retain his head. While Hurst did not clearly understand the theories of Paul Smith, he did know the danger Paul's ideas could present.

Hurst was, by default, one of the most extensive repositories of information on the Altair Rebellion and had seen with his own eyes the final results of the Altairan Freedom of Man. Indeed, the Freedom of Man. A treatise and an idea banned and crushed by the force of imperial storm troopers and a flash of Illyrion. Recall of those memories of the destruction of Altair, an instant elimination of planet and people, had always left Hurst frightened and caught in the grip of anxious vertigo. He looked down at his hands. The knuckles were white from gripping the edges of his desk.

Deep within him, bitterness that hid and began to well up. For the first time in his life, Hurst realized he too was a victim of the Twenty Suns. The dead bodies, the orphaned children, the careers ruined, the idealism lost.

Hurst thought back to his youth. He had once been young and idealistic. With precise clarity, he recalled the passionate discussions at the University. The Freedom of Man was then, just promised by the Altair Congress. He had attacked the ideas as false and treasonous.

"The Federation Empire is the culmination of one thousand years of social evolution. The constitution as set down by the fathers remains essentially intact yet, has been fine-tuned to reflect the changes in modern society. The upstart Altairans are nothing more than neo-socialists. They will sacrifice the individual in man for a controlled and disciplined society. The human species will be lost under their faceless society." he had said.

But, now he was not so sure. It was true that the Altairans insisted on order and discipline and were militaristic, but that was by necessity. They were at war throughout their brief existence. Hurst now doubted that millions would willingly perish on behalf of inhuman societal order. Despite what he believed, he was, strangely, custodian of all that was left from the rebellion. He had too long analyzed events affecting him as either helping his career or hindering it. In reality, it mattered little. The last of the "children" would soon homestead their land grants or immigrate throughout the galaxy. Those that chose to leave Krison would go only to "safe" planets where they would not make revolution as did their fathers and mothers.

Hurst's tenure in his current office would soon end, and he would inevitably be shuffled to an obscure posting in the foreign service to spend his remaining years before retirement and pension. He was sad; he would miss Paul. What then would he have accomplished with his life? He had no wife, no children, no legacy other than his work. His accomplishment had been to help dismantle the remnants of a revolution that had fought and died for something called Man's Freedom.

'No,' thought Hurst.

The agent had left the decision of where to send Paul up to Hurst. He called up the planetary listings which classified planets on a scale as to acceptability for potential immigration of the "children." The stable and bland were rated high and acceptable; the dynamic and politically explosive were low and not acceptable. Hurst called up the list of the lowest most unstable worlds. The several dozens of planets the secret police had rated low, were scattered throughout the explored galaxy. The furthest from Earth was an ice ball of a mining planet far out in Car Cairoli. It rates less than one on the scale, its prime detriment being an inherently unstable industrial labor history. For the first time in his life Clinton Hurst formulated a purely dangerous idea:

"Paul Smith, meet your new home, Arandice."
Chapter 15 Aranson

Having finished his farewells to students, Paul walked into his office, shaking hands and saying goodbyes to colleagues and school employees. Finally reaching Dr. Cal's office, he collapsed in his chair and stared at the ordered confusion on his working desk. The travel orders printed on filament paper lay on her desk. The order was not printed on real paper that was found only in old museums and the deep dark archives of arcane libraries which had kept some books or had not yet transferred them to comm. Paul knew of books- real paper books - that was how he knew of McGraff. That damn McGraff.

The travel authorizations were for Paul Smith, Doctoral Candidate, Political Sociology, University of the Americas, Washington, N.A. Earth, Sol. The destination on the papers was Arandice Mining Cartel Institute, Clexton, T.Z., Arandice, Asterion, Canes Venatici, where he was to assume a position at the university succeeding the existing, outgoing University Officer (U.O) of the Emperor, one Christopher Rey. It went on, and the incoming University Officer was to conduct a standard Imperial Stellar and Planetary Survey as protocol dictated to the incoming U.O. The position of U.O. was both ceremonial and technical. He was officially the representative of the Emperor in a jurisdiction without Royal House and was to report "corruption" and "survey findings" as appropriate to the Surrexurant. Paul inwardly shivered.

"The star Asterion is located far from the primary cultural and economic centers of the Federation Empire." the galactic register had stated. That was being kind. Asterion and its fourth planet, Arandice, were part of the barbaric frontier of the Empire of Man.

This Paul knew well. He had consulted an acquaintance of his in the university department of Astronomy and Celestial mechanics. The star Asterion was of a standard type located relatively near Cor Cairoli. Only one of Asterions's ten planetary bodies was of interest, and it was barely habitable. Arandice, poor Arandice, a punchline for the old good news-bad news jokes. Rich in minerals far beyond the wildest dreams of any miner exploring the planet had been found several of the metals that went into the making of starships and other technology. The bad news, however, was that Arandice was a tad far from the life-giving radiance of Asterion. Being the fourth planet from the star, while of great use for the good and welfare of the Federation Empire, it was a hostile and cold planet for man.

The Population of Arandice consisted of several loose nation colonies organized under a weak government entity. Paul, though light years from the planet, could easily see that the so-called government was merely an extension of the management of Arandice Mining Cartel, AMC. A not unusual arrangement found mostly in the frontier areas of the burgeoning galactic empire. The government had found it expedient to grant stellar concessions to many of the Federations corporations or cartels or whole planetary systems to speed development on the empire's fringes. Arandice was one such concession allowed almost five hundred years ago after the planet had first been discovered by a single miner/explorer by the name of Aranson.

The lonely Aranson, wandering aimlessly throughout the uncharted Asterion system, saw his scanners light up and the immense potential wealth of the planet unfold on his com screen as he conducted a routine planetary mineral survey. He quickly began fomenting plans to claim the planet. Subsequent Federation Stellar and Planetary (S & P) survey confirmed his cursory study. Aranson was granted mineral rights to the planet with the obligation of a Federation granted the concession to a cartel of mining companies. Aranson could become a fat and happy man with many children, and the cartel would become rich. The Federation was pleased with the commerce, and the welfare of the Empire was enhanced (along with the accounts of various government officials and critical planetary senators), and to almost everyone's surprise, the planet was settled.

Aranson, though, was not satisfied with his success as a simple miner-explorer. He wanted to make this planet into something big. He wanted to have a world of his own. After his own marriage and settlement on the planet, he had arranged for colonization. The mining cartel, with accumulated centuries of experience in such endeavors, was confident that Aranson' s efforts would come of naught. "Who in their right mind would settle and raise a family in such a hostile environment?" they asked. It was unheard of, until the day that Aranson' s petition for full planethood was accepted by the Federation Department of Planetary Development and Affairs. Aranson had found the settlers. Many had fled the crowded and polluted Arctic industrial zones of Earth and laid claim to Scandinavian, Siberian, Antarctician, and Finnish blood. Lots of Finns. By some accounts, half the population of that land left for Arandice. They came, they worked, they settled. And when Aranson was elected the first governor of Arandice (now a new class 3 Planet) at the age of 96, he was extremely pleased and not at all concerned with the scandalous rumors that had surfaced that there was intelligent life on the planet.

For indeed, it was a scandal. If intelligent alien life forms existed on the planet, fundamental laws of the Federation had been violated. After the problems encountered with Saturn's moon, Europa and the Denebian massacre and the Dare ruins, discovered only one century past, the Federation had learned to tread lightly where others might be. Humans were not to intrude on any planet with any type of potentially intelligent life form no matter how simplex or harmless in appearance to the survey teams.

Arandice had been the home of men for almost seventy years when the first such rumors surfaced. Further specialized Federation Stellar & Planetary survey teams were sent to Arandice. The planet was checked and rechecked, scanned and rescanned.

Due to the horrendous weather outside the nominal temperate zones huddled around the equator, air flight was perilous. Magnetic disturbances emanating from the poles combined with the active nature of the star Asterion prohibited much in the way of a definitive satellite survey other than a rudimentary topographical mapping of the snowy mountain ranges of the planet.

No real evidence of intelligent life was found, but no official report had been filed either way. And that seemed to be the way the locals wanted it. In fact, the only evidence was the anecdotal reports of original settlers, some now grandfathers who claimed that they had talked with giant birds that lived outside the fifteenth parallel while on exploration missions in the early days. These grey beards called the birds' snow eagles, a name which delighted the grand-children that sat on their laps as they wove tales of early adventures after a holiday dinner.

But, even the most recent alleged sighting was fifty years ago when the last surface expedition north and south of the 15th parallels were conducted. The commander of the supplemental S & P survey, Captain Steiner Johnson, was skeptical from the start and anxious to get on with other business. Important discoveries were being made in other parts of the frontier, and he wished to be part of them. Officially, the results, even after surface expeditions penetrating to the 20th parallel, were labeled inconclusive. Several orders of life form were re-checked, and some new ones discovered: hardy mammals, snow snakes, and plants that had evolved and survived on the snowy planet.

Arandice had been colonized for many years and had a population approaching ten million inhabitants. Its raw materials were becoming of greater importance to the empire. When the local government and AMC scoffed at the possibility of intelligent alien life after centuries, Aranson tended to agree, and he was soon dispatched to other duties. He and his survey team hurried off to bigger and better things. The conclusions of the first survey were amended and left at that. The rumors and the myth of the snow eagles, however, persisted.

Left behind, though, was a small Federation Planetary Ecology and Environmental team, headed by an exobiologist officer named Christopher Rey who had been called in to consult on the survey. He had an ornithology doctorate in hand from the University of the Americas, on Earth, and plenty of ambition. He later helped form the Arandice Mining Cartel Institute and became its first President.

'Now, some 175 standard years later, there was to be a new and almost as strange an academic addition to the planet,' mused Paul. 'Perhaps Christopher Rey had been banished for some infraction or arcane academic rules in the Department of Ornithology. Banishment was exactly what Paul thought of his impending journey to Arandice.' He thought of Krison. 'Yes, someone was worried about Paul.'

"Well, hello."

Paul looked up, and the sour look on his face immediately brightened. "Dr. Cal." He had never known parents, yet he knew that it must be something like what he and Dr. Cal shared. Some of the best days of Paul's six years on Earth had been spent under the tutelage of Cal. To Paul, this smallish grey-haired woman was his hero and his ultimate vision of the political sociologist. Paul had recently learned it was because of Dr. Cal that he had been allowed to proceed as far as he had in his studies of Revolutionary Demographics, but in the end, she could not protect Paul from his own undoing and the de facto banishment from the university to the hinterlands.

"It's good of you to come. I'm surprised that you would want to see me or even be seen with the likes of me, your 'prodigal' student. What would Trustee Sitwell think?"

Cal laughed, "Paul sometimes I think I should have thrown you out of this fine institution long ago, right onto your contumacious little bottom. As for dear Trustee Sitwell, the infidelities of petty bureaucrats will not be without justice." Changing to a serious tone and expression, she adds, "Our loss may be Arandice' s gain."

"So, you say."

I must admit it does sound like a somewhat forbidding place. You see, I have been doing a little research and have some data for you."

Dr. Cal produced a standard com data crystal and handed it to Paul. "This contains some interesting communications which cover the last two centuries between AMC and various Federation departments. It is, of course, best that you reveal this to no one; I was compelled to twist a few flabby bureaucratic arms to get this. I'm afraid that this isn't a complete record because some of the information remains concealed by Imperial fiat."

At the mention of the Emperor, Paul blanched. Cal did not miss the reaction. "There are some deep secrets in you, Paul Smith, I know you're from Krison and probably from Altair, and you've been through a lot, and you're tough. For the years I have known you when it came to the Emperor or Altair you leave few crumbs. I wonder what it is you know." Paul shook his head slowly. Since that day in Shuttleworth's office on Krison, he had never talked about the Twenty Suns and Krison to anyone and would not begin now.

Cal knew she would get nothing from Paul, "Well, anyway, that's nothing, this is something." She then produced an unusual long rectangular case and an old original document of some type. Very old. "I can see that you realize the unusual nature of this. Well, this is a hard copy of the original and supplementary survey of Arandice, five centuries old and one of the samples from the planet. These came to me via a certain colleague in the Department of Exobiology, the ornithology section to be exact. My source assures me that they are authentic. They were apparently forwarded to his predecessor by the head of the fifth S & P team on Arandice, that's 3067, a chap named Rey."

"Yes, I know that name Rey," responded Paul he had come across the name of the Imperial Legate of Arandice several times in his research.

"Well, then you are familiar with the rumors of intelligent life on Arandice," Paul nodded.

"Good, this is what they found." Cal opened the document and flipped to an appendix in the back. It was a simple, out of focus color photograph of a bird flying, with mountains in the background.

"The snow eagles?" asked Paul reading the caption aloud.

"Apparently, now look at this." She flipped to the next page which was a hand drawn sketch of a man standing next to a giant bird. The man was sketched at about half the height of the bird. Cal fumbled with the latch on the long dusty case and finally flipped it open. It was a clear meld hermetic case containing a white bird feather over a meter in length.

"Oh, my." was all that Paul said.

"I thought you'd be impressed, I was. Here's a copy for you." Cal handed him a crystal.

"Now Paul, I must talk to you. Your studies and disagreements with the established powers brought you to the attention of certain persons high in the government. That is no surprise to you. Anyway, these persons should not have known of your work while it was still incomplete and not fully understood. While pompous little men like trustee Sitwell seek to punish you for your impudence, your ideas shine like a bright light in the night, and someone or something is seeking you out. Sitwell alone could never have had you assigned to Arandice. Overgrown mining installations, such as Arandice, should be the exclusive province of the Colorado College of Mining. Yet, they have assigned an ornithologist and now a political sociologist?"

"God only knows what it all means, but this banishment came from elsewhere." Dr. Cal put her hands on his shoulders. "I fear for you, Paul. I do not like this turn of events, and I fear that secret you keep hidden so deep. A political sociologist should always understand events, but all that I see for you is danger on Arandice, from what direction I do not know."

"Goodbye, Paul." She hugged him and said, "You have, but one weapon you can choose to take with you, and I fear that if you must use it, you will be consumed and destroyed by it." She turned and left with tears in her eyes, and as she passed through the door, she dropped a com crystal on the floor.

Paul recognized it immediately, a department chairperson's access key to the central university com system.

A hard smile crossed his face. He knew exactly what he must do now. He would liberate his confiscated research on revolutionary demographics and the associated data he had amassed.

Perhaps he would not go to Arandice unarmed.
Chapter 16 Kwiswath

The clouds had thinned almost to the point of breaking, and Kwiswath now considered it safe enough to make the descent by sight alone. It was not a tribute to courage or stupidity that the bird was flying down to the source of the noise, but intense curiosity that drove the bird forward. Kwiswath could remember no other time in his life when his feeling had been so wholly blocked out as it now was by the noise. Dr. Rey had called the sources of this noise Autofactory machines. Dr. Rey had warned the birds that the machines were dangerous to them, and they were most amused and knew that the Doctor was sometimes truly as mad as the mad-beasts and blue bears. Things as noisy and annoying as the Autofactory machines were certainly anything but dangerous. When one heard the noise from so far away, one merely stayed away, the danger avoided. If Kwiswath had known that he was the first of his kind to be totally blacked out sensorially, by microwaves, electromagnetic fields, infra-red and radio frequency interference, he might have reconsidered his decision. But it was much too late for that now, because the ground suddenly loomed below him, much closer than he had anticipated. In a fluttering, near panic, braking, he decided it best to land and orient himself.

The machine was very close, just over the next roll of the hill. Because he did not trust himself, he decided to hop over near the crest and observe it from the ground. He could feel the presence of the machine. When he achieved the peak of the hill, he had a clear line of sight. The noise blinded his feeling completely. Kwiswath was mesmerized by the view of the Autofactory machine. Its size, intensity and manner of eating the very soil it rested upon truly amazed him. Alas, soon the noise caused his mind to ache in a way he had never felt before and yielded to an almost frightening urge to get away. Kwiswath pondered what he had seen long and hard, as did many of the others. In the end, they concurred with their original conclusion: that perhaps all men were mad, and it would indeed, be best to continue to avoid them.
Chapter 17 Leaving Earth

The apartments had already emptied when spring slid into summer and students returned home or moved on with their lives. Paul was one of the last to leave. His apartment was quickly cleared of furnishing in little more than an hour as the boxes, bed and chairs were jumbled into his classmate John's jitney parked on the sidewalk out front. They would be sold back to the resale shop from which he and Constance had purchased them.

The last item to be moved was the dresser. As John moved it from the wall, he called Paul over and showed him what he had found lying in the dust below. He had known both Paul and Constance for a long time. Paul had borrowed money from him to buy the brooch. He picked it up and handed it to him and left the room. Paul examined it for long minutes before calling out. "Let's get this over with." He shoved the pin in his jacket.

On the way out of the building, he stopped to settle his lease with the elderly landlady. Stuffing the receipt into his pocket, he felt the brooch. His bitterness rolled over in him.

"Mrs. Gerschorn," he said addressing his landlady, "this is for you. Have a great life." He removed the brooch and gave it to her. Before the surprised old lady could sputter a response, Paul turned on his heel and strode onto the porch. He stared up into the blue summer sky and left the apartment and the planet Earth for the last time.

At the American Central Orbital Spaceport, he was out processed through immigration, then shuttled again to Commercial and Industrial Spaceport #6, directed to the proper docking berth and finally stood at the gangway of the transport ship that would take him to Arandice.

The Gratiot Queen was a tired old class A freighter tug, #Alpha 645, slightly 1000 meters from stem to stern, and "displacing" 27,000 Terran tons. Paul wondered how things were weighed in zero gravity. The tug was comprised primarily of space drive engines, however; in a concession to the necessity of its human operators, the tug possessed adequate quarters for its crew of nine and its several passengers. These amenities consisted of wardrooms, galley, bridge, navigation, gym, pool and numerous other rooms, nooks, and crannies whose purpose mystified Paul as he was led to his quarters by Petty Officer Second Class Jansen.

Jansen, or Jans as she liked to be called was the consummate spacer. At home on no planet (and unable to planetfall on many of the larger ones with greater gravity) Jans was a product of space. She was tall and slender, over two meters by about sixty kilos, with close-cropped hair and an overall pixie-like appearance as she shot through the corridors and whipped around corners like a space-born Peter Pan. Paul had never seen anything like it, as he bounced bumped and bruised his way through the zero-gee hallways of the ship. When Paul had finally drifted within grasping distance of Jans' long arms and legs he was playfully bundled into his compartment and come to rest against the wall opposite the door. It was all that Jans could do to keep from laughing out loud at poor Paul. But when she saw the hue of Paul's face -an unhealthy green -she quickly and with agility located a space bottle from a nearby cabinet toilet and implored Paul to drink. He took a healthy swig.

"Space legs- ya got none. Apologize, I do fastly moving, implore I do you to Captain tell not. A spacer simple I assume Uni Officer on a tug hinterland to scoot now he would."

Paul burst out laughing. The motion sickness drug had quickly taken effect, the queasiness was retreating, and the spurt of jumbled words coupled with the most innocently concerned face of the Petty officer was too much for Paul.

"I'm quite alright now thanks to you, and I will not tell the Captain anything, it is certainly not your fault that I have no, ah, space legs." At this Jans' face brightened and was about to speak until she was interrupted by the wrist com screen signal which she consulted and replied, "Aye, below decks soonest."

Turning to Paul, "Square you away must I and duty return to." She then scooted to the room's control panel next to the hatch and fiddled with the instruments. A bed popped out of one wall. A comscreen appeared behind a sliding door on another. Toilet, sink, ship mirrors and other comforts quickly appeared. Jans guided Paul to the bed and strapped him down. Paul was amused, and Jans almost laughed again as she had earlier. "Here you remain until stellar Drive hours 0800. The food here, controls, comscreen here." A scene apparently from the ship's vid cams flickered onto the comscreen. The enormous industrial spaceport and numerous ships with a bright blue Earth as its backgrounds.

Paul got himself situated on his bed and secured the Zero gravity netting over him, dimmed the lights and thought how tired he was. He had left the comscreen on an Earth he would probably never see again. He whispered goodbye and drifted off to a sleep filled with the strange dreams of a night without gravity.

Paul dreamed that he was floating, and he marveled at the sensation. Soon, he realized that he was not alone, his parents, who were smiling and waving, drifted by and he tried to talk to them, but, when he spoke, his parents, whom he could almost touch, seemed not to hear him. When they spoke, likewise, Paul could not hear them. Others drifted by, Dr. Cal and Trustee Sitwell and finally the lovely Petty Officer, but he could not speak to any of them. Suddenly, he was speechless because there was no air and he began to suffocate and fall. Suddenly he was again at the University, in a familiar corridor in which he could breathe, but it was cold, and snow was drifting and being blown about. When he peered into the doorways of the various offices along the corridor, it was evident that the University had been deserted long ago and fallen into disrepair. The windows were gone, and the snow from a swirling blizzard was drifting into the rooms.

Paul walked along the corridor finding all the rooms in similar distress. At the end of the hall was the door to the Trustees boardroom. He opened it and stepped into another world. He was high atop a snow-covered mountain peak, and the wind-whipped snow stung his exposed face and hands, but he paid no attention because perched on the precipice with him was a bird well over two meters in height. It was a snow eagle, and it was ancient. He did not know how, but he knew. And he also knew what the giant bird wanted him to do.

He climbed onto its back and the bird, with him aboard, leapt off the ledge, flying as no man had ever flown before. They were high amongst the snowy clouds, and the bird spoke to him in Standard Federation that would have been acceptable in the Senate. "You are a dangerous man, Paul Smith, and we will all die because of it." A frightened Paul then lost his grip when a particularly strong gust hit him, and he fell until he landed on a deep snowbank. His joy over surviving the fall soon turned to panic when the weight of many feet of snow began to press upon him with, and he could not breathe.

Paul awoke gasping for breath. He soon recovered and realized several things very quickly. The lights were back up in his room, and the video of Earth had been replaced by the starry black of space. He tried to sit up but could not because of the sleep net. He unfastened it and then realized he could sit up and not float away because gravity had returned. The ship was under acceleration at what felt like on half gee.

Paul tumbled his way with only minor bumps and scrapes to the galley. At the ship's captain's request, Paul was joining him and the ship's other passenger for dinner and cocktails.

"Ah, Gottfried here is our distinguished guest," a gangling frame covered with wrinkled ITS whites, red hair and space burned skin, rose and saluted with a glass of amber drink a pugnacious bow and tilt of the head. "Captain Leslie Kingsley at your service, may I present to you, uh what do we call you, doctor I assume, yes, Dr. Paul Smith, distinguished and may I say very young," eyes narrowed, "and Officer of the University, Gottfried Frederick of the indomitable Co-Galactic Trust of assorted loan sharks, thieves and money changers." The pudgy banker rose unsteadily, spilled his drink unnoticed and grasped Paul's hand with a thick pink paw. At that moment Paul felt the probe of a neural net. He realized Gottfried was wired. He would need to be cautious. His FMC753, however, was military and it instantly cloaked itself from the probe as it had done so many times on Earth. Gottfried seemed to flinch and narrowed his eyes at Paul.

"Pay no attention to this incompetent old pirate, one of these days I will foreclose on dear Leslie's bucket of bolts, and he will be forced to drive a tram bus on Deneb's World where he belongs."

The Captain threw back his red head and bellowed laughter, "Jans, you rummy, drinks for the scholar, the banker and your liege, the pirate! Sit down, Doctor, please. Yes, the Gratiot Queen is always for sale, for the right price" and he winked at Paul. It put him at ease.

"Thank you, Captain, " Paul said, taking a seat, "but you see I am not quite a doctor yet, you see..."

"Nonsense," said the banker, "on this ship you be anything you want! If this old red headed drunk calls himself a starship captain, then I am the Minister of the Exchequer. Young man, you certainly don't look like the typical mining engineer being sent off to a frozen world, tell us about yourself."

"Well," fidgeting with his cuffs and then his napkin, "I'm not a, ah, mining engineer."

"Systems?"

"Well, no."

Puzzled look, "Not another planetary ecologist?" The banker and captain leaned toward Paul.

"No."

"Well pray tell what you are, young man."

Paul grasped the drink that had been placed in front of him and gulped. It was whiskey, and it burned his throat. He croaked out, "I am a Political Sociologist."

"Ahh."

"Ohh." The jolly expressions were gone, the banker leaned intently forward and studied Paul with a furrowed brow and curled lip. The Captain leaned back and gazed up at the ceiling.

"I take it then, that you are quite excited by the prospect of being sent by the |Federation to investigate the situation on Arandice? Well, Gottfried, it looks like the Federation may be catching up to you and your fellow louts after all." said the Captain.

"Bite your tongue Captain. You must excuse us, Dr. Smith, it was my, our, understanding that you were assuming duties as University Officer of the Arandice Mining Institute. I had no intention of offending a Congressional investigator I ahh..."

"Excuse me sir, but I am, that is, I have been appointed to the University. I realize that it is unusual for a social scientist such as myself to assume such a position at a technical school. I am somewhat at a loss myself to explain the situation other than to say that there were those at the University of the Americas who found my, ah ideas unsound and perhaps thought it best that I cool off on Arandice."

The captain signaled for dinner with the table console, all boisterousness now dissipated. "Tell us, young doctor, what do you know of Arandice?" Paul began the litany of government comm data that had been fed to him before his departure, and the Captain cut him short with a wave of his hand. "Young doctor, you're a Political Sociologist, what is the political sociology of Aranson's cold world?"

Paul stared into soup, "Very little, I believe, other than what was in the government info provided to me." The banker snorted at that. "Gottfried, perhaps you would like to enlighten the doctor." stated the Captain. "Perhaps doctor, you would not mind telling us of your un-sound ideas which have sent you to this far corner of the galaxy."

"Why no, not at all, my specialization is revolutionary demographics and..." Paul noticed that the fat banker's color paled, the captain's smile became more ironic. Both the listeners encouraged him to go into great detail, and Paul obliged until the main course had been consumed.

"A most interesting story, wouldn't you say, Gottfried?" said the Captain. The fat banker hummed. The Captain continued, "Well now I will tell you a story, young Doctor Smith."

"Please, call me Paul."

"Young Paul, I have been on the triangle run from Sol to Arandice to Deneb for almost ten years. I have seen or heard tell of just about everything that has come and gone from the planet Arandice."

"Doctor, Captain, you must excuse me. I feel a terrible headache coming, it has been a pleasure," said Gottfried with a grimace.

"Of course, good night, sir."

"Sleep well, Gottfried. You really must excuse him; he has a weak stomach for unpleasant stories." The banker looked at the Captain with an amusing frown, rolled his eyes and exited.

"Now, as I was saying, I have seen all that has come and gone from Arandice for many years. Arandice is as terrible a place as you have been told. Perhaps even worse. So, ask yourself how it is that millions of people now reside there? Why, it's what is in the ground, of course. Over the last five hundred years, Arandice and those moons have been mined for billions and trillions of credits. Now, after the original settlers landed on the planet and mining began, the average worker on the world ended up with one of the highest standards of living in the galaxy. The corporations did not mind the high wages because everyone was making cred-its hand over fist and more and more workers poured in from Earth. Sure, it was a harsh life on the planet, but with the money that filled the miner's pockets they could take their two months a year of vacation and live like princes on any of the pleasure worlds, anywhere. So, everything was terrific. So, it seemed.

" The corporations were not content with their trillions. They dreamed of quadrillions and set out to cut costs. They could not tamper with ITS; we have them over the barrel with a transportation monopoly. Thus, transit costs to Deneb are fixed. Wages were also fixed by long-term labor agreements, and wages were not actually that great of a price vis-a-vis production. So, they looked at the overall scheme of mining which really had not changed that much since the 22d century and they came up with a gadget called an Autofactory, which makes up this ship's cargo.

"Now, the Autofactory was a significant improvement over man. One Autofactory replaces roughly 500 miners and in the long run, costs only about one quarter the care and feeding of a human and his family. The first of these incredible devices was installed about fifty years ago. The miners were not stupid. They saw the handwriting on the wall and agreed to renegotiate the labor contract with AMC. The original thousands of workers who were without work easily left the planet. They had huge savings from the years of high wages, and they departed for other climes. However, a funny thing happened in the last several hundred years. A lot of miners had grown roots on the planet and did not want to leave, and so they went into competition with the Autofactories. An agreement was reached, wages were reduced, and the factories' mass introduction onto Arandice was forestalled. The happy miners settled into a more frugal lifestyle, but one in which they felt secure. All was fine until several years later a few techno breakthroughs slashed the cost of production of Autofactories and they were brought in again. The miners had no chance of competing against the now sharply lowered cost and at that point found themselves trapped. The cost of a ticket out of Arandice for a miner and his family ended up exceeding his now meager wages. Yes, millions did and do get out, but even millions more do not. And now half of Arandice' s workforce is on the dole and without future. When this ship makes planet orbit, another 500 will be out of work.

"It appears that finally the corporation and banks are beginning to feel the squeeze. You see they have been shifting the load- that is the cost- onto the Federation. Rather than shelling out the millions, it would take to relocate the displaced workers, AMC pleads poverty, because on paper the company is losing millions with a huge investment in Autofactories. So, the government loses thrice, first in lost corporate tax revenues, secondly in lost labor taxes and thirdly, they, the government, must pay for the dole. And meanwhile, the banks, who are all mixed with..."

A light flashed on the console near the Captain's arm, "Paul, I think you get the idea, I have to go set this boat right for Asterion. It has been a pleasure, young Doctor."

"Paul, if you please, sir, I mean, yes, it has," Paul said to a retreating back and head of red hair.

Paul returned to his cabin and immediately set to examining the data provided to him by Dr. Cal. The crystal carried a complete imperial record of the relationship between the Federation and the Arandice Mining Cartel. The number of correspondence transmissions, reports and investigation were mammoth. The information would take days to digest. Instead, Paul turned to the index. Since the information was in chronological order, the index could give a good idea of what was going on and when. Paul tapped into the heading Labor. The com indicated that there were almost one thousand entries referenced under Labor. He next requested a breakdown by fifty-year periods. The first three fifty-year periods contained only 272 references, the last fifty 712. Paul began a random sampling. After only thirty minutes of cursory examination, it was quite clear that the Captain's story was accurate. There were massive labor force distortions in the past forty-five years. A checking of other headings; transfer payments, welfare, migration, population, vital economic indicators showed several problems on the planet.

Paul mused that it would be interesting to set up some simulation models at the university and examine the characteristics of the planet. The Economics Department at the University would probably love to get its hands on it... The thoughts of his home filled him with pangs of homesickness. He desperately wanted to see Earth again, with his own eyes and set off for the viewing portal. He thought, too, of Connie. A few more years on Earth and she may have been back. If he had a couple more years.

"It is there," spoke Jans.

Paul would have jumped if it had not been zero gees. "Hello, you startled me. What is there?"

"Why Earth. Which you seek is it not?"

"Why yes, how did you know?" Paul had been unable to sleep and wandered to the observation deck of the tug.

"Those who first time leave home often look back for it."

"I take it then that you are rather an expert on the subject," he said, speaking more harshly than intended.

"Sorry I am, alone now I leave you." Jans moved to go.

"No please, do not go, I did not mean it that way, it's just that I must..."

"Confused."

"Yes, that's it, that is it exactly when all that I wanted to do was to continue my work, but now I will not be allowed, I just do not want to play little games. I don't know what I'm supposed to do or how to do it."

"The Captain says that you might really be able to do something on the ice planet."

"He did?"

"Yes, but only if you knew what you were doing."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"I guess it shows." and they both laughed.

"I wonder if we will ever cross paths again, any of us."

"Space can be much smaller than it seems."

There was silence between them for a moment. Jans spoke, "Interesting man you are, many secrets." Paul said nothing. "The Earth and the future, now you will be shown." and she did.

It was an unusual night by any standard applied to the planet of Arandice. The sky had cleared of all clouds and storms as far as the eye could see. Such did not often happen in one's life. That clear night he took his young son on a flight far and high, gazing in wonder at the many lights in the sky and the small suns that crossed the sky. They watched as Gratiot Queen descended to the ice planet's surface in a fiery trail across the sky. Kwiswath saw it knew what it was. And that night, they knew once again that Dr. Rey had indeed come from the light in the sky. They had seen one of the lights move from one of the small suns down to the ground and he had felt the human beings in the light as well as the noise not unlike the Autofactory made and he knew. Kwiswath felt something else from that light in the sky. It was a human, unlike any he had ever felt before. This one's mind was akin to 'they who were life' as they named themselves. He reached out and sent the human a vision that he had climbed onto Kwiswath back, and the bird leapt off the ledge with the human aboard, and they were flying as no man had ever flown before.
Chapter 18 Clexton

JUNE, 3255 R.T.E.

Paul was stowing his few belongings into his luggage as the Gratiot Queen settled into an orbit of Arandice. The ship was a self-unloading, surface landing freighter and would be landing at Clexton port. Planetfall would be in about one-half hour. The com system buzzed and Captain Kinsgley summoned Paul to the command center on the ship. When Paul arrived in the center, Kingsley stood watching a scratchy vid screen. He barely acknowledged Paul. "It seems, Professor Smith, our arrival is causing quite a stir."

"What do you mean?" asked Paul trying to discern the murky pictures on the screen that Kingsley was so intently watching.

"Apparently, there are some down there that do not want us to land, certain disenfranchised elements, one might say. They have attempted to block the pads by various methods including demonstrations, sabotage, and some have even somehow affixed themselves to the structures."

"Demonstrations?"

"Yes, apparently, my cargo is unwelcome, and your presence is being heralded or protested, which, I cannot tell. Most odd."

"What do you mean?"

"We are intercepting some video transmissions from security cams or from news media- these are not being broadcast on any net. There is a lot of trouble down there this evening. Clexton port says you will be transported by military shuttle to your institute. I wish you luck. You have a large welcoming reception of some kind that is making transport a problem. There is mischief afoot on your new cold home." Kingsley waived at a vid screen in the com panels. Paul stared intently, occasionally glancing at the captain. The video was of poor quality, but it showed large crowds of people carrying banners and signs battling with police. "This is the front of the spaceport," said Kingsley.

Paul saw gas of some kind, being fired at the crowd, bloodied security officials, fires burning, people being hit with glowing rods. Then the transmission ended. Kingsley hit some switches and acquired another video feed at another location. "Professor, this is your new residence, the Arandice Mining Institute." It showed maybe a hundred or more uniformed police outside a gate. Behind them, thousands of people were marching, apparently, student protests of some kind. "The locations of these are not known, but it's not good." There were brief clips of other buildings burning.

"It appears your cold planet will be giving us a hot reception, Professor Smith."

From his cabin, he watched the descent on the com screen. He could see the lights of the city and then the whiteness of what must have been snow. Paul had never seen snow and was fascinated. The actual port was a fraction of the size of the one he had seen on Earth, but far more industrial.

After the thud of landing, there was a quarter of an hour delay while some type of preparation was made. Paul waited at the passenger door with a petty officer, who finally received clearance from the captain to disembark. "The captain wishes you well, Dr. Smith." said the petty officer.

"Give Captain Kingsley my compliments."

Paul exited the space freighter and was hit with a blast of cold air, bitter with foul industrial smells of fuels and effluents. He was on the top of a small stairway and looked around at the port under the strange glow of orange lights that were reflected off the white snow, which seemed to be almost everywhere. "Please, come down quickly." Shouted a voice. He looked down and saw he was met by a detachment of heavily armed police or soldiers of some type, arrayed around, mostly with their backs to him and weapons facing out. Paul was taken aback, being reminded of the marine detachment on Krison.

"Good evening, Professor Smith." shouted a man in some type of bulky coat, which seemed to be a uniform of some kind. "My name is Jackson, from customs and immigration. Welcome to Arandice, sir." Paul climbed down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, Jack-son stated, "Your passport and travel orders please." As Paul fumbled for and handed over the papers, another man stepped forward. "Doctor, here put these on." Said a man similar bulky clothes, handing Paul a large heavy coat, "I hope it fits." The cold was beginning to hurt, and Paul quickly put on the coat.

Jackson cursorily examined the documents and ran them under a small device. "Well, these say you are Dr. Smith. Welcome. It is always good to meet another FedEmp in the frontier." The man nodded, turned and left.

"My name is Klister, Klas Klister," said the man who had given him the coat. "I am from the Arandice governor's office, the honorable governor Uskapunki. The institute asked that we get you to the campus; their welcoming party could not get out of the campus. They are having some difficulties. We have had to make some hasty re-arrangements. We are having a few problems here."

"So, we saw on the vids," said Paul. Klister nodded.

One of the soldiers shouted over the din, "We shouldn't be out in the open here; let's move."

Klister nodded in agreement, "Please, hurry, this way."

Klister and Paul were surrounded by six of the armed men and moved quickly, almost at a run toward a chopper, one that was distinctly military.

"This was done in the interest of security." Paul was led into the large dark vehicle and lifted off immediately.

Jackson hurried into the concourse and into his office. He copied the data from his scanner to a crystal. He left his office and immediately went into a restroom. Waiting was a man, tall with a long beard in a floor-length black cloak and clutching a long staff. "It's him, Vallittuu, it's Smith." and handed him the crystal.

"Good." Said the tall man, "Now it is time for the teacher to meet his students."

Chapter 19 The Snow

As the shuttle lifted off for his residence at the Arandice Institute with the man named Klister, Paul's own eyes now saw, Clexton, the nominal capital and largest city on Arandice noting several things. After its hundreds of years of settlement, the town, for its population hovered around two million, exuded the many rough edges of a frozen industrial frontier town. Despite white blankets of snow, Paul could not help but get the impression of squalor when glimpsing down side-streets. It was, as he had suspected, a company town and probably a company planet.

Apparently, Clexton was not thriving. Many stores and buildings were apparently closed. He saw several buildings burning as they flew. The snow could not hide the fact that many areas were the rubble-strewn remains of 'former' buildings. Several times Paul thought he saw figures on the streets running in groups and the flashes of a blaster.

Even in the dark and the snow, the institute, however, was truly impressive for such a planet. A vast domed building loomed ahead. It was the center of the campus. Though the architecture was old, Paul could see it was designed simply and cleanly, certainly to suit the eye of the mining engineer. Klister, apparently listening to some type of neural net input addressed Paul "Doctor, first there may be trouble at getting to your residence, second we cannot take you into the campus proper, it's not our jurisdiction, and there is too much trouble for us to land..." before he finished, the vehicle abruptly stopped.

Paul looked out the window and saw they had landed on the street outside the gates of the campus entrance, and there were hundreds of uniformed police, as he had seen on the vids. White was falling from the sky, and he could not make out anything further away. 'It must be snow falling,' he said to himself.

He exited the shuttle with Klister, and both looked around. A group of what appeared to be police were standing around and mostly talking to each other. Klister frowned pointed at a man in the group, "There's the Clexton Chief of Security, let me see what I can find out." Paul followed. The chief was helmetless with gray hair and was hooked to various pieces of communications equipment. When the man saw Klister, he erupted, "What in the world are you doing here, is the governor going to show up next? Isn't it enough that Rey is missing, and the new officer is coming, but now you have to show up!"

Klister cleared his throat, "This is the new officer," Klister turned around to point at Paul and almost bumped into him. The security chief stared at Paul for a few seconds and rolled his eyes, "Oh my lord, you're the new officer, you're Paul Smith? Why you're no older than them kids on the other side of the gate!" He waved his arm toward the heavily guarded gate. "Well, that's it. We're going in." He turned away and began speaking into his comm systems. "Sector chiefs prepare for jump-off, we're going in, bring up the ATV's, we go in at 1810, that's five minutes so look lively, over."

Paul walked over to the high metal fence and peered into his new campus, and through the trees and gently falling snow, he could make out hundreds of figures, with flickering, twinkling lights. He could, over the crackle of police communications and shouted orders, just barely hear voices singing. He caught the words, though.

"Where is Johnny going to work, Mister man, mister man, where is Johnny going to work when he's damned, Mister man?"

It was eerie. It sounded like thousands of voices. A chill ran up his spine. Paul looked back at the scurrying police. Weapons were being readied, and several dark, ominous looking vehicles were pulled up in front of the gates. Paul looked back at the figures with twinkling lights and caught the singing again. He said under his breath, 'this does not look good.' He returned to the security chief still calling out orders and stood directly in front of him.

"Sir," Paul said, "Tell me what going in means."

A worried expression crossed the chief's face, and he tried to ignore Paul. "Sir, I am Paul Smith, and I am the new university officer, and I demand to know what you intend to do at my university." The chief stopped and looked at him.

"Well, Dr. Smith," he sputtered, "what we intend to do is go through those gates with the ATVs in the lead and clear those students out of the way. We intend to restore order and arrest any who resist us. They have been carrying on for three days and have chased all the administration and staff off the premises. And now you show up."

"What are the weapons for?" Paul asked.

"They are to help us restore order, Dr. Smith," The chief said icily. "In case you haven't had a chance to notice, this situation is out of control, and we intend to put it back in control."

"On whose authority are you moving against those students? Dr. Rey? Any Deans, or chancellors? Don't do it on my account." Paul paused, and the chief was silent, "I thought as much. I'm the new University Officer, and I am right here, and I say you are not going in. Tell your troops to stop what they are doing." The two stared at each other. "Do it now!" shouted Paul. The chief raised his head looking down his nose at Paul and finally addressed the com setup.

"Cancel that movement order, I repeat, cancel, hold your positions, over." The chief turned to Paul with hands on his hips "Alright, young university officer, now what are we going to do."

Paul looked around and then at the gate. An ATV was pulled up almost touching it. "Klister, come here, help me" and Paul began running to the gate, Klister followed. "Help me up on this thing."

"What are you going to do?" Asked Klister.

"I'm going in." was the reply. Paul scrambled up onto the vehicle and climbed over the metal gate and dropped down on the other side in a puff of snow. Beyond the gate, the main entrance was a wide winding boulevard, ascending to the campus. It seemed there were small forests on either side. Paul began walking up the road, as figures in the woods seemed to run ahead of him. Walking, now alone, Paul was mesmerized by the beauty of the falling snow and the brilliant white-lit nightscape. The singing he had heard was becoming louder and then quieted. He came around a curve in the road, and the campus opened before him.

He saw the most stunning and beautiful sight of his life. Arranged on the snow-covered roads, on the lawns and walkways that gently sloped upwards were at least a thousand young people, all sitting in the gently falling snow. There were some signs and banners, but all were holding flickering candles, the candlelight danced on the breast of the newly fallen snow and lit the night. His path ahead was blocked by hundreds, and many were moving behind him.

Paul was spellbound. He felt as if he were dreaming. He said to himself, 'I know what to do.' Paul stepped forward the snow drifted down onto Paul's face. It felt wonderful. The candle-holding throng began a melodic chant.

The whole planet watches!

The whole planet watches!

The whole planet watches!

Paul stepped into the crowd of lights and climbed on top of a stone bench. The chanting died down. "Who are you?" Paul shouted to the throng.

Several dozen meters into the crowd, a group stood and approached and stopped in front of him. A man only a few years younger than Paul, with a beard and an odd floppy hat, shouted, "This is a non-violent political action protesting the end of the sixth planetary survey and the class warfare being waged by the Arandice Mining Company." The crowd roared. And the chant began again, "THE WHOLE PLANET WATCHES...then SEVENTH SURVEY, SEVENTH SURVEY..."

A chill ran down Paul's spine. A young woman with long blonde hair, not with the standing group, stepped up to Paul, holding the candle with both hands. "I am Danielle, we are the students of AMI, and we are here to provide the new Professor Paul Smith with education about what it is to live, to be on Arandice."

"I am Paul Smith." He said.

She smiled, the nearby crowd murmured, "Well, then this is for you." she reached into her coat and removed a long white candle and handed it to Paul. He took it and stared at it and the spectacle all around. He could hear the crowd murmuring and whispering as the word passed to the farthest reaches, "It's him!" "It's Smith!" "The new officer." "He came alone."

"Welcome," she said and lit his candle with hers. He slowly raised the candle above his head, "I am here to learn." The crowd began to applaud and cheer.

Paul stared down out of the window of his residence, and he was chilled to the bone. His feet, hair, and hands were wet and dripping. The last of the crowd was dissipating, the candles flickering out. The students were returning to their dorms or other homes. The security contingent quietly re-entered the campus. Lights began returning. Paul clutched the thick sheaf of petitions with thousands of signatures, demanding a Seventh Planetary survey. The peaceful snow continued to fall.

The next day, when Paul came down from his quarters, he was met by a bevy of Deans and Department Chairs. Paul suddenly was seized with a feeling of being cast into something way over his head. Despite the unusual events of the previous night, for the first time, he realized that he really had no idea what he was doing.

The introduction made him feel even more inferior. Paul, never good at recalling names, was quite shocked to discover that of the first dozen or so persons introduced to him, he had never heard of seven of the fields of which these men and women represented.

However, Paul was somewhat reinforced upon his meeting the academics of social, language and history departments. In fact, they absolutely fawned over Paul, believing improvements were imminent in their meager departments now that one of their "own" was in place.

At a quickly arranged luncheon assembly, various department chairs gave short verbal reports to the assembly, for the benefit of Paul. With almost total unison Paul was told that if the young Earth boy left them alone, the mining and tech boys would be quite content to leave him alone. Again, his fellows in the nontechnical fields responded with hopes for golden new eras and dawns.

When it came time for Paul to speak, he apparently hit the right notes. He all but said he would keep his hands off and nose out of everyone's department and would be of course more than happy to assist those who desired his direction

The only real rough spot of the day came when he mistook the Dean of Operations for his predecessor, Dr. Rey. He was advised that the distinguished Doctor was away on business-- an important field trip--and expressed his sincere regrets for his absence. But it soon became apparent to Paul from several overheard whispers and strange comments and expressions that the 'Doctor was out, again, in the mountain on another fantasy hunt, while the university, and, Clexton, almost fell apart.'.

At the end of the long afternoon, Paul was escorted by his assistant, who was introduced as Mr. Flannagan, a quiet and unassuming figure, and the Dean of Operations, Harcourt Sektu who had a firm if abrupt manner. He took a quiet and pleasant dinner with the two discussing the mundane details of the institute. Also, what Paul had heard regarding Doctor Rey, was confirmed, in detail. Indeed, Rey was a planetary ecologist by trade who had been detailed to Arandice as University Officer to study relationships of industry and climate. However, he was soon consumed by his desire to locate the mythical giant bird-eagles of Arandice, legends of which dated back a couple of hundred years to the time of the settlement and the tenure of his ancestor who had surveyed the planet. Alas, the poor doctor was spending his last days on the planet in the Northern wastes, still searching, unsuccessfully, to the best of anyone's knowledge.

Nearly 20 parsecs distant from Arandice. The Red Toffin sat in his command suite on his flagship, with a stunned expression. A handheld comscreen lay in his lap. It had been several galactic months from the day Arboga created his story for Galactic Entertainment about the Princess from Caladan and the Krison, college boy. The impenetrable bureaucracy of CICSC, Commander-In-Chief Space Command had finally forwarded the TriVid, secured from Galactic Entertainment by the Fed Emp Security Service to Marshal Toffin of the Red Fleet. After reviewing the TriVid and the report, Toffin inquired as to the whereabouts of one Paul Smith. The marshal was further astounded by what he learned of Paul Smith's last several years. Then, he cursed his luck when he discovered the boy had left from Earth.

The Red Marshal then gave the order to his Command Major, who was puzzled. The Marshal saw the expression and told her, "It is a precaution. However, there is a situation that concerns me. It is worrisome to the Empire. I suspect treachery." Not one to question the Marshal's instincts, she nodded and did as she was told dispatching a small contingent of a frigate and two corsairs, "just to be safe" as the Marshal had said, to the faraway frozen planet Arandice. The Marshal had a chill, perhaps a premonition that he would be visiting that icy planet and confronting another Smith.
Chapter 20 Dinner Reception

The natual liberty of man is to be free from any superior power on Earth, and not under the will or legislative authority of man, but to have only the law of nature for his rule.

_John Locke, Two Treatises of Govt. 1690_

September 3255 R.T.E.

Paul stood half-dressed his formal suit spread out on his bed when he caught himself in the mirror. After a week on Arandice he now somehow saw himself clearer then he had for a long time. The last two years at the university had taken their toll. He would not reach 30 years old with the grace of many of his contemporaries. He thought of Connie and memories flowed over him. He pushed emotions aside and calmed himself. Someone had told him that Arandice would teach one to be cold in many different ways. Be cold. Connie was always so good at these things, always the aristocrat. He wondered where she was. He could easily locate her through the government registry, but he would not. "It was memories of pleasures which caused the most pain." She had said that at a small party the two of them had once thrown. They had made their choices. Paul smiled ironically at something else she had said to him.

"You'll be working in the imperial court whilst the rest of us will be toiling in security shuffling grain production reports on East Faraway." He could still hear her laughter.

"So, this is East Faraway," Paul said out loud.

"Sir, the reception begins in 1 hour and 15 minutes." Paul almost jumped. His assistant, Juslensius had entered the room. "Is there anything I may do?" The valet left the words hanging strangely, seeming to sense dilemma within Paul.

Paul considered the man for a perhaps half a minute. He was tall, thin and aseptic. Al-most gaunt and very pale. His skin received little sun, that was for the rich of this cold planet. "Yes, perhaps there is." This man may be able to get him through the evening. Paul had no illusions about tonight. What little government there was, and the imperial presence, himself, maintained relations with the real powers of Arandice, the mining cartel through thoroughly non-formalistic procedures, most often in the social setting. Paul knew AMC had been sizing him up, feeling him out for something, and tonight he would have to deal with the big brass. Juslensius had served his predecessor for some two decades and must have some knowledge of these things. And damn that Rey. Where was he?

"Juslensius, I was wondering whether we could perhaps talk for a few moments, that is about my position. As you well know, I've no experience whatsoever in these matters. I would like your advice. About my position."

The valet replied stiffly, "As you wish Dr. Smith, but I fear that any advice that I provide you would hardly be worthy of your position your training."

"Don't be deceived by academics. You do have advice for me, then."

"Oh, nothing I would dare to bother you with sir," replied Juslensius spreading his hands, an ambivalent gesture. Paul grabbed a chair and spun it around, so it faced his.

"Please, sit down."

"As you wish sir," he replied, stiffly, seating himself.

"Tell me about Arandice."

"Sir?"

"I've been on this planet for a week now and have been stuffed with information, yet I am still puzzled."

"What is it exactly that bothers you, sir?"

"I have been given every courtesy, yet I am subtly insulated from the planet and the people. And, dammit, all this time, Dr. Rey is roaming around the planet ignoring me completely."

"Oh, sir, nothing could be farther from the truth," Paul noted a quick change in Juslensius at the mention of Rey. "Dr. Rey, before your arrival, assured me that he is most distressed that he would be delayed in meeting you. His important work as Planetary Ecologist requires his presence in many places. He is completing the sixth survey." The sixth survey, Paul quickly recalled that the last survey, the fifth, was over a century old. Perhaps his sudden appointment had caught Rey unprepared, unfinished.

"Yes, of course, I understand. There is much unfinished."

"And Dr. Rey is to return in time for the reception tonight."

"That is excellent news."

"I am glad you are pleased, sir."

"Juslensius, tell me about this reception tonight. The Imperial Representative cannot play the complete fool, teach me to be an aristocrat for one evening."

Juslensius' stiff restraint wavered as he appraised Paul as if for the first time. The valet, looking very much like a bird, composed himself.

"What is it you wish to know?" It was stated as if by one who did indeed know.

"Everything," Paul said, "Everything." Juslensius' lips pursed in the smallest of smiles.

****

"Ladies and gentlemen your attention please, the guest of honor, the honorable director of the AMC Institute, Officer of the Imperial Federation's University, De Facto Representative of his royal highness, the Emperor and the FedEmp Senate, and the Federation empire scholar Magna cum laude of the University of the Americas. I present to you, Paul Smith,

Paul strode into the hall, bathed in applause. The ceiling was a mass of glittering crystal. It reminded him of ice. But, similar to what he had seen in his brief time, the hall showed signs of disrepair, of decline. There was a dark spot and crack on the ceiling, and not all the lights glittered, some were not working. It was a frayed and declining place, his new home, Arandice. Far past its boomtown prime of some years ago.

He stood atop a long and broad marble stair, which emptied itself onto a floor carpeted with the formally dressed elites of the planet of Arandice. At prompting from Juslensius, perched at Paul's right elbow, the doorman-consignor was handed over the diplomatic pouch which contained the recently minted Officer Smith's letter of introduction from the Emperor and the Senate The consignor in turn, handed it to the Governor of the Planet of Arandice, Uskapunki, who in turn passed it off to her aide. The governor stepped forward and offered her hand to Paul. Uskapunki was attired in a gown that was overwhelming and reflected the despot in the governor. If the dress were any indications, she fashioned herself a queen of this backwater planet and even wore a headpiece that resembled a crown. Throughout the ages, the etiquette between male and female politicians had never been completely settled. Paul could have very safely grasped her hand and shook it, the standard greeting of the times. But, under the hasty instruction of Juslensius, Paul knelt and kissed her hand. The crowd, which had quieted for the presentation of the pouch was at first confused by the gesture, but when Paul took the governor's arm, and the two began the descent down the staircase, they broke into wild applause. The despot governor Uskapunki was charmed, and Juslensius looked upon the scene darkly.
Chapter 21 Renvall

3257 R.T.E.

Renvall exited the tram into lightly falling snow which was blanketing this otherwise dark and dirty section of the city. The neighborhood, for some reason, always reminded him of his childhood, memories of Krison Educational Development, the sad place they called KED City, his former orphanage home. It never had in his recollection ever snowed on Krison, nor had it ever gotten near freezing on that rocky planet, yet he always thought of it as having been cold. It was like an icy hand on his shoulder, one that was difficult to shake off. Renvall shivered as much from the bitter cold as from the memories. He was appalled at the sloppy, dangerous courier missions he received. It was times like this that he longed for the security of the Marines. He had spent three years in the Federation Marine Fleet Forces and cursed the damn luck that had exposed his Krison, and subsequent Altairan heritage and caused his discharge. He would've been a Senior Sergeant by now, perhaps even on the officer candidate training track.

Renvall trudged through the knee-deep snow, passing the dark abandoned buildings which lined the twisting street. The storm of the day before had been quite large and had left chest-high drifts impeding his passage. Paul had been on the planet a week and had electrified the movement, in fact, the entire planet. Renvall thought that things would have blown, the revolt would have started if the snow had not fallen blanketing the region in two meters of new white.

A streetlight, one of the few that worked in this area, cast menacing shadows on the snow. At the intersection, the ice on his beard and mustache cracked as he glanced about searching for his security tail. He waved a hand signal at the only other soul on the street and received the proper acknowledgment, and he continued on his way.

At the door of the house, he slid his id card key into the slot, a light flashed green, and the door swung open, snow drifted into the vestibule with him. A dark shadow in the corner covered him with a hand blaster. Renvall sighed. He could have disarmed the young guard as if he were a child. Renvall was convinced that this "underground" existed only by the grace of the Arandice Secret Police's incompetence.

While he was scanned, Renvall worried about the preacher, Vallittuu, again. Valletta, a hustler he had met on Deneb after his discharge had lured him in. He was a dealer in weapons and mercenaries and had recruited him for the job, as an off-world mercenary and sent him to the Preacher Vallittuu. When he had stepped off the shuttle at Arandice Port, the immigration man, Jackson connected him with Vallittuu, and he soon found his "exciting mission" to be nothing close to what had been promised. Vallittuu seemed to be just another space preacher, found in any transit port in the galaxy. Renvall watched and listened to his harangue. But the preacher interrupted his sermon and looked directly at Renvall and said:

"For I was shamed, and the king required that I leave the band of soldiers. But, God hath not forsaken us, but hath extended mercy and delivered to us on to lead us and establish his dominion in the ice and snow."

Vallittuu had billeted Renvall that night, gave him a menial cover job, and then introduced him to the revolution. Renvall found that despite the old man's poor sight, clearly saw that Renvall had immense talents and even better instincts. Vallittuu became his portal to the revolution on Arandice. It kindled a fire within Renvall he had never felt before. Vallittuu seemed to take an enormous interest in Renvall spending countless hours preaching, well teaching him about revolution and the need for change on Arandice. He even gave Renvall reading and study assignments, mostly about great battles and generals who existed hundreds and thousands of years ago. Renvall was fascinated by the old wars and the sweep of history. And the fee? Well, he had kissed that goodbye a long time ago. Vallittuu led him to knowledge he had never known existed in KED or the Marines. While he never got the adventurous mercenary life he had been sold, in addition to tutoring him, the Preacher introduced him to a universe he had not known existed. Vallittuu knew much of the history of the Twenty Suns and would question Renvall over and over about his faintest memories of his childhood and Krison. Vallittuu had become the only true friend he had on this world. When he discovered the preacher was the leader of the revolution he began to worry about the safety of the old man.

The inner door to the house opened, and Renvall entered. There was little talk as the men and a woman reviewed the document that Renvall had brought. It was a report from the out-going Federation University Officer Rey, and it concerned his successor.

Finally, Vallittuu called Renvall forward "Juslensius, Jagerhorn. This is the man of whom I have talked. He knows Smith." They eyed Renvall suspiciously. "Do not fret. He is Altairan and more outcast than the lowest of us all."

The preacher, Vallittuu, continued, "Young Paul travels in ignorance of both the Lord and the dangerous gift granted unto him. He is not aware of His plan for him on this world. The Lord has sent us a gift, salvation in the form of this man. As the Lord had Peter, His rock, so shall Paul have Renvall, his right, his sword-hand." Vallittuu placed his hands on Renvall's head. Much to Ren's surprise, he was moved by the gesture and could feel the emotions from Vallittuu, so strong it almost overwhelmed him. "Go, son in peace. Your salvation awaits."

When a shaken Renvall departed, Jagerhorn began, "Then the Corporation has not explained the situation to him either?"

"He is like a small and innocent child, who has is given the power of judgment, and he stands between our opponents and us. Is he under observation?"

"Yes, we have a level two com tap on his private and office com."

"Good, then it appears that we must wait along with the corporation. Now to business, division reports please, we have work to do." They talked long in low voices and planned a revolution.

Outside, across the street in an abandoned building, the plotters rear guard tails huddled against the cold and the evening snow. They smoked and talked quietly. The first took out a small flask and passed if to the other.

"How long has it been?" he asked wistfully.

"I don't know. I remember when my father was still working in the mines before the autofacs took over. That was a long time ago. He was executed in '40, no '41, thanks, that helps, yeah it was a long time ago." He passed the bottle back to the woman who took a swig.

"I feel it coming. Things are in the air."

"Yeah, things are starting to really move in my sector, stars." The woman took another drink and toasted, "To the freedom of the eagles." "Aye, to the Eagles."
Chapter 22 Christopher Rey

The lone figure trudged steadily through the snow and finally achieved the pass. Once into the long narrow gorge, the figure made for an escarpment which would provide shelter from the wind and the snow.

Perched on an eyrie many meters above, Kwiswath studied the figure. It was, of course, Christopher Rey, the one who was almost sane. Kwiswath marveled at the frailty of the man, of all men. They were all obviously insane because they could not fly. They were imprisoned to life and death on the bottoms, to the dirt and plants and were completely blind and unaware of the world around. Being in two dimensions, Rey had called it. The bird experienced something akin to fear at the thought of such a condition. Among his kind, those who could not soar knew their duty and would pass into the snows at the bottom. But man was strange. He stood on two legs like themselves and with their no wing arms, Rey had told them that they reached out and touched lights at the top of the world. They had the noise making machines that allowed them to do this. Even devices in their own image which could think—he knew not why when the man was numerous as the flakes in a snowstorm — still such noise, such ways of life. Kwiswath shook his head, they never could 'become aware,' but one could learn from them and that was why he was here.

Christopher Rey strained his eyes trying to see through the swirling snow blowing in the gorge. Rey prayed with all his soul that the birds had not forgotten. This meeting with them, above all those in the past, was desperately necessary. Man confronted his environment and bent it to his needs and the outcome was predictable. With trepidation, he had made his calculations. If he understood what the birds had communicated over the years correctly, the great snow eagles of Arandice were doomed.

He finally caught the movement of the bird's silhouette high in a crag, it raised itself up, shook off the snow and leapt into a descent upon him. And as happened, just as it had in the past, he was gripped by fear and awe that he was confronting something majestic and mighty that might even surpass man. The wash from the birds beating wings sent snow exploding about him blinding him momentarily, then Kwiswath stood before him, gazing down upon him with massive, unblinking silver eyes.

Kwiswath held himself in a tight grip. He knew the routine with Rey, do not feel his mind too hastily. Like an eye closed tightly, ever so slowly opening to perceive, Kwiswath was momentarily startled by what he found. The force of Rey's mind was intense today, and it was like being hit with ice. Danger, hope, sorrow, and farewell flowed out upon him.

"It is true then. You are going to your light at the top of the sky. Why?"

Rey tried to present the thoughts of his retirement, end of a career, imperial edicts, politics, but Kwiswath touched him with a chuckle and brushed aside the subject.

"Once again the human madness. Therefore, you remain insane. Let us not dwell on that. Reason recoils. Tell me of hope, sorrow, and your doubts. Come close and tell me, your species' madness aside, of these things which darken your mind."

With that Kwiswath stretched out his wings and enveloped Rey drawing him to his breast.

The creature brought out Rey's troubled mind, and Kwiswath entered it. "Your kind is dying. It is an indisputable fact. You know this is happening yourself. Each year there are fewer and fewer of your kind. There is less territory open to you each year. The noise of the machines had girdled your world and will only continue to spread until there is no more room. We, humans, encroach upon you. You cannot stop us. We cannot stop ourselves. The very fact you and your kind, you are but a myth to us. If you can be saved, it will be, from an answer that lies within what you call our madness; we know it as technology and progress. Even so, on this planet, many are confined to living on the bottom, by other men. They desire freedom, but they are not allowed to reach out to the stars, the light at the top. I do not clearly understand this, but there is one who comes to take my place whom I am told is wise in the ways of man just as I am wise in the ways of wind snow and mountains. It may be that he knows a way to free those men held down at the bottom so that they might leave and release you of the noise to live as you always have. I cannot see that you will ever come to know this man, but if you do happen to know Paul Smith, you must help him for he may free both you and man."

Even while gripping him tighter in his wings Kwiswath began to withdraw from his mind. "Fear not, we shall carry on. Only that you could have lived as one of us, in true freedom as you have named it." But he was now as troubled as Rey.

Darkness was coming when Rey awoke. A light dusting of powdery snow covered him where Kwiswath had left him sleeping in the snow. It was, as always, as if it had been a dream. It was far too late to return to his official 'thopper,' a military flying transport, so Rey broke out his small heat tent and made camp for the night. But dreams of dreams, lost and dying, broke his sleep throughout the snowy night as the wind howled through the gorge.
Chapter 23 Change of Command

3257 R.T. E

The large bay window of the library neatly framed the two men. They watched the snowfall from the night sky. They had been discussing for some time the mechanics of the change of university officers.

"So, Doctor Smith, you are in a unique position, politically that is, though I fear that I may be lecturing the expert. There are certain aspects I wish to emphasize."

"Of course, please go on."

Dr. Rey continued as if reading from a checklist. He explained that Arandice was the farthest reach of man's empire. It was a product of pure colonial imperial convenience. And as such was of little interest to the central government, so far away. Paul nodded, listening politely. He was preaching to the choir. These were basic facts which Paul knew even before he left Earth. As Dr. Rey talked on, Paul began to realize that there was a thing the esteemed doctor and imperial civil servant seemed to be withholding and seemed somewhat anguished by doing so. "Yes, it is an imperfect economic situation for the many but, profitable for the few. Ahh, if there were only a simple solution, freedom for these poor people, a way out, someone to show them..." Rey let the sentence dangle, now carefully watching Paul, who had frozen when he heard the words. They could be nothing other than a reference to the basic rules of revolution, of which Paul's life study was based. Paul began to speak but, Rey gestured him to silence, shaking his head. "You have much to learn my young doctor. You don't think me such an old fool scientist as not to know who comes to take his place. What is it again, they shall see the oppression of the masters? They shall see the hope of escape."

"They shall find one to lead them to freedom." Paul finished. "The basic tenets of revolutionary synthesis. Dr. Rey, I don't think you a fool, I am, however, surprised, flattered that you would have taken the time to review my work."

"You flatter, yourself. The question to the answer is written all over you. Why are you here? Why, indeed. Tell me, Doctor Smith, how did you come by this peculiar assignment?"

Paul related his struggles at the university and sudden banishment to Arandice.

"A most interesting series of events, no doubt as true as you tell them. And yet here you are, a "political variable" on a planet void of politics, and political action, a company planet, certainly not the assignment one would associate with a man of your training." But the planet was not devoid of politics, it could not be. Any social situation involving human demanded politics. It was fundamental to the psyche of humanity from the dawn of history. Arandice was no exception. Paul frowned deeply.

"I see you disagree. Well, perhaps not a 'void' at all. Perhaps difficult to find. And maybe now we come to the true nature of your assignment."

"Doctor Smith, for three generations my family has served the empire in the imperial offices of this dreary ice ball of a planet. Our task, our mission as planetary ecologists for over 100 years, has been to find things about this planet which were not known, not seen, not believed. This is a planet of deception. I'm sorry I don't mean to talk in circles, yet there are things about this planet which I know and have seen and do not know that I believe." The old scientist was profoundly agitated.

Paul began, "Certainly sir, as your successor you may confide in me. I, of course, have heard tales of strange things in the deep north and south. Surely, you are not referring to the old legends?"

Rey snapped out of his thoughts. "Legends? Legends, old wives' tales to tell the children before the hearth on a dark winter's night." Rey returned to his mental checklist. "We were talking of politics, and you. Your assignment perchance is to seek out the politics of legends. Perchance the Surrexurant Empire's multitudinous layers of civil service have given you a mission after all." For several moments the two men stared at each other. Later, when Paul thought of the exchange, with Rey, he felt that Rey exuded great faith, belief.

"I hope you understand the significance of this change of officers. The Sixth Planetary Survey will end with my departure. The news has no doubt provided great joy in particular government, business and labor circles.

"You know the tenets of the settler's treaty which established the Emperor's representative on colonized planets. The treaty was originally designed to protect the Emperor's fiduciary interest in the colonization," Rey sneered as he said this, "and to protect or foster exploitation of the planet depending on the whims of the Surrexurant Throne. However, under the rule of Edgar the Wise, the concept of a colonial imperial representative was revised to an almost strictly academic position at whatever imperial university existed on the various planets. The limits of" Rey paused, "our authority, granted to us as a planetary imperial officer are still rather vague. Paul, we are largely limited to alerting the FedEmp authorities of some gross misdeed on this colony."

Paul nodded in agreement. He had studied the old laws and charters.

"We, the Imperial Officer of Arandice, in practice, have only once in three decades invoked any official authority over the planet. My one use of that power was to request a Sixth Planetary Survey." Rey gazed out the window, "That was almost ten years ago."

He turned on Paul, sharply, "It now concludes with my imminent departure. My one official act has halted activities that would be devastating to the environment. Here, that means mining. The AMC board has not been pleased with me. My decision has cost them billions in lost profits."

Instead of more mining factories to expand operations, they had to squeeze more out of what they had. Miners had more overtime then. More than they could ever dream of, the men were needed to replace the scarce machinery. Although planetary unemployment was at an all-time high, expensive passage off the planet was out of most non-working person's grasp; money was plentiful due to the present highly paid mining force. Labor was content, and there were no strikes. The AMC board, on the other hand, had continually since the first day of the survey wielded enormous pressure to break Rey's order or will any way possible.

Nothing had worked. Rey had deflected all pressure and avoided all traps, bribes or blackmail. Rey had finally made it clear to an AMC lawyer in one meeting that if they kept trying to trip him up, he would announce to the empire that he had evidence of ETC, extra-terrestrial civilization. At worst that could have meant the abandonment of the planet by humans. When Rey sent him the meter-long white feather, the lawyers badgering, and another operative's harassment dwindled.

All was suddenly about to change. With Rey's departure, the prohibitions in place from the Sixth Planetary Survey would be vacated while the seventh survey was undertaken. In the interim, AMC would be free to expand operations. In fact, the ship carrying Mr. Paul Smith brought the first new mining auto factory to come to Arandice since the survey began. Dozens more were following. Unemployment would skyrocket. Decay, crime and labor unrest would follow and eventually anger would turn to rage and violence.

The old doctor broke the silence, snapping to attention. "Doctor Paul Smith, Officer of the Imperial University and official representative on Arandice. I regret that I cannot provide you with further tutelage of this cold place". Rey then rapped his fingers on two very old bound manuscripts on his desk. "When you settle in you may find the planetary survey an interesting read. And this addendum document, well it has some very special information. "

Paul picked up the first entitled simply "Sixth Planetary Survey, Arandice." The second slim bound document, underneath, had the mysterious title 'iY'. Paul, not able to access the net and made a mental note to look up the significance of iY. Rey shoved them both into a satchel and handed them to the young man. "My retirement awaits me. My thoughts will be with your young man. And keep those safe," waving at the satchel. With that, Rey removed a ring he wore on his finger and handed it to Paul.

"Here take this, I have no more use for it. It was my fathers before me. Take it."

He grasped Paul on the shoulders, wished him luck and with a rustling of robes was gone. Paul turned the signet over in his hands several times, weighing it. He finally placed it on his finger, scrutinizing it. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, centuries old. It was the imperial seal in golden relief, a mighty Earth eagle.
Chapter 24 The Autofactory

August 3257 R.T.E.

As the thopper beat its way over the beautiful white and green landscape, Paul watched the strange figures gliding across the snow. He lost sight of them at the final rise, indeed just a dirty brown lump of humanmade mining tailings.

The Autofactory with its giant treads, drilling screws, and plumes of snow and soil was, other than the Krison distillery, the first industrial installation that Paul had ever seen. He was impressed. The giant machine, it covered almost a square kilometer, gnawed the planet like a mechanical mole. The ravage left in the machines' wake was as complete as its automatic separation of the elements sleuthed from the soil.

Klas Klister, the AMC employee, had been assigned to Paul, bubbled effervescently of statistics and purportedly impressive facts for Paul's erudition. Paul found the stats meaningless. The only thing needed to impress was to watch the immense machine and be awed. For days and days, Paul was numb to the all-pervasiveness of a multi-stellar conglomerate focused on a single planet. He had been to briefings, plant tours, and courtesy calls, yet all that was needed to explain the AMC was to watch the corporation's most significant product at work.

Klister droned on enthusiastically, "...petroleum grade that is encountered in this region is spaced from Arandice to our T.A.K. Division for the production on the internal casing for alaboid items." Paul had no idea what T.A.K. or alaboid was and did not have net access to find out, but he feigned attention which seemed to please Klister

Paul again spied the handful of figures in barely detectable white, gliding over a far ridge. It finally occurred to Paul. The group was skiing. It was an observation which pleased Paul as he had never seen the sport, but it puzzled him. Arandice company, as Paul had witnessed, throughout the day seldom moved on its feet. AMC was a wholly mobilized entity, and the skiing figures indeed seemed out of place moving gracefully toward the giant treads. As the thopper was settling down on the hurriedly built landing site, deployed for his visit with the station management, Klister paused for breath and Paul sensed it an appropriate time to ask another ignorant question.

"I'm surprised, with the number of machines engaged by your company, I'm intrigued to see men on the site using sports skis to get about."

Klisters' happy tour guide face dropped only slightly, suddenly, but quite perceptibly, "Skis? The company doesn't use skis!" his voice began to rise with the last words.

Paul somewhat discomfited, replied, "Well, I am quite sure that I just saw a group of workers in white outfits as we circled in for landing. They were coming from over there." Paul waved in the General direction of the storm coming from the west.

The smile was now completely gone from Klister. Paul was puzzled for a moment and then realized that he had never seen his guide without trademark cheery smile. Klister practically leapt across Paul to get to the window and pressed his face against the glass attempting to get a view of the figures Paul had seen. He sputtered to Paul and then, to no one in particular, "Excuse me... doctor... only one who would use skis is them." Klister twisted to his feet and darted towards the front of the thopper which contained the pilot's compartment. He never made it. An explosion wracked the thopper and threw him back atop Paul in his seat. Flames and smoke poured through the forward compartment door; Klister screamed. Other blasts near and distant shuddered the thopper. Paul coughed and gasped for air. His eyes felt as if needles had pierced them and he wondered if his eardrums had burst. His head filled with a loud ringing. After some seconds Paul realized that a writhing Klister clung to his legs. He rolled Klister off him who he heard scream through the ringing.

Through the smoke, Paul could make out that the front of the thopper seemed to be gone. Dazed and not quite sure what to do Paul sat in the seat for a while longer watching the smoke clear. When he looked down at Klister again, he noticed almost at his feet a bloody arm covered with the gray sleeve of a commercial pilot's uniform. Fighting nausea, Paul stood and refocused his attention on Klister who sprawled face was down, draped over the neighboring seat.

Paul kneeled and turned him over. Klister let out an agonized gasp and twitched, spasmodically, He was burned about the face and hands; most of the clothing on the front part of his body scorched. One leg bent at a wrong angle. The smoke dissipated from the cabin and was soon entirely gone. The small fires were waning. A gust of bitterly cold air cleared Paul's head. He bent down and looked at the nearest window. He saw the Autofactory, partially engulfed in smoke. Huge gashes appeared in its smooth skin.

Paul determined it would probably be best to get Klister out of the wrecked thopper. After one scream of pain, as he gripped the burned and possibly broken arms of the man, Klister faded from consciousness. Paul dragged Klister as carefully as he could down the aisle to the rear of the cabin. Panic, however, began to mount in Paul when a quick examination of the rear emergency exit door revealed that the release handle had been neatly sheared off. If that was not bad enough, he then remembered that he was almost four meters off the ground. Even if he could get the door open, he was not sure how he would get Klister to the ground.

Paul did not have to consider his predicament for long. There was the loud popping sound of explosive bolts, and the emergency door lazily swung outward. Three men, apparently Paul's welcoming delegation, enter through the hatch the one who was apparently in charge grasped Paul, "You, Smith?" Paul nodded. "Thank god you're alive. I'm Anderson, plant manager, are there any others in here?"

Paul wiped his brow and looked down at Klister, at the trail of blood in the aisle and the grisly arm in the sleeve. Then smoke he had inhaled made it difficult to speak, but he croaked out "I don't know." He looked at the mangled remains of the front of the thopper. "There were pilots."

The manager grabbed his arm and said, "Quickly now, we should get back to the factory." Anderson helped Paul down the ladder. After a dash across the snow, Paul entered a small doorway in the immense Autofactory. What greeted him was an industrial inferno; the factory was filled with smoke and tangled broken equipment. Electrical arcs filled the air with the scent of ozone. Some external explosive force hit the tread nearest where Paul had entered and was now useless. Then manager gathered together several other men and explained that they must head for the factory control office, which was unhurt, and also relatively safe. Paul was quickly regaining his composure in the sub-freezing temperature and finally asked what had happened. The manager stopped in his tracks and looked at Paul. "Rebels." was his only reply before he set off again.

Paul noticed two of the other three men with them seemed to exchange peculiar glances, one nodding to the other said the word "Sissu."

The manager glared at the man, "Shut up."

Paul was considering asking "what rebels" when they met a party of uniformed security men and some management types. All were armed. Other factory workers present merely watched. The manager sent them in the direction of the thopper, with orders to assist the injured. Klister continued with Paul in tow but, in a few steps, they froze at the sound of blaster fire. Screams and moans immediately followed the whine. Workers began running in all directions. Paul and the manager turned in the direction of the screams. They saw the group, just ordered to the thopper site, hit with a slashing fire beam that sliced several bodies in half at the waistline. More blasts from the corridor eliminated the armed guard remaining alive.

Immediately white-clad figures appeared at either entrance to the room. Workers who had been frantically trying to run moments before stood frozen in place. Paul noticed many held up their right hands as if to ward off a blow, but then realized the gesture was more of a salute. "Sissu" was repeated several times.

One of the attackers in white, with skis slung over his back and a menacing weapon in his hands, stepped forward and stuck out his right-hand palm outward, fingers spread. The workers in the room then lowered their arms and stood nervously with back to the walls. Standing in the middle of the room with Anderson, Paul felt naked.

The attacker who had saluted the workers turned and faced Anderson and Paul and leveling his blaster at them said, "Stand apart." Paul was paralyzed with pure fright and stood like stone. The plant manager began to back off, "No please don't." he begged the man with the blaster. Adjusting aim, the white figure depressed a trigger and the manager's head separated from his body and fell to the ground, face up, eyes wide, pleading in fright. The body spurting blood from the neck spun in a staggering gait and fell to the ground jerking and twitching. Paul watched the body until an explosion shook him. The white figure now stood less than a meter away. The blaster's barrel was only inches from his stomach.

Paul could not see the man's face under the goggles and cold weather mask, his voice was of medium tenor and very strong. A voice, accustomed to giving orders but somehow familiar. "Who are you?" it barked.

"Are you a miner?"

Paul distinctly heard several workers in the background snort and grumbled. Paul numb with shock and fear was unable to make a sound yet alone reply to the white figure's questions.

The blaster lowered, "That's quite alright Paul Smith. Doctor Smith. I know who you are. We know who you are. In fact, this show was for your benefit." Noticing the blood splattered on Paul's hands and arms, the man waved his weapon at the corpses littering the room. "There is blood on your hand's doctor. You must clean yourself up if you can." Paul was sure that he knew the voice from somewhere, he could not place it.

The white figure announced, after turning to the workers, "The Front for the liberation of Arandice workers has passed judgment and carried out the sentence on the AMC. This action is carried out in the name of the workers of Arandice. Long live the workers." Several workers muttered agreement. The attackers quickly left the room.
Chapter 25 Revolutionary Demographics

While being careful not to succumb to the seduction of the theoretical simulism we should accept the power and appeal of theory as a major facet of the phenomenon of revolutionary/counterrevolutionary war.

_John Shy and Thomas W. Collier, Revolutionary War. Makers of Modern Strategy 1986_

Paul refused a medical examination and fled back to his Clexton residence. When he finally stumbled into his university faculty apartment, he locked the doors behind himself. The fear of death gripped him, clutched him. His breaths came in gasps. The image of the destruction and the cold-blooded murder of the management personnel by the terrorists burned into his mind's eye. The blood was turning to a reddish brown on Paul's hands, and nausea seized him. 'There is blood on your hands' doctor.' Spasms of sickness wracked him. When he reached the bath, his tears mingled with the illness and blood.

It was many minutes later when he emerged from the bath after showering. He crossed to his study and seated himself at this desk and stared out the large bay window. The seldom glimpsed sun had set, and the daytime atmospheric moisture was crystallized as the temperature plunged. The sky cleared in the bitter cold of night and was aglitter with flakes when the two moons rose. Paul still sat motionless when the two were high in the sky, and the third little sister began its nightly dash across the sky.

The data crystal was where he had left it in a diplomatic pouch in which he had carried it to Arandice. He retrieved the crystal and another small plasmeld object and returned to his study desk and inserted the information crystal into his com. Fingers moved over the input, the screen came to life, and a light flickered deep within his eyes.

The title page flashed on the screen. "Application of Statistical Analysis of Socioeconomic Indicators on Revolutionary and Social Rebellions, Uprisings, Insurrections, and Movements."

Paul reread the words he had written a million miles away. The places and dates, schemes and formulas appeared on the screen page after page and Paul truly comprehended what was there for the first time. He reviewed a list of his prime subject matter:

United States of America, Revolutionary War, 1776,

France 1796,

Russia, Bolshevik Revolution, 1917

Mexico 1911,

Afghanistan 1929, 1979,

Peru,

Venezuela,

Yugoslavia,

Algeria,

Turkey,

Cuba

China,

Iran, Desert Storm, 1991

Iraq, 1980

Bolivia, The Shining Path, 1980

Albania, 1992

The Soviet Union, 1993

Austria,

Burma,

Columbia, 2010

Honduras,

Thailand,

Burma,

India,

Italy,

Germany,

Luna Colony,

Triton,

Vega,

Regulus,

Alpha II,

Gamma Luppi III/Freedom Home,

Serpent III,

Brays World,

Canopus Colony,

Callela World,

Smith Freestate,

New Australia,

Altair Freedom of Man / Twenty Suns...

He stopped at Altair. It was the most recent revolution in human history and the only one that Paul was familiar with other than research data. Paul again stared out the window and thought of his father. He asked himself, 'What is it in these ideas that my father, my mother and these others die for?' He fingered the plasmeld object he had retrieved with the crystal. It was the Altair Congress belt buckle given to him by Governor Higgins. He said it was taken from his father's body by the Red Marshall at the final battle of the War of the Twenty Suns.

Paul turned back to the com screen and ripped through the appendices of his thesis pulling out the equations he needed. He then began to plug into the variables the preliminary census data he had on hand. When the computation was complete the fourth moon of Arandice, the moon of the rising sun was shining on his work. The revolutionary quotient for the Arandice Federation equaled 1.03 with a variation of .98 to 1.08. To Paul, it seemed that the bloody hand of freedom was about to touch the cold star of Asterion.
Chapter 26 McGraff

The theory of revolutionary demographics dated back to the days of the first space age. It was first put forward, as far as Paul's research at the University of the Americas could determine, by a technocrat working for the old United States of America, by the name of Robert McGraff. By any measure, McGraff was a genius who had toiled in utter obscurity. McGraff was a 'computer programmer' by trade and plied that trade with a bureaucracy of the USA government apparently using his talents to track, record and file obscure data pertaining to the nation's business.

But just as he was a product of the first space age, so was McGraff a child of 'revolution' or at least societal change. During the first voyages to the Earth's moon, the USA became involved in various colonial wars of attrition ostensibly to compete with the rival Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. The last war against communism, strangely enough, involved a nationalistic movement in the guise of revolutionary communism. The citizenry at home was not of one mind regarding this war. And as will happen in revolutions of this kind, much of the propaganda spewed forth by either side took root among those most willing and anxious to question the wisdom and authority of their government's course of action; particularly those who were being asked to sacrifice the lives fighting a war, young men, primarily amongst the students.

Well, being a student of the day, of conscript age, and possessing an inquisitive if not mischievous mind, young McGraff happened to read a specific propaganda piece written or likely fabricated by a low-level functionary in the USSR. It attempted to compare and contrast, however weakly, the insurgency movement in the USA colony Viet Nam and the revolution of the British colony of America 200 years earlier. McGraff found the treatise both amusing and nauseating. For his own beliefs, McGraff found no similarities between the two revolutions, but it did give him an idea for his semester project in his class in The Computer in Statistical Application.

McGraff set out to collect all available data about both the colony of Viet Nam in the 1960's AD, as well as the colonies of Britain in North America in the 1770's AD. McGraff specifically sought out verifiable or at least credible information regarding population, its distribution, climate, agriculture, technology, industrialization, urbanization, infrastructure, sociology, economic statistics a dozen other lesser statistics. The academic requirements of the class project not being great, McGraff's background in the social sciences being limited, and student access to the university's primitive computers restricted, he calculated only the crudest statistical correlations. The class instructor commended his work with a high grade. But, when McGraff subsequently took a class in Political Science and wrote his work up in the form of a report paper, he was rebuked with a barely passing score.

Sensing the prejudices of the social sciences, McGraff from then on religiously stuck to his chosen field of computers but remained undeterred in his belief that he had indeed found something. There were very real similarities between the revolutions he studied, and he vowed to himself to continue his work whenever given the opportunity. He did not have to wait long.

A USA government, desperate to come to grips with the dawning of the computer, snapped of Robert McGraff upon his graduation and set him to work in the immense computer data processing section of its legal branch. This was fortunate. Had he been dispatched to the military or the intelligence branches of the USA government he would have found himself working for other competent computer experts who were making great strides in knowledge and technology. They would never allow a journeyman computer technocrat the luxury of hundreds of hours of the government's computer time to research and process the data for a personal pet project.

As it was, McGraff was given free run of the proverbial candy store by the computer illiterate lawyers of the bureaucracy who in the waning industrial age disliked and even feared the onslaught of the trade practiced by McGraff and his contemporaries. Thusly, the full weight and power of the government's colossal data banks and computing capability were at his disposal. He found the civil service duties dull and annoying to the point of tedium but quickly dispatched with them. In the course of the next dozen years, McGraff spent several thousand hours of the government's time, much of it on the computers, expanding and enhancing his undergraduate term project. At last he came to define the theory of revolutionary demographics: A revolution and General uprising by the population of citizenry of a colony or national entity against the sitting government can and does take place when certain economic, demographic and social conditions exist in combination, and will unseat that government with a high proportion of success.

McGraff eventually left the government after completing his Master of Computer Science at a local university night school, completed his doctoral course of study and this thesis by the title of Revolutionary Demography: Application of Statistical Analysis of Socio-Economic indicators in Revolutionary and Social Rebellions, Uprisings, and Movements.

McGraff lived out his days in contentment as a professor of computer theory and technology at a university near the USA capital. Within a quarter of a century, McGraff and his theory were forgotten by all but the data banks of the USA Library of the Congress and George Washington University. The work was of passing note to only a handful of scholars over the centuries.

At least until Paul Smith.
Chapter 27 The Princess

Paul found a note on the desk from the valet. It was attached to a com crystal and read: Sir, we received this in a manner which would seem to indicate that you would desire to review it personally. F.

The crystal was unremarkable, and he put it into the com.

A voice said, "This message is encrypted. State the name of the woman who sat at the bottom of the stairs in a wooden chair and saw us come and go." Paul fell back into his chair, stunned. "Mrs. Gerschorn" he whispered, then "Constance."

On the vid the face appeared, it looked the same but, different, more refined, more beautiful to Paul. The image began to speak:

"My dearest Paul, this message is being transported to you at great risk and must, unfortunately, be brief. Do not try to reply or contact me. I think of you often and miss you always. You were the event in my life that had made me truly comprehend; to realize my fate. That is because you were my anti-fate. You were the trail or the wisp of an ephemeral timeline that was a fate which might have been, yet seemingly must never be. If only it were not. You were my destiny that could never be, we were a mistake of fate, but still, a destiny that lurked in the shadow of possibility. I curse our meeting, we should not have ever met, yet you -- I adore, and do not regret a moment of it all. I know you are now in an awful place and I worry about you terribly; I do not know it for sure, but I fear you are in great danger. More than that I dare not say. I don't know that I will ever be able to get you a message again; do not try to contact me. I will love you always." Her demeanor changed, and she moved in staring intently into the vid, "And remember, always – When it is darkest, never give up hope. Remember never."

The screen blinked out and the crystal erased itself. She was gone again.

Chapter 28 Spies

As Paul drifted off to sleep with the rising sun, an agent analyst of the Arandice security services became highly excited. The agent, buried in the inner maze of a government complex, began his morning ritual of sorting through com and message activity of the several subjects he was assigned. The most important, yet most boring, was Paul Smith, the University Officer. Smith's com activity of the past year had been so ordinary and usual the agent barely scanned his daily Smith file with one eye.

It was only the mass amount of com activity in the early morning hours that piqued agents' interest. She did not nearly comprehend what the officer of the university had done, but the word revolution was all over it. For her, that was enough.

She quickly contacted her supervisor who reached his and so on. By the close of business that day, Governor Uskapunki had the head of the Arandice Secret Police standing in front of her desk with a concise, alarming report of Paul's late-night computations. The befuddled Uskapunki asked her head secret policeman, "What does it mean?" The report indicated that the time was ripe, events had reached a head. He responded dryly, "Come the revolution." The planet's police and military forces were advised of the potential of mass civil disturbances soon and put on alert. Informers were questioned time and time again. Bribes passed hands, leads followed and shortly after the underground leadership set the time and day of the general strike and uprising, it was also in the hands of the government.

At approximately the same time the agent became highly excited, Juslensius entered Paul's apartment and after satisfying himself that Paul was asleep moved to the com. On the desk next to the com was the belt buckle. Juslensius touched it gently, briefly. He looked at the sleeping Officer of the University and the bloody clothes and wondered again at the strange man from Earth.

Paul had left the com on before going to bed. Juslensius committed to memory what was on the screen. The heading was "Revolutionary Quotient for the Planet of Arandice." What Paul comprehended from the com screen was radically different from those that spied upon him. The planet of Arandice was indeed dangerously close to erupting. But it was only close, and in the case of revolutions, the last step was the hardest. Paul's research was conducted in three areas, only two of which Paul had completed. First was a review of the population's perceptions of both the oppression and secondly perceptions regarding the possibility of escaping from or rebelling against the tyranny. The final factor regarded the infrastructure of the revolutionary forces amongst the population and, perhaps most important, the leader or leaders. While the time of revolution on Arandice was approaching, it lacked a true and great man or woman, as had happened throughout history, who had been called upon to interpret events and make things happen. Washington and Jefferson, Trotsky and Lenin, Kahn, Rigel Cyn, Klein; those who had led, construed, cajoled, threatened and succeeded in carrying the revolution over the last and hardest hurdle, from idea to action.

But, Arandice lacked the proper conceptual framework for a revolution, quite simply, no one knew what to do next. Paul had no data on the underground and was, of course, unable to evaluate it. He knew, however, from his time on the planet that there was no leader of the underground, merely some faceless committee. Perhaps an efficient organization, but hardly likely to excite men to storm the barricades. Yes, the ingredients for the revolution were beginning to gel. Paul mused that it would probably be many years though before anything came of it.
Chapter 29 The Uprising of '57

August 3257 R.T.E.

Paul dreamed of Earth and the University of the Americas. He was in his military instruction class, and with the other students, he was at the shooting range firing live blasters. The high-pitched whirring noise of the A6 weapon filled his ears. He turned to look for Connie.

Paul was jarred awake by the sound of a very real explosion, nearby. The sound of blaster fire, also real, could be heard sporadically. Paul sprang from bed and went to his window. Across the campus, Paul could see armed soldiers in full battle kit, in and out of vehicles taking various positions. There was the occasional whir of blaster fire, another explosion from farther away and of Paul's line of vision.

Suddenly, a volley of fire erupted from a dormitory building. A student or students with blasters had opened up on the soldiers. Paul was shaken and could not believe what his eyes were seeing. The students' fire was ineffective and worse, only attracted the attention of the soldiers who began concentrating volleys of fire on the dormitory. Suddenly a series of explosions ripped the side of the building, and the firing stopped.

Paul flipped on the tri-dee viewer on the wall of the room. A man in military or police uniform was saying that martial law was imposed. An attempted assassination of the governor and overthrow of the government was thwarted. The authorities were quickly overcoming isolated pockets of resistance. Stay off the streets and stay tuned.

With a crash, the door to the apartment burst open and soldiers filled the room.

"What the hell is going on?" Paul demanded. An officer stepped forward and announced to Paul.

"You are under arrest for treason against the Federation and the government of Arandice. As a courtesy to the Emperor's representative, you may bring such personal belongings as you may require."

When Paul began to speak the officer sneered and held up a hand, and Paul stopped. "My instructions regarding you are not as exact as they were for others, I have arrested this day. I am under strict order to protect your life and ensure your safe escort to the spaceport. There you will be transported by shuttle to moon Superior for transport to the Regional Imperial seal on Car Cairoli for trial or disposition of the charges that are pending against you. The officer finished and glared at Paul.

Paul hesitated and glanced about the room at the two-armed escort troops. The officer waited impatiently, shifting his weight from side to side. The officer despite doubts about his orders to start with did not think that he or anyone else on Arandice had the authority to arrest Federation or Imperial officials, especially the Representative. Then he had read the charge sheet on the way to the campus. Smith was charged with plotting the overthrow of the government. Traitor, he thought, and the subsequent charges related to events that had only happened hours earlier. The charges had obviously been drawn up in advance, and the officer was impressed by the foresight of his superiors. Finally, the officer decided, Smith was a coward, hiding in his bed in the midst of the terrorism he had fomented.

Paul finally spoke, "Whom may I ask has charged me with these absurd lies?"

"The governor of Arandice."

The surprise was evident on Paul's face. "The governor...officer, perhaps you might explain to me what is, what has happened." Paul gestured to the window, the now burning dormitory visible.

This time the officer hesitated. "Oh, surely you know do you not?" Paul shook his head. Indecision clouded the officers face. "You are, of course, to be executed for treason, I suppose." said the lieutenant. An explosion went off that shook the room. Then he firmed, but with less confidence "none the less, I have my duty, and if that is unclear, then I must at least get all of us out of here."

Paul was hustled across the smoky courtyard in front of the residence to a waiting, small troop transport thopper, by the officer and the two guards. With the continuing sounds of blaster fire in the vicinity, they ran the final two hundred meters, arriving breathlessly in the small ship. A soldier shoved Paul roughly into a seat and began to buckle him in. The others sat on either side of the small compartment. That was when Paul glanced around to get his bearings.

A lean and tough looking sergeant, about Paul's age, had been waiting on the shuttle, stared at him from the end of the compartment. Paul's eyes locked onto the man. He knew the soldier. It was Renvall. His friend. Renvall did not show any emotion. When Paul opened his mouth to speak, Renvall slowly, almost imperceptibly shook his head and ducked into the rear compartment. A voice over an intercom announced preparation for take-off. The lieutenant barked orders to the sergeant, Renvall, to secure for take-off.

The lieutenant announced with a hard look at Paul, "Destination Arandice Central Justice Facility." Paul recognized the name. It was Clexton's central prison, a short five-minute flight. The noise of the thopper filled the cabin as the ship began to lift off and move swiftly over the city. Renvall reappeared and hastily pushed through the passenger compartment to the front; acknowledging no one, but never taking his eyes off Paul. The ship quickly passed up into the clouds and was hit with a jolt, shuddered and veered to the starboard. Almost as abruptly, the ship righted itself and resumed a somewhat less steady course flight path. The soldiers, a sergeant and a corporal, on either side, exchanged glances. The lieutenant had paled and looked slightly shaken; nervously looking from soldiers to Paul to the front door. The officer was saying something, but Paul could not hear over the noise.

The ship continued flying steadily higher and higher for several more minutes, flying directly into a bank of ominous clouds. The soldiers and officer became increasingly agitated. The officer began shouting into the wall com unit. Finally, he started to yell at the soldiers and wave at the front door. Neither moved, feigning incomprehension. The lieutenant, his face red with anger, began to unbuckle and rise. At that moment, several men, non-soldiers emerged from the rear, all but one holding blasters, leveled at the passengers. One was a bearded figure in a type of robe, like that of a preacher who stared directly at Paul. The lieutenant began to back towards the flight compartment. A blaster flashed fire, and the lieutenant spun around with blood splattering from his right and then went down. The ship began to fill with smoke and seemed to wobble and drop. The blaster had hit more than just the lieutenant.

Alarms sounded, and the emergency lights came lit; the thopper shuddered as hydraulic fluids sprayed from the spot on the compartment wall that had been struck by an errant blaster shot. Sparks and electrical arcing filled the space with smoke. The ship began to spin slowly and then began to fall from the sky. As it emerged from the clouds, Paul could see the snowy white mountainside quickly approaching, and he braced for the impending impact.
Chapter 30 Paul and the Revolutionaries

Upon Renvall's quick explanation of Paul's innocence in the aborted revolt, the others lowered their blasters and agreed he could remain alive. The preacher, Vallittuu told them he was blessed. Amidst the wreckage of the shuttle crash, the others, Pehr Evin, Jagerhorn and Williams were very subdued and kept much to themselves and like the others tried to survive. At night they all clustered together in the cold remains of the wreckage and tried to sleep in the cold. The supplies were adequate for many days, but Renvall was concerned and began to search for a sheltered area.

After a long day of exploring he found a cave in the mountainside that extended and expanded into a large room and continued into the bowels of the mountain. This would become their new home for a long winter thought Renvall grimly. When Renvall returned to the crash site, the cold and now nearly frozen group, meekly obeyed his commands to gather food supplies and come with him. Within an hour they had reached the cave, and a fire burned, and for the first time in three days, they felt warmth and hope.

The preacher, Vallittuu, who Jagerhorn called old father or preacher or prophet depending on the situation, spent his time ministering to Paul and the other's crash injuries and exposure. Most of his time seemed to be spent hunched on the far side of the cavern room from his three fellow pilgrims, studying them intently. The three of them had a heated and animated discussion and fell silent when Renvall or any of the other crash survivors came near. On the third day, Vallittuu, after watching several hours joined them. The old figure had somewhere acquired a staff of wood, as tall as himself. With his flowing patched and tattered robes silver hair and newly grown beard, he appeared as if a prophet from the old testament Bible. For all that afternoon Vallittuu joined in the intense discussions; He would shake his staff wave his hand and hang his need. All of the other survivors, within the cave, assumed those three talked of the failed revolt Paul Smith and perhaps about their own lives; forfeit for treason against the state.

Soon after, cold darkness had settled over the white mountain valley and snow drifted down. With the snow, one of the great eagles circled in high, wide arcs and slowly descended until it had perched above the mouth of the cavern. The Eagle fascinated by the opportunity to learn more about humans carefully touched each of their minds and then assured that they were all put into a deep sleep. The bird arrived with food and wood. In one talon the bird clutched a freshly killed gwain in the other a small dead bit dry tree. Kwiswath dropped these prizes at the opening and fluttered peered into the cavern. It could make out Vallittuu, Jagerhorn, Pehr Evin and Williams. At first, the bird only observed from a short distance but finally settled on Vallittuu and entered his dreams which roiled with the day's arguments and debates. The strange concepts baffled Kwiswath but he understood the emotions. Two others were very different -- Paul and Renvall. The mind of the one far too complex to comprehend but the latter was a hunter and that resonated with Kwiswath. He could perceive they were special, the both of them. But the one, one called Paul could also see as did his kind.

The next morning when the survivors awoke, and the bird gone and there were wonderment and fear at what they found at the cave entrance and the strange tracks in the snow. They had all dreamt of a giant silver bird soaring in the night sky.

The revolutionaries quickly dressed the Gwain and began cooking the meat. They found Cave mushrooms as well as an edible lichen from the forest. And further into the cavern, a spring of hot water was located. They would not starve.

Vallittuu and the others went to the sleeping Paul and woke him. They shared their food, and Paul savored breakfast. Paul finished the repast and Jagerhorn began.

"Paul Smith, my comrades and I, we apologize for our earlier hasty judgment of you. They formally introduced themselves. Juslensius proceeded, "From what we saw before our flight with Father Vallittuu the underground is finished. We are, in all probability, the last three remaining members of the leadership who have not been jailed or arrested. Paul looked from face to face. The three-looked grim and haggard. Unkempt and unshaved their dark eyes red from lack of sleep and exposure gave them a macabre look. Paul chuckled to himself. He looked worse no doubt.

"Well we three, and the preacher have had a long talk about you. We know a lot more about you now than we did a week ago. Renvall explained from where you came. You two are from, well you are from Altair." Paul startled. The three exchanged glances, and there was a pause. Just the word spoken out loud the name of that place disquieted them. "and we are inclined to believe him."

William from the other side said, "It appears that crazy old man is right."

Jagerhorn seemed to snarl. Evin looked worried.

"Well, Altair it is then." Jagerhorn looked at his companions and turned back to Paul somewhat pleased.

"You know, young professor, you, me the lot of us have nothing more to look forward to then a death sentence for treason. But, Juslensius and now Father say this plan of yours, this Revolutionary Demographics was and is our only hope. One thing is clear from the past few days. Your plan is perilous. Now I supposed that anyone that survived Altair had had his share of that Freedom of Man garbage they so piously espoused. But maybe things aren't so different here on Arandice as they were on the Twenty Suns. Is that what your theory says, aye?"

Jagerhorn nodded answering his own question. "Maybe Evin, Williams and I should have been born on Earth and maybe done a far sight better for ourselves and families. A man doesn't have much choice of when or what place he is born in this galaxy. Now you've been on this ice ball long enough to have a good look at this planet. And I ask you, is this any way to live? Our fathers worked for years building this planet, and now suddenly it is all ruined. You are smart enough to see that this planet is wounded and dying, and millions of people are trapped in the middle. We have been cast aside and are replaced by robot machines. This is no accident, somebody somewhere far up in that accursed AMC has made decisions that are crushing and grinding up people like the ore in the fields. The people without jobs, money or hope don't get shipped off this planet. Forty years of Autofactories have left half this planet without work or hope. You know the economic factors better than most. Hell, I don't even know what to call it; slavery, imprisonment? It is happening to everyone on this planet except a few at the top. Tell me, young professor, how does one fight invisible forces? Hit them? Blast them? How do I combat business decisions made on the other side of the spiral that kill me? And my planet."

"What are we to do? Take handouts, beg, steal or flee like refugees to a strange planet. Look around, out at this dirty little planet. This is not the green hills of Earth, but this is our home, and we cannot give up without a fight. Until you came, it was truly a battle without hope. I see that now. I don't care what the others say, and there was no chance of our victory. We don't even know who the enemy is, or why. Well, your little trick with the census data; yes, we all know about that. Juslensius was one of us. AMC knew too, gave us a glimmer of hope a momentary glance of how and why and who. Not one of us knows how to fight an economic indicator or things like that. But I think you do; you do know how to fight it and maybe give us our lives back."

Vallittuu stood and banged his staff on the ground. "Our blood and our children's blood is shed, and we will fight and die with or without hope. We all had the same dream last night." They all murmured and nodded. "The bird told us. You and Renvall were the ones and our hope. I demand I beg of you to save our children and us."

They all stood and left Paul alone.
Chapter 31 Renvall's Dream

The first days after the crash were filled with anxiety and wonder for Renvall. His first crisis was the death of the Arandice Lieutenant, mortally wounded by blaster, on the shuttle before the crash. The lieutenant had commanded the detail of two soldiers escorting Paul to the moon. Renvall at first treated the soldiers, a tough veteran pug of a sergeant called Williams and a happy tall, thin blonde headed corporal name Jon Bons (pronounced bones), as prisoners until Vallittuu stepped in and pointed out the folly such activity. They were, all of them, trapped far to the North with no idea of their location and little if any fight left in them. If anything, they were terribly frightened. Shortly after their arrival at the caverns, the lieutenant died of his wounds and exposure. When Renvall, thinking to mollify the soldiers suggested that they hold an honorable military funeral, the four showed their first bit of fire. The sergeant spat on the ground at the suggestion and instead recommended they throw it out in the snow to let the blue bears and neowolves feed off the carcass.

There was no loyalty to the Arandice government which held them before. It was only fear that the officer might be nursed back to health and eventually report their refusal to fight on the shuttle. They all had a family or relatives back home and would not risk the report of the "punk lieutenant" as they referred to him after his death. The sergeant told Renvall, "As far as me and the lad are concerned, you're in charge now. Even though you ain't from the ice ball and all, it seems you're a lot more for Arandice than those fat politicians in Clexton or the likes of these tinpot officers." The sergeant went to the body of the recently deceased and ripped off the lieutenant's blue braid from the left shoulders and shoved it at Renvall and demanded, hands on hips, "Here, now tell us what you want us to do."

That evening when Renvall pulled the braid out of his pocket, suppressed emotions caught up with him. Here he was a soldier, lost in a snowy wasteland. His friends, undoubtedly dead or imprisoned. Again, far from a home which existed only in childhood memories, drummed out of the FedEmp Marines, he now received his first command, a ragtag group of three amateur revolutionary soldiers and four deserters. As he stated at the blue braid in his hand, grave doubts washed over him. He worried that they would all perish in this snowy wilderness.

The next few days were an exhausting struggle to salvage as much as possible from the wreckage and make the cavern habitable for the upcoming deep winter. If Vallittuu had not made that understood by his dire warnings, the early winter storm which blasted the valley for a day and a night made it painfully clear. Any passes through the mountains to the temperate zone were sealed for the winter. From what he could gather from Vallittuu and the sketchy charts on the shuttle, they were at about the 32d parallel of the planet. Five hundred miles to the temperate zone of the Northern hemisphere in summer. In winter it was almost one thousand miles. On the third day, they had fashioned a crude log and rock wall and door blocking the cavern entrance. With the hot spring and cooking fires, the cave was made warm for the first time since their arrival.

That night Renvall fell into a deep dreamless sleep. The bird had been so happy with him, "A human not insane, he was a hunter and a killer. And Paul, with the plan, would make him a great leader." Also, a human not insane.

When he rose in the morning, he found a long blue quill, almost a meter in length, next to his bed. He stared at the feather a long time and finally picked it up. Renvall knew that he was caught up in something that was much greater than its parts. His immediate reaction was to run. He calmed and swore to himself. For once in his life, he would see this thing through, to its end.
Chapter 32 There Shall be One to Lead Them

Paul was important to the Eagles because this human had the sight. Form the moment Kwiswath touched his mind the first night in the cavern the bird spent many hours studying Paul and that complex mind. The bird would fly by the cavern deep at night and probe them and find Paul. Kwiswath brought others with him too, and they would touch the minds of all, but they also agreed with Kwiswath and what he felt. During the ensuing nights, Paul became aware of Kwiswath's touches on his mind and increasingly aware of their existence of something outside of him. Over time he felt different presences visit him in his dreams with different effects. Worry and fear wracked Paul about what would happen during the long days of surviving in the mountain. But, after he had been 'touched' which was how he thought of it, he always KNEW upon waking what he was to do. He saw clearly, the path forward. For example, he knew that Renvall must be the one to lead them. He had been shown that so clearly. But he also knew that he was the leader with the plan.

Deep in the throes of the white cold winter outside the mountain, a quiet snowstorm blanketed the valley. Late that night Paul was awoken by the presence and summoned to the lip of the cavern. Paul dressed and as if in a trance was drawn outside the cavern. Paul saw him then. The giant bird perched on a boulder higher them himself. The bird peered into Paul, and he staggered. Paul began to understand now that this was the presence, and that he was to go with this entity. His neural net was activated. The bird spread its wings and hopped down next to Paul. Terrified but frozen in place Paul did not move. The giant bird head and beak turned on him, and the bird's tremendous black eye came down to Paul's level and stared into him. His neural net felt as if it was on fire. Paul could barely maintain consciousness. The presence filled him, and calm washed over him, and he knew to climb on the back of the bird when it bowed to the ground. The bird leapt off the cliff, into the valley, the snow stinging Paul's face as the giant wings ripped the air and they climbed higher and higher.

The winds buffeted Paul, and the bird told him to cling tightly in the swirling snow. Paul could see nothing, blinded by snow and clouds. Suddenly they broke through the clouds, and Arandices's larger moon was shining blue on the scape of clouds. The stars were brilliant and filled the sky like so many jewels. Kwiswath now glided across the sky, and Paul fell into a deep sleep. In the morning he woke shivering and covered with newly fallen snow back at the cave entrance.
Chapter 33 Paul and Renvall

"Hello, Paul"

"Hello, Renvall."

"You will excuse me if I am at a loss for words to thank the assassin for sparing the quarry."

Renvall frowned and replied, "well old friend, my quarry was not you at all. It was what the beloved leadership called a traitorous counter-revolutionary force, a dupe of the criminals who govern this ice ball. You are certainly not the former, but perhaps the latter. Yea, when I recognized your ugly face on the shuttle, I hesitated in pulling the trigger. Lucky, you always were the ugly one." Renvall smirked, and Paul rolled his eyes. The vicious scar across Renvall's face was astonishing to Paul. He had only heard of the attack that disfigured him and had never seen it. "Well, you don't easily lay waste to a best friend not seen in a dozen years. And certainly not one of us. An Altairan as a counter-revolutionary. Now isn't that the best." They both started to laugh, and warmth of long-lost friendship spread through them both.

"A dupe, yes, I guess so." Said, Paul. But he smiled and chuckled at the thought. "A dupe, yes that pretty good, in fact, that may be fairly accurate. You know Renvall, you may not believe it, but I do not have the faintest ideas of what or how I got here or for that matter how in the galaxy did you get to this place. I mean Arandice to start with?"

Renvall laughed again "I am here because you saved me, dear friend. Whatever you did, back in KED City that night, Well, thanks."

Paul blushed, "No it was wrong, you were wronged, it needed to be done. But what it was that I did. I never knew for sure."

"That damn school, that damn planet, they, of course, kicked me out before the graduation. I had no choice. I was given my emigration to Rigel and just got by and finally joined the Federation Army. Never got into the Marines like I planned. But it worked out.

"Funny, I guess we were children banned from government service and see how we needed up."

"Right, that's right, and I am going to ask you how you ended up here too." Renvall eyed Paul oddly, "Mine was a fraudulent enlistment with forgery and bribes. It eventually caught up with me. FedEmp discovered I was one of the orphans and I barely avoided army prison. And look at you? Officer of the university? FedEmp rep? I thought myself a two-time loser, but here I am with you. Not so sure now. Running into you reminds me of a father and a mother, a family, and a home. A planet that is no more." Renvall stopped.

"The birds, it may have been a dream, but they told me I was the hunter, and that you had the plan. Paul you and I are here for a reason. That much I know old friend."

Paul smiled, "Maybe I do, and I will tell you, but not here do you know someplace we can talk?"

The floor of the valley was damp and cold, but Paul had begun to sweat and was out of breath from the exertion of the climb down from the cavern. Renvall had discovered an open sanctuary in the woods during his treks to the shuttle wreck. It was like a private room among the firs. This is where he and Paul talked. Paul rested for some minutes before he spoke.

"So, you too want to know about the plan. Well, let me see it all begins in KED City, I guess. One day old man Shuttleworth, you know him don't you, called me into his office. You were already gone, or you would know of my glory. Well, that fat Governor Higgins was sitting there, and he told me my father was Commander Roderick Smith, and it was his great private joke to send me to Earth. Well, I got to Earth and went to school more. But I studied some extraordinary and dangerous subjects like the Freedom of Man and the Twenty Suns. And guess what? I came up with some answers which someone found frightening or funny or maybe both."

"Then suddenly I end up on this ice ball and now I not sure it was somebody else's great joke to send me here. An academic who studied revolutions sent to a planet on the verge of one. Makes you wonder." Paul shrugged, "You know the rest, Jagerhorn gave me the revolutionary recruitment pitch the other day. You can tell him for me the answer is yes, and here is the plan to stage one."

Paul pulled out a packet of handwritten notes titled The New Social Contract in the Technological Bureaucratic State . Paul wandered off, and Renvall sat down on a felled tree and began to read.

When Renvall finished the packet, he kept his thoughts to himself but passed it to Jagerhorn. When Jagerhorn finished Paul's Social Contract, he sat for a moment and with a determined look finally said: "...we are the forgotten, then." Grim-faced Paul nodded. "Well young professor, I turn the keys to the revolution over to you, such as they are.
Chapter 34 Decomposing the Triangle

Pehr Evin was a good student. He accepted and understood all but the most complex of what Paul told him. And according to Paul, that which he did not comprehend was mostly "...academic statistical voodoo that had no application in a real-world situation" Pehr was not familiar with the method of hierarchical decomposition vis-a-vis a social situation. It was an ancient tool in technical analysis, but Pehr had heard of it applied to a social system.

The first step, initiated by Paul was to ask Pehr and the others: what is it you wish to accomplish? What is the goal? This simple question was passionately argued, for almost two days. The discussion completed when the sergeant of Paul's original escort, exasperated with the arguments stomped his foot and screamed at the revolutionaries, "Dammit, we kick out those bastards in Clexton and the people who work this planet take it for themselves. And keep the damn FedEmp or anybody else off our backs and this ice ball." Although they had all been arguing precisely that for the past two days, none had stated it quite so simply and eloquently.

Paul smiled. They moved on to the next phase. Williams, Jagerhorn, and father Vallittuu were tasked with writing what Paul called the Basic Document. Paul explained that all great revolution had such a statement or purpose and underlying philosophy which would remain as a significant historical document. The trio's eyes lit up at that prospect and fervently delved into an intense if arcane intellectual argument on the subject. Paul, however, quickly retrieved Pehr from this exercised and summoned Renvall from the valley where he was hunting.

When Paul and the other two passed the three prospective authors, Jagerhorn was on his feet "what we need is a clear statement of constitutional, reformist non-autonomous democracy. Anything short of that could only be interpreted as revisionist!" Paul cringed but, gave them a nod of encouragement and walked over to his area of the cave, Renvall, and Pehr in tow.

They all sat on rocks. "Now, while your fellow revolutionaries are otherwise occupied with matters of philosophy, we will plan a revolution." Paul traces a triangle on the floor in the dirt. "This is Arandice and represented that part of the system which supported the revolt." Paul partitioned a thin sliver in the triangle creating a very acute inner triangle. "Pehr, your task will be to determine what must be initiated to acquire this much support. The sliver turned into an expanding arc encompassing a more considerable amount of the figure. Paul drew again.

Renvall studied the dirt sketch and nodded. "that is either an awfully large or terribly small amount said Pehr.

"It is an ideal militia organization," said Renvall. "Lots of troop sergeants at the bottom and a small number of officers."

"Good," said Paul, "exactly, it's a game we will play amongst ourselves until that area fills, "Paul looked at Pehr" with needs initiated and then looking at Renvall's, "capability solutions."

Both men seemed somewhat unsure, so Paul continued. "Use your imaginations here."

"We will start at the top. The governor represents a great rallying point for counter-revolutionary forces. Are revolutionary forces poised to attack? Pehr?"

"Ah, yes, the governor must be removed eliminated in such a way as to discredit the office."

"Renvall?"

Renvall thought for a moment and began, "Assassination, maybe kidnapping, no assassination is needed. Perhaps in such a way to point the finger back at Arandices's forces. Or another government. Or official. Wait better yet, leave the blame on someone already distrusted by the military. Distrust and dissensions at a critical point in time." Renvall smiled. Paul beamed. "Excellent, but let us start with something easier, demographics."
Chapter 35 Return in the Spring

MARCH 3258 R.T.E.

The troop woke slowly in the cold woods. "Break camp." Renvall called out to no one in particular as he rose from the bed of pine needles. "arggggh." Moaned Jagerhorn who mumbled "slave driver." The others began to stir too. He scratched the staff he had picked up in the mountains. The mark was the 21st, one for each morning. Three weeks to travel down from there mountain eyrie. Through ice, snow, and mud, Renvall guided them like a mountain man, but they had all thinned, toughened and had become something different from before.

Renvall had led them based on the intense dream he had experienced. That night, back in the relative safety of the cave, Renvall had fallen into a deep dreamless sleep. When he snapped awake, the fires were only glowing coals which dimly lit the giant bird which stood towering over him at his makeshift bedside. Renvall had seen flora and fauna of a dozen planets. Without a doubt, these birds were the most magnificent creature in the known galaxy. How he knew it, he was not sure, but the bird was called Kwiswath and Renvall was to come with it. He dressed quickly and joined the bird at the cavern lip. The bird flattened itself to the ground, and Renvall carefully climbed on its back, and they soared into the dark night. The bird flew high and wide with effortless grace. Renvall saw a world from on high so beautiful wild and sliver that he cried. The bitter wind on his face froze the tears. He saw glittering ice covered mountains and dark steaming lakes. He saw herds of animals run in terror at the moon shadow. Many other birds soared through the night with them. Finally, he was shown a winding uncharted river that snaked through the mountains to the South sea. The river that would take them back to civilization in the Spring. When he rose in the morning, well he knew this was how they would return to civilization.

But even though he had brought them this far on the harrowing journey, he was beginning to doubt the dream and himself. Every night he had tried to recall the details. It had been their map and guide down the mountainside. His knowledge of the terrain had amazed them all. When pressed as to its sources, he merely said he had seen it all in a dream. Father Vallittuu called it a vision, a prophecy and indeed they agreed it was miraculous

The three-week trek from the crash site had been hard. The first days descending the mountainside of snow and ice had been treacherous. The corporal, Jon Bons, suffered frozen feet that third night. Bons had foolishly disregarded Renvall's instructions and common knowledge to take off his boots before crawling into the sleep tube. The young man cried in pain as they removed his boots and socks revealing dangerously dark cold feet. He was shivering with cold and fear. He knew the danger, and if his feet turned black, he was doomed. The boots had restricted circulation, and the feet were dangerously frost bit. Renvall ordered them to build up the campfire to a blaze. He melted snow and warmed the water and repeatedly warmed the frozen feet. He made hot tea, and they wrapped the poor man in blankets. After several hours of careful warming, the man was able to walk again, though his feet were numb to feeling they had good color as circulation was reestablished.

By day seven they had achieved the lower elevation and found the headwaters of the river that would take them far into the valley. The huge blocks of crash nearly weightless crash foam salvaged from the thopper crash site that each man carried now became their conveyance. Using the buoyancy of the foam, they built a raft and drifted down the river poling off the rocks and banks and at times stopping to hunt and fish. They came to a lake and drifted across. They could hear a roar of rushing waterfall and Renvall directed them to paddle to the Southern shore. Their river journey came to an end, and they began a long trek Southwest through the massive woodlands of Arandice.

On the nineteenth day of their journey, marching through the woods, the seven men fell into a routine of two hours of hiking and breaking and resuming until late in the day when they would make a camp under the canopy of the huge dark green trees on the soft forest floor. It was after the first-afternoon break when the attack happened.

The sun was shining down through the trees, and the crew was in good spirits. After months of hardship, and surviving a blue bear attack the night before Civilization was near. They had descended from the mountains nearly starving into the woods, and now they knew they would survive. The men called out as they marched across a relatively flat area, Jagerhorn sang out

"Let 'em blow let 'em blow

Let the four winds blow

Let 'em blow from east to west

We all love the forest!

Standing tall and looking good

Renvall leads us through the woods

Hold your head and hold it high

Renvall's troop is marching by

Close your eyes and hide your fears

We aren't scared of big blue bears

Look to your right and whadta see?

A whole bunch of legs looking at me

The first that any of them heard of the bear attack was a loud crash, and a roar as the giant blue beast leapt from the underbrush seizing sergeant William and falling on top of him. The bear was so large it completely engulfed William in its grasp as it fell to the ground. William had been in the center of the group which now stood all about the beast. The startled men froze for several seconds. Finally, Jagerhorn had the presence of mind to hit the beast over its head with his hiking staff. This at least distracted the bear from biting the smothered William. Renvall, Paul, and Juslensius fumbled with their packs trying to extract their blasters when suddenly, little Pehr Evin ran up to the bear, from the opposite side, and jammed the blue bear in its side it with his small cooking knife. The knife attack seemed only to enrage the bear to the point that it released its grasp on William, stood up on hind legs roaring at and towering over the quavering Evan. The bear's Enormous arm lashed out, claws slicing through Evans coat, ripping the skin. Blood sprayed across the men's faces. Fortunately, by this time three of them had blasters in hand and fired nearly simultaneously at the giant bear knocking it on its side. Evin was howling in pain, William was beginning to crawl slowly away from the bear. The three men walked up to examine the bear.

Juslensius bent down and pulled out Pehr's small knife from the blue hide when to everyone's amazement the bear proceeded to stand up shake his head and stagger off toward the woods the men seemingly forgotten. Just as they were about to fire again, Vallittuu, who had been holding back screamed a blood-curdling oath and charged between them at the now retreating bear blocking their line of fire. Holding his staff in front of him like a knight with a lance he struck the side of the bear, the staff broke in two, and he bounced back and fell in a heap. This annoyed the beast and regained its attention. It now turned back, remembering its prey and began to slowly approach the group growling menacingly with eyes ablaze. It was then that Renvall rallied and checked his blaster settings -- which had been on minimum stun – and change them to the full power setting. He coolly he stood up and stepped in front of the cowering group and fired on the bear dropping it dead in its tracks.

Evans injury was only minor and was quickly bandaged William was stunned, but OK and that night they dined on blue bear meat cooked by Pehr and retold the story over and over and made fun of Sir Vallittuu and his gallant charge. And they reminded themselves to always check their blaster setting.

Now on the 21st day, Paul and the troop of survivors from the crash slowly awoke the morning. But quickly got underway. They sensed that the journey was at its end. After the Blue Bear attack, Renvall led them down the trail had picked up four days ago. It had changed from a path to a track and finally to Renvall's relief it intersected to some type of vehicle access road. Just last night, at dusk, they had heard the rumble of the machine in the distance. They camped by the roadside and when daylight broke Renvall positioned themselves on either side of the road. Renvall waited in the middle of the road with a blaster on his hip and the blue bear fur laying at his side. It was not long before the giant transport machine, a tranker, half walking drone and tracked vehicle, slowed and stopped 20 meters from Renvall.

A small access window slid open, and a small balding head popped out.

"Hey, what're you doing? Hey, whaddya gots there? Is that a blue bear? That's really something, what you gonna do with that um blue fur? Hey, who are you?"

The driver of the carryall let them ride in the cargo area or the vehicle and brought them the final 60 clicks; dropping them in a wood just outside of the unnamed town. The otherwise affable driver who had regarded them a bit warily at first said he had never seen such a large fur trapping party before. However, when Renvall presented him with a section of the blue bear fur, driver's entire attitude was suddenly lifted. Even a portion of the blue bear hide was worth several months of his salary, and he grinned the last half of the journey, what did he care about this strange crew. He told them where they could sell the remaining fur and about accommodations for transients. What town was not immediately clear to them. The tranker driver called it station 142 and explained it was a settlement called Springs and it existed because it was at the base of the foothills.

Renvall and the crew made a circuitous route into the town and approached from the mountainside woodland. The dirt road emptied into a quagmire, which passed for a main street of the town. They slogged through the muddy street into town and quickly located the Arandice Mining Corporation Office where they sold their fur. Jagerhorn and Renvall haggled with the agent and finally settled on a price that while too low netted the band a small fortune. The agent wondered at the strange crew but inquired no further. After eating their first civilized meal in months, they employed a driver of a fishing boat to take them further down the river to the next larger town of Deener. It was on the opposite shore of the rather large lake. They spent two days in a hotel in Deener reacquainting themselves with civilization. Paul determined that the computing equipment and net access in the region were sufficient and communications out through the network and would also meet his needs. Renvall noted that the city/town was of sufficient size that the band would be able to blend in and continue to be forgotten. A band of wandering mountain men, trapping fur and not the object of a planet-wide search. It was agreed that they would make this their base of operations. A large house in a dilapidated neighborhood was rented and occupied. It was the type of district where people kept to themselves and did not pry into the affairs of neighbors.
Chapter 36 Trips of Summer

As the summer progressed, the group of seven men dispersed to various destinations around the planet. Jagerhorn and Williams quietly returned to Clexton to gather information and recontact personnel of the shattered underground movement. The sergeant, William, and Pehr Evin also returned to Clexton first to secretly see their families. The sergeant cursed the day he had met his wife when he discovered that she had sold their house and with that settlement from his presumed death, had bought herself and his children passage off the planet. They had escaped from Arandice, altogether. Pehr Evin happily reunited with his wife and son and quietly they resettled back to Deener. Jon Bon, the corporal, saved from death by frostbite, revered Renvall and was amazed by Paul acted as body man and servant for both of them. While the band saw that Renvall was the unquestioned leader and their hero; it was Paul that they stood in awe of as he planned the future.

In that dilapidated house in Deener Paul assembled the machines and tools and merged them with his crystal of information. Paul, however, needed more, information, data, and he used his implant to enter the neural data pathways of their world.

Deener was not to be the cradle of the revolution since it lacked the demographics he needed. The urban area he sought needed to be far more significant, industrialized and at least some type of regional center, but not overly so. It must escape the scrutiny of the Security Service until he was ready. It must possess an organized, yet disgruntled labor force. The political leadership must be sympathetic or better yet wholly corrupt. Or simply replaceable.

In short, it must resemble the revolutionary demographics of Arandice closely in total, perhaps more so. Paul began the search by making a careful review of local news reports, stories of labor problems and unemployment. Crime, graft corruption, drug use, and suicide. Of eccentric, firsthand or despotic local mayors. And incidentally, the distribution number for the AMC Goods liquor distribution. It also needed to be close. Paul did not want any of his band to yet travel by standard commercial methods. For fear of discovery, they worked off cash from their fur-based fortune. Thus, travel was difficult. To avoid use of the Net they had to use cash to buy proxies or beg, borrow or steal transportation if connected to the Net. When Paul completed weeks of coding and analysis, his calculator in milliseconds selected Spring Bear City, 550 clicks to the West. The mission cast for the base, Spring Bear City, was twofold: It would provide a tactical planning and operations center for the final phases, it would act as a gathering place for other surviving leaders of the Uprising of '57. It would provide a sufficient source of supporters. A pool of disgruntled, unemployed, young and angry citizens who would form the core of a future revolutionary militia. Finally, the city would provide a populace, desperate or perhaps foolish enough to allow Paul to manipulate it into a position where Arandices's despotic, but increasingly skittish governor Uskapunki might focus her attention and perhaps commit some horrible error or other foibles that would outrage and unite a population.
Chapter 37 The Plan Would Be Served

Paul settled down to the business of revolution with a feeling of inner peace and a sense of purpose he had never felt in his young life. It was his destiny and fate to be the revolutionary. This thing revolution, of which he had spent his life in quiet intellectual study was now a real and very dangerous entity. It must, of course, have its intrigue and spies and secrets and beautiful, stirring speeches, but it also had things Paul had never indeed contemplated. He was a fugitive and prisoner in one. He was a witness and cause of death at times. And it was not a thing to be studied safely from his office. Real people he had met, risked their lives for his plan had been caught by the government jailed or worse. This was because of his plan.

There was that girl, almost an adult who passed him the statistics on AMC which he probably could have acquired, through the net himself. But he had mentioned it, and that young operative was assigned to get it and pass it to Paul's team. She was tracked, and the secret police were poised to step in as she appeared at the city mall to make a drop of the information. There were several young armed operatives of Renvall's on the scene to monitor and protect her. The secret police moved to take her into custody; and for reasons Paul could not entirely comprehend, the operatives opened fire on them. They were doing what they thought was their duty. Blaster fire hit Fifty-two people in the ensuing melee and bloodbath. The boys, for that, is what they were, fired wildly. Twelve police killed and thirty-one bystanders hit and nine more dead. The girl, among them. The boys were apprehended and imprisoned. One took his own life the other two executed.

The massacre was the foible Paul had anticipated and feared. It was the spark that was needed. Despite efforts to suppress news of the tragedy, the population heard about the killings by word of mouth, and they blamed the government. They were outraged and ready for the change.

Paul realized early on that the Arandice Revolution would be like none other in humankind's long struggles. More than any other it would be contrived and shaped and nursed along. As his theory was applied though, information became the essential catalytic factor. Not the intelligence of a military wall, instead of the mundane knowledge of a world's entire population and their inherent dynamic characteristics of that world's people. Factors of demographics and specific subtle manipulations thereof were the actual weapon and ammunition of the struggle ahead. Most ironically of all, in the end, it was AMC's very own calculators which were used to process, refine and solve Paul's complex equations of revolution on Arandice.

Besides Renvall, Paul formed a small group of technical assistants skilled in mathematics who assisted. All the while Arandice Mining Company and the government of Arandice supplied the data and calculating power they needed.

From the first days at the University of the Americas Paul had intimate knowledge of the working of massive calculating systems used to run the world's government, AMC was little different just smaller. But, through it all, Paul could access the knowledge of the universe. He had little need of that. It was the simple, and the harmless appearing that he sought.

After the mall massacre, the calculations shifted and showed it was time. All he had to do now was wait for the first significant snow and the Marshal. He did not have to wait long. Winter seized the hemisphere with a vengeance and snow upon snow struck the large Clexton valley. Air transport was difficult, and due to the electrical storms, that accompanied the snowy blizzard, sensors were spotty, ground transportation was repeatedly interrupted due to the piles of snow that accumulated. The population resorted to time-honored technology and skills using snowshoes and skis to make their way about their business.

This was the revolutionaries' time. Paul summoned his oldest and only friend and now his erstwhile General, Renvall.

They sat together in Paul's room reviewing the com output projected around them. Renvall nodded and asked a few questions and finally looked at Paul.

"Renvall it is time, is the plan ready? It's up to you and your army."

"Yes, I see it too. The army is a bit optimistic. The rabble I have, let's call it the local militia ready to move. We go to war with the army we have. There are some good ones amongst them. Unfortunately, or fortunately, there is just a lot of unemployed miners in the bunch and young ones that have never really worked. This will be a risk."

Renvall, though, had studied war in the cold and snow on old earth and was fascinated by the ancient Finns of Earth. There were a lot of miners on Arandice who claimed Finn blood was in them too. Renvall could believe it. He focused on historical accounts of the Battle of Suomussalmi between two Earth kingdoms of Finn and Roosha. It was a schematic of a well-led force fighting on their terrain defeating a much superior enemy. He found a long, perhaps original epic story about the battles -- A Frozen Hell: The Russo-Finnish Winter War by Trotter. Renvall was fascinated by accounts of "Finnish troops having higher mobility due to skis and sleds; in contrast, the Roosha heavy equipment confined them to roads." This sounded like the Arandice reliance on fixed positions, police stations and shuttles, which were subject to the whims of weather. Lightly armed troops on skis were able to attack and destroy mechanical war machines called tanks using speed and agility in the snow. It made him think of the military thoppers upon which Arandice relied so heavily. He read on that, "The battleground was mostly forested marshland, with no real roads or trails. Mechanized divisions had to rely on these, becoming easy targets for the mobile Finn ski troops." This was what Renvall would use, mobility. Ski troops. The accounts noted that Finn equipment was well suited for warfare in deep snow and freezing temperatures. Renvall nodded at this. All his former miners could say the same. They relished the cold and snow. "The Finn had very high morale defending their homes. The Roosha had only political reasons for their war lost their will to fight soon." The Finn called that moral by a strange name they called it Sissu. There was not a single word in English with a literal parallel, but rather a cluster of traits. That cluster includes stoic determination, hardihood, grit, bravery, willpower, tenacity, guts, and resilience. It was an action-oriented mindset; evidenced by taking on a mission with long odds; a challenge of one's mental and physical capacities. Renvall had trained and organized his troops with that philosophy.

Renvall planned to assemble the militia into three rump ski brigades and march them, or rather, ski on the capital from three approaches. He would use their mobility and agility and the cover of snow to swoop down the sides of the valley. The capitol would be cut off by land, and they could then pressure the Arandice and AMC for terms.

The groups of ex-miners and hardy frontier types were trained in military formations and weapons. Corporal Jon Bon was now a Captain in the ragged army. The old Sergeant now commanded one of the brigades. The militias trained almost solely during the frequent snow storms in. Hidden in the woods and snow from the Prying eyes of Arandice police.

The winter months dragged on, and one dark, dreary winter day Paul summoned Renvall to discuss the next step. When he arrived, they argued at length about the troop's readiness. Paul was keeping much to himself but, finally smiled,

"It's all a risk. Yes, they are maybe just a militia, but they are patriots and committed, and your plan will work."

Renvall fretted to Paul about the lack of any aircraft. Paul said not to worry; it would be handled. Renvall had his doubts, but Paul brought up the satellite weather forecast which showed a storm approaching Clexton, massive even by Arandice measures and showed the screen to Renvall. He put his hand on his shoulder, Renvall fixated on the huge blizzard approaching the target began to smile also.

"There is more. I have been monitoring my old imperial communications channels. They never cut me off, really," Paul shook his head amused, "and I have confirmation that the Red Fleet now prepares for a jump to our sector. They should be in orbit over Arandice at just about any time now. When they appear above Clexton, the AMC and the governor will surely be highly motivated to assure the FedEmp there is no reason to bring those nasty marines down on their head. They will be cautious. The FedEmp, as always will impose a no-fly order. It will not let any stray Arandice shuttles fly about. I will use that against them."

Renvall nodded and smiled, and Paul hit the table with his palm, "Yes, that plan will work. Ren, you will be running this planet in no time. I will get to work on the diplomatic negotiations as soon as you signal your achievement of the primary positions -- Noren, Suden and Liven, here, here and here, right?" He said reviewing the holographic map. "And Renvall, these are special orders that you are not able to read until I have achieved certain diplomatic objectives. Follow these explicitly. Whatever you see, hear or think, Arandice will deliver, I promise I will deliver to you, Renvall. No doubts. Just follow what these say."

Renvall was quizzical but agreed, "Ok, you are the planner. I'll get on with it. To the revolution my dear friend." And gave him a sloppy salute

"Let's get them moving. I want to see this Sissu you have been training them on. To the revolution." Paul smiled and embraced his friend.

Renvall ordered his brigades to the staging cities just outside of Clexton and made sure they were ready to move. He told his troops much of what Paul had said. That they were patriots and that the storm was a monster, and a gift; as soon as it breaks, in the morning - you need to move. Your day of liberation, the liberation of Arandice is at hand.
Chapter 38 The Betrayal

DECEMBER 3258 R.T.E.

Renvall's most significant problem was the lack of trained soldiers, lack of heavy weapons, lack of technology and just about anything a modern fighting force would expect to have. His unemployed miners and other disaffected elements of Arandice society had been eager to join the secretive APLA, the Arandice People's Liberation Army. It sounded exciting, hopeful, perhaps a path to the new and better things. Renvall singled out former military such as William and Jon Bon and those with the leadership and other skills he needed and set them about organizing his sprawling and widely disperse APLA. The greatest asset, besides, his troop's Sissu was their burning hatred and resentment of the AMC and Arandice government. What they lacked in training was compensated by hardened feeling and the skill of a hard life. Maybe they did have a chance.

That is what they did. The three prongs of Renvall's Arandician People's Liberation Army set off on their glorious revolution under heavy snows and darkness sliding across the Clexton plains throughout the snowy night heading down the valleys for their objectives. As the storm raged towards morning, the moons occasionally peeked through breaks in the clouds and lit the snow and what the old-timers called silver night was upon them. At times it cast dim shadows from the light of the blue and silver moons as they silently glided over the white. They found their objectives quickly. Unalert Arandice police and AMC security were so surprised hardly fired a shot as they were taken suddenly by wraiths in white that flew across the snow at them or just appeared in their installations. Surprise and their initial success were complete. They awaited orders from Renvall who in turn waited for word from Paul. Renvall occupied and used a police station as his HQ and monitored the growing alarm of the Arandice government as it woke to a revolt.

While the heavy snow that had preceded the march of the APLA was pure coincidence, Paul had anticipated the red fleet arrival. In fact, he had counted on it. And arrive they did. Ships began to appear in orbit over Arandice and reports of their presence began to circulate. First in the government which like any small planetary government knew all too well what the fist of the Red Marshal could and had done to troublesome planets. Panic swept through the leadership fearing a FedEmp invasion. The best and only strategy was to keep the rail cannons on those warships silent and space marines in their berths and not on Arandice.

As that realization dawned on the Uskapunki, the Arandice Governor, Paul connected his old imperial com channel and accessed the governor's personal com.

When a slightly disheveled Uskapunki appeared on the screen and snapped, "Yes what is it. Don't you know I am busy with this, this..." when she saw Paul's face, on the line she stopped. "You, you are dead. What? What is going on here? Are you..."?

"Governor, nice to see you again, Paul Smith at your service."

Uskapunki stuttered, "Why you, you are the, the traitor and should be dead. What is the meaning of this?" Then comprehension began, "It's you behind all this, isn't it? You are sending these hooligans in white to attack my police. But you are foiled, you did not know the red fleet was coming, and you will pay." Uskapunki was indignant now and outraged that this young rabble-rouser who should be dead had her capitol surrounded on the ground by who knows what type of army and the FedEmp fleet was hovering over her head.

"Correct on all points Madame governor." Paul stated, "I had set this all up to take over your little government. But, neither of us want Marshal Toffin to spoil all the fun. You and I both know he may destroy the planet, you, me and it all, if we are not careful. I would have your seat by this evening, but the imperial fleet will not allow that to happen, so you are safe."

Uskapunki smirked condescendingly at Paul, "They will have you incinerated traitor!"

"You may, unfortunately, be correct governor, my plans are ruined. I wish to surrender myself and my troops and cease all military operations. My only demand, a request really, is that they are allowed to surrender. In fact, if you do not accept my surrender, I will contact the fleet and ask them to intervene such that I might surrender to them."

Uskapunki smiled broadly, "No, no, that will not be necessary, we do not need the fleet involved that way. Why, of course, we will accept your surrender. Your stupidity only exceeds your impudence in daring challenge my government."

"Governor, I will send you the coordinates of my location and the disposition of my troops as soon as you contact the fleet. I believe they will want to confirm my identity and take me into custody. You can use this. The Red Marshall will recognize it no doubt. Tell him it was my father's."

Paul took off his belt and held the buckle up to the com. It was a plasmeld rectangle with a circle of stars, twenty to be exact, surrounding a hand palm facing outward.

Uskapunki gasped. Even she recognized the flag of the Twenty Suns, and her smile faded. "Wait while I contact the imperial fleet."

In the ensuing minutes, while waiting for the confirmation from the governor, Paul sent a message to Renvall that achieved the diplomatic objectives and to open the doc orders he had given to him. Then he transmitted a lengthy prerecorded communication to Galactic Entertainment. Paul was sitting calmly when Uskapunki' s face returned, and she instructed Paul to provide the coordinates. "The Marshal has also requested my presence on his ship to deliver your belt buckle in person. I will, of course, be hailed as a hero for delivering to the empire the traitor Paul Smith." She smiled looking up towards the stars, "Perhaps the Emperor will request my presence on Earth. Finally, my great leadership is acknowledged."

The com cut and was replaced by an Arandice police official who received the coordinates of Paul's location and Paul provided the location of two divisions of troops in Suden and Noren. Paul, however, made no mention of Renvall's deployment in Liven.

Within an hour a FedEmp shuttle appeared outside Paul's residence and when the blizzard of snow and steam from the ship's engines settled the shocked neighbors saw FedEmp marines taking Paul Smith hooded and cuffed out of his house and into the shuttle. He assumed he might be going to the fleet or perhaps immediate execution. Ultimately Paul was surprised when the ship's motion halted after about twenty minutes, and he disembarked from the vessel. His hood, removed, and he found he was still on Arandice. He was high on a mountain ledge and before him was a bunker-like house or building. The marshal had ordered him kept on the planet and the governor had provided a safe mountain house. The FedEmp officer in charge of the guard detail had orders that Smith was not only not allowed to leave the keep, but he also must not be allowed to leave the planet under any circumstance.

Uskapunki clothed herself in her most beautiful robe and prepared for her mission to the fleet. She even put on her tiara this being such an important mission; she brought with her the leaders of the police and military as part of her entourage. Their protests to the governor, that police were needed to secure the revolting rabble, were overruled by Uskapunki. She had spoken with Paul and could see that he was defeated. The mob would cause no more trouble. She had her eye on greater glory.

As the governor's shuttle slid into the bay of the imperial flagship, Uskapunki was giddy with excitement. Her commanders, less so. When she insisted on disembarking first to greet Marshal Toffin first, they deferred to her position. The doors open, and she began to march out of the little shuttle like a conquering monarch. She was abruptly greeted not by the Marshal but by a junior officer, and the entourage backed into the shuttle.

"Madame, do you have the evidence from Paul Smith?"

The governor was taken aback by the man's tone of voice, "I do, but that is for the Marshall, I am the governor, you see! I must deliver this myself. Personally."

"Ma'am you will give me that now or I will order my marines to take it from you by force."

"But, but, young man I'm the governor."

"Yes, ma'am and you are under arrest for interference with an imperial officer and treason against the empire. The governor sputtered, and her tiara came loose and sat crookedly on her head. All she could do was sputter, "t, t, treason, but, but, but," as she was taken away.

The junior officer of the fleet removed the belt buckle from the shocked woman's hand and took it directly to the Marshal's command center. It was passed by him to the marshal's aide-de-camp and into the office and delivered directly to the Marshal who studied it carefully and put it in a desk drawer.

Toffin was in a foul mood. This Smith thing had gone on too long already. That silly governor let that young man foster a revolt, and it had only failed because of his arrival. Things being what they were, Smith had committed no treason against the empire when the bungling fool Uskapunki had him arrested in '66. For that offense, arresting an imperial officer, she would pay. He would uphold the standards. For letting him create the revolt? She would pay dearly. As for Smith. He must go too. But, never off that planet.

****

Renvall read the secret orders from Paul, a lengthy set of instructions and focused on one word -- surrender.

He remained under com silence as his other divisions were surrendered and gathered up by the police. The simple task of taking them all prisoner began to overwhelm the Arandice police and military. All their forces were ordered to Suden and Noren to control the situation. Making matters worse, word spread of the failed revolt and surrender and thousands of the local citizens began to march, walk or ski to Noren and Suden to join the rebels. The situation started to become untenable.

At the time designated in the doc from Paul, Renvall ordered his untouched militia to move to the completely undefended capitol. They were cheered by the citizens as the skied into the city center, and the APLA seized the government center by a handful of information desk guards.

Renvall found his way to the now vacant governor's quarters, and his contingent managed to grab several critical aides before they could scatter. Fortunately, they had caught one that knew the planet-wide communication codes, and Renvall's next task became much more manageable. His troops ripped down the seal of the government of Arandice and affixed a new blue flag with the white sphere of Arandice in the center on the wall behind the governor's desk. Renvall took the seat at the desk looked directly into the com as it linked to the planet's nets. Grizzled looking Sissu Ski Troops flanked him, arrayed to his right and left under the new flag.

"Attention citizens of Arandice. My name is Renvall, the provisional governor of Arandice. The Arandician Peoples Liberation Army has liberated all people and the government of the planet. Under the authority of the provisional central committee of the assembled sons of Arandice, we now declare the Peoples Republic of Arandice to be the true and rightful government of all Arandice."

"All police and military now report to the Peoples Republic of Arandice now controls the planet. All citizens of the Arandice are instructed to assist the members of the Liberation Army in their task of securing your rights. All government buildings and property are to be respected and are now under the control of the provisional government. We declare the AMC is now the property of and subject to the interim government."

"The Republic now declares these rights to universally granted to all humans who live on the planet:

The right to not be killed;

The right to speak;

The right to health, water, and food;

The right to work and opportunity;

The right to petition;

The right to be judged by peers;

The right to movement and travel.

Long live the Peoples Republic of Arandice."
Chapter 39 Search for the iY

Jon Bons, head was spinning, but he had his orders. Renvall needed him, and he meant to carry out those orders. Only 48 hours ago he had been leading a brigade, ordered to surrender, and then ordered released, and then summoned by the new governor -- Renvall. He as actually sitting in the governor's grand office and at her desk with people scurrying to and from.

"Get me this book Bons." Renvall had told him, "Take whoever you need whatever you need and get it."

Bons stared at the photograph of a book with the letters iY in gold on a dark cover. He nodded his head. "I understand Ren, I mean governor."

"Start with the university and Paul's former residence. Knowing the sloppiness of the former governor she undoubtedly missed it when Paul was arrested a year ago. Here is the address and the president is under arrest in his offices, located here. Jagerhorn is there holding him for you if you need any assistance. And Bons."

"Yes, sir."

"Do not let anyone read that book. Do not open that book. Do not read any of it. Bring it directly to me when you find it."

"Yes, sir." He saluted by force of habit and turned on his heel and hurried off. He grabbed two trusted troops to assist him. A thopper in the courtyard was waiting, and he sped to the Arandice University through lightly falling snow.

The search for the book began with Paul's former apartment. With the sputtering university president in tow Bons, Jagerhorn and two soldiers ripped off the government police seal and broke down the door of the unoccupied residence. The apartment was bare, with the exception of a few chairs and a table and trash on the floor. The search yielded nothing. Bons turned on the administrator, "Where are his personal items; where is everything, who took it."

The sallow president, eyes wide appeared about to cry. "Well, no one took them. When the traitor, was arrested..."

"Careful there." Warned Bons

"I beg your pardon; I meant no offense." The president squeaked, "When Smith was arrested, falsely, the police left in such a rush that I ordered his belongings to be stored and the room sealed. To my knowledge, no one has been in since."

"Stored where?" demanded a menacing Jagerhorn, had on holstered blaster.

"Why in the maintenance facilities I believe. We will need to get the supervisor; I am not sure where they would be."

After thirty long minutes, a campus maintenance supervisor was located and escorted them to the sprawling basement storage area and located a locker that supposedly held Paul's belongings. Bons ordered the soldiers to escort the supervisor and President out. He and Jagerhorn used the code supplied by the supervisor and opened the locker and began to rummage through the belonging of the former University Officer.

Not five minutes into the search Jagerhorn shouted "Got it, here with these reports. A gold iY just like you said." Bons took the book and stared at it.

Bons looked at it, "Wonder what that means, that iY thing."

Jagerhorn looked up at him. "You don't know? I guess you wouldn't, you were never a miner were you.'

Bons shook his blonde head, "No Jag, not me, never. Mamma forbid it."

"Smart woman. Well, that's a symbol for one of the elements." Jagerhorn stopped.

"Which one does it mean?" asked the puzzled Bons.

"By the very stars." gulped Jagerhorn. "Illyrion."
Chapter 40 In the Mountain Again

Paul Smith, Doctor of Political Science, Officer of the Imperial Universities (Suspended), was charged with treason, inciting rebellion, (Paul had laughed at the choice of rebellion not revolution), and violation of an oath to the Emperor (the standard loyalty oath of all those in the FedEmp civil service).

Paul Smith father and shepherd of the Arandice Revolution, and founder and inspiration of the People's Republic of Arandice. Paul liked that quaint name He had gotten it from McGraff. A revolutionary who liberated the people or a traitor who sacrificed everything, he may never. Charged in public, tried in absentia, and convicted by the Red Marshall and sentenced to death. Commutation, pardon, parole/mercy denied by all appellate courts and finally the Emperor himself. The execution had to be soon. While waiting, Paul read from the library and stared out the windows of his erstwhile prison.

That was what they called it at least. It was indeed a mountain retreat was located on Peak La Superba. It was partially carved directly into the mountainside. Paul found amusement that he again lived in a cave. He had his own tiny apartment. White chair and white table, a bed and walls, all white. He had been left alone, since the arrest. He spoke to no one and saw no one except silent guards and the old woman who cooked and brought him his meals at dawn, noon and dusk. He sat in a room he called his study filled with books a white desk and another chair. He drank whiskey from plastic bottles. The Empire took care of its own, even if they were traitors awaiting trial. He took his whiskey with square ice cubes out of white disposable cups. The ice brought to him at his noon meal. He stared out the only window his apartment.

The windows were high on the sky and the stars.

At night he could see Arandice. The snow, the mountain and the white. He would sit and stare at the sky and the stars and wonder what had transpired since he had left Renvall and the others. He did not know if the FedEmp was on Arandice.

Paul received small tersely worded official documents on occasion announcing the progress of the legal proceedings against him. Over the past months. They were delivered by a stern looking fleet officer who always asked him each time when he entered the room, "Paul Smith?" as if there might be some confusion as to who occupied this apartment. Paul would reply affirmatively, and he would be handed the document. They were the only things on the desk and included a copy of his charges. A copy of his indictment for treason punishable by death signed by the Red Marshall. Paul was not sure what day it was. He; had lost track long ago, but he was confident the trial must come soon.

When the door opened at mid-afternoon, a time between the regular lunch and dinner hours, he stood, expecting the arrival of his executioner, which he expected every day. The fleet officer appeared another day and set a black object onto the floor and exited.

The room transformed into the stateroom of a FedEmp starship command room. But Paul did not know this. A very old very tall, and thin man entered the room. He wore a black uniform, plain with no rank or insignia - it took Paul some time to remember the uniform. At first, Paul smiled. A memory from the University of the Americas stirred in him. It was of a student in a similar uniform passed over the heads of others. For some reason the memory gripped Paul as exceedingly funny, the old man before him passed over the heads of students, and Paul laughed until tears came to his eyes and he fell into his chair. Then for some reason, he remembered Connie. Paul spoke out loud, "That was the day I met her."

When he recovered his senses somewhat, he looked upon a man in black-who regarded him with a very sharp gaze. "Why, you're a starship commander."

The man said nothing, and Paul thought for a moment. "You are not my executioner." At that statement, Paul smiled again. "You must excuse me, you see, I don't get many visitors, and I assume I am to die, I thought they had come to get me. You had come to get me."

In his captivity, Paul had developed a twitch of sorts. He did not even realize that he did it and there was no one to tell him he did. He would at times jerk his head from looking straight ahead to the left as if looking over his shoulder. The twitch caught him now for almost a full minute. It took all his concentration to stop and focus again on the man. Realization dawned on Paul slowly. "Marshall Toffin, why yes, who else would come to see, who else would be allowed, but the Red Marshall. Paul started to get up.

"That won't be necessary, Doctor Smith." the voice was calm and even, and old, yet held a strong sense of power. "I have come to complete the imperial requirements pertaining to the execution of a citizen of the realm. In the matter of the charges against you I have, in my position as the supreme Imperial authority in this region, acted as your accuser in the trial against you. The legal and constitutional requirements are met. Your execution will take place at dawn two days hence. Farewell Doctor Paul Smith."

However, you have a choice.

But first, I have something of yours, here." The Marshall reached into a Fold, in his tunic and pulled out the plasmeld belt buckle Paul had sent to entice the parley on the moon so long ago.

The twitch almost overcame Paul, but he managed to blurt out.

"No, you did not.' You did not."

"What?" The Red Marshall had stopped half turned to the door.

"You, you did not come to meet the forms of law. You came to see the man that beat you. A man that you helped create that beat you."

"Yes, I did have a hand in creating you didn't I." The Red Marshall said slowly and was lost in thought. He remembered a body he viewed many years ago. The resemblance between the father and the son were striking. The Red Marshall clearly, recalled the laughing face of his classmate and friend, Roderick Smith.

He walked to the other side of the ship's stateroom. He looked up and out the port, at a star-filled sky. His shoulders sagged, and he looked smaller.

"No, you are not the only man to have beat me. I knew your father, you know, he and I were, we were very close at one time." The man in black uniform had given up all sense of formality and now looked like a very old man thinking of the happier days.

A look of utter satisfaction came over Paul's face. Until that very moment, he was not sure if his plan had succeeded or had crushed under the boots of Imperial troops. The look on the Marshall's face was all Paul needed now to know that he indeed won.

The Red Marshall grimaced and looked at Paul, "Now tell me one thing, you planned the whole thing, your betrayal of your comrades, you sent the governor, you created Renvall as governor, even the trial, your execution. Was it not?"

Paul smiled, "It was.". The twitch had departed now.

"It was the only way to force the decisive events of the revolution. I needed to have control of both General Renvall's 'People's Army,' Uskapunki planetary militia, and your very own troops Marshall."

The Red Marshall's jaw tightened, and a look of anger flashed momentarily on his face. "You" He paused and then said, "No, go on."

"It was quite simple actually. The people's army could have indefinitely fought the police here and there and raised General havoc around the planet. What was needed was a set piece battle seize to defeat the government and seize the capital. That was a difficult proposition at best. I am not a soldier, but Renvall is, and even if I thought he could beat the militia in a battle at Clexton, and I did not, he would not do it, and the brave revolutionary leadership was as overwhelmed at the proposition of attacking what they considered to be a real Army. Even if they did attack and managed to beat or even inflict serious damage on Uskapunki' s forces, your imminent arrival would have surely turned the tide. As you have done many times before, Marshall, you would have arrived at the last moment to a deteriorating situation, sent in the stormtroopers, suppressed the rebellious rabble and prop up the legitimate government."

The Red Marshall nodded sagely, "Ah, I see, now, you needed to be defeated when I arrived."

"Yes, partially true. When I surrendered myself to Uskapunki, I betrayed all the revolutionary committee excepting Renvall and did reveal the location of our strongholds except Renvall's. At first, I was doubted, but when the governor received the initial reports of thousands of prisoners taken at each location, she dispatched her troops hither and yon, at my direction. Each militia unit was more successful than the next. Why on the day your troops took me, they had over fifty thousand prisoners, and they were still marching in. Marshall, do you know how many prisoners one can capture out of 30 million unemployed mineworkers? Renvall, I can now see, obeyed the orders left for him. Knowing governor Uskapunki would do almost anything to keep your troops off her seemingly pacified planet, I recommended that she meet you on your ship and turn me over as a prisoner. For good measure, the galactic media was welcomed and prodded on to show how well things were going. About the time I was being arrested, Renvall and a few thousand others of my "soldiers" skied into central Clexton, seized the government and declared the Peoples Republic of Arandice. With a thousand media video cams turned to the sky I had little doubt the FedEmp, even you, would hesitate to drop the stormtroopers. During that hesitation, I had a brief talk with a representative of the Co-Galactic Trust, whom I assured that the People's Republic of Arandice would be happy to do business. As a token of good will, ore shipments would be uninterrupted, and prices cut 15% by order of the new, Provisional Governor Renvall. I also reminded him that stormtroopers were bad for business. Government actions being what they are, Gottfried, my banker friend had his answer, probably before yours had reached the Surrexurant throne.

"People, soldier, and governments. Being what they are, needed victims, scapegoats and somewhere to place the blame. I knew I was the only one the Emperor, the Senate or even you would actually want. Besides, I was the only real loose end that needed to be tied up. Were it discovered who I was, my real identity, it would be bad for everyone. So here I am."

The Red Marshall shook his head in disbelief. "Your plan was beautiful, just beautiful. The only flaw was you could not save yourself."

Paul twitched again. "All things have their price. I've known what I would have to pay for many years. Tell me about my father."

"Your father?" the Marshall turned somewhat startled by the question,

"Yes, tell me about my father, please."

"That is right; you were too young, you never knew him, did you."

The Marshall continued without waiting for a reply. "Yes, yes, your father, Rod. Rod and Red, Red and Rod. We were a pair, the two of us. He broke all the rules; they rewrote the book after he left. You know how I met your father, of course, you don't. We were both freshmen, and at a welcoming student party, everyone was drinking, and a fight started between your father and six or ten other students, I can't remember over what now, probably a girl, I didn't know him, but seeing another starship student in trouble I endeavored to assist him."

"I am a poor fighter with my fists, and your father was somewhat better, but the odds were against, and we were thoroughly resoundingly defeated. We were fast friends after that. Your father was a great man Paul. You know that of course. What you may not know was that he was the finest starship student ever to attend the University of the Americas, perhaps the finest there will ever be. A fire burned in him. A fire as bright and pure as the sun outside your window and it blinded many of those around him. Myself, included. I have spent over half my life convinced that your father was a fool. He and I might have conceivably run this galaxy together. My god, he could have sat on the throne! And he threw it all away. For that damned "freedom of man."

"I will tell you one thing Paul Smith, you and your father may be fools, I for one am no longer sure." The Red Marshall stopped looking at the floor.

The Red Marshall continued, "I said you have a choice and it is this. You will be tried, found guilty and executed. However, you were wrong in one calculation. The Emperor is frightened by the show of insubordination by Arandice and wants an example. You must confess in the court. You will be provided with details by the prosecutor. Then you will be executed. If you do not confess, all your little revolutionaries clinging to their new-found power on the ice planet will be executed one by one. Including that upstart Renvall."

"I agree," Paul stated quickly. "I will cooperate."

"Good." Said the Marshall.

"Farewell Marshall Toffin."

"Good Bye Paul Smith."

There was a blink of light, and the room returned to its former appearance, and the Marshall and his spaceship stateroom were gone.
Chapter 41 Rey and the Eagles

Christopher Rey was furious. The courier from Jagerhorn had only made it to Rey's mountain retreat with great difficulty.

"Its true professor Rey," the courier was no more than a college student and clearly overwhelmed by Rey's presence and reaction. "Smith is to be executed and soon. At least that is what I was told. We were not clear if there had been a trial but, Paul remains on Arandice in the governor's redoubt, but the execution is imminent. The Red Marshall was said to have ordered his elimination tomorrow. The new government. It can't do a thing." And he trailed off.

The only sound for a few moments was the winter driving snow against the tall windows of the library. "By the stars, he was no traitor. This was all of a piece. I fear the worst, Renvall may not understand," whispered Rey, "if Smith is gone, really gone, the empire may not continue the survey, AMC would have their way, it would be the end of them..."

"The end of who?", asked the puzzled courier.

"What? Never mind that young man. You will wait here until I dismiss you. There is food in the kitchen, and you may rest here. I will have a message for you shortly." And Rey swirled out of the room.

Nonsense indeed thought Rey this was a plan of that young genius. He tricked everyone and secured the freedom of Arandice and in the process was going to get himself and the eagles killed. What is it about this young man? Who is he? What is he? Rey sat down to his terminal and connected and began to delve deep into the Imperial databases. Rey prepared for a long search and was surprisingly quick. The answer popped up in the most unlikely of all places. It came up in the form of a tri vid from something buried in secret files from an entity called Galactic Entertainment. It was a press conference of Princess Constance Artemos daughter of the Artemon of Caladan, before leaving Earth after college. Someone named Arboga Chicago had connected it with a brief scene of a young man, medium build, long hair, shabbily dressed seemingly fleeing the conference, it showed his back until at the last moment he turned to look back at the stage with the princess. It was Paul Smith. He quickly bored in on the notes scrupulously maintained by the secret service of one Clinton Hurst Guardian Ad Litem of the orphans of Arandice.

Rey ripped out the connection -- stunned. Smith!! He was an Altairan, an orphan from the War of the Twenty Suns! Unbelievable but true. How had he gotten to Earth? How was he made an officer? He was connected to a Royal. A Princess no less. Rey thought deeply for a moment and began to recall what he had heard of Caladan, a planetary system not too distant from Arandice. There was a consulate of Caladan on Arandice. Rey had met the royal liaison once. A very savvy and veiled man. He could not remember the name, Leto or Allego; Leo Gonzalez, that was it; the consul could contact the Duke. Rey plugged in again and watched the video of the suddenly crying princess, and it became even more clear. This princess loved Paul. She was a Royal, and her little palace was short warp hop from Paul's prison. Rey had little experience in love but looking at that tri vid for the third time. He made a plan. "Courier!" He shouted. "Come here at once!"

The startled young man ran into the room a piece of half-eaten bread in his hand and crumbs on his beard. "You, you take this to Jagerhorn. You tell him this. Smith is no traitor; we must save him. Here let me write this all out for you. It must be transmitted to the Royal Palace on Caladan to the Duke Artemon. The consulate in Clexton must get this. It will go out under my name and title. That may ensure it will get through." Rey hand wrote the note in elegant hand script and shoved the document into a transmit tube and shoved it into the hand of the courier. "Now go. Like the wind. Time is short. Get this to Jagerhorn and Caladan. The courier raced to his shuttle and shot down from the mountain through the storm back to the capitol. Then a flash of panic hit Rey, the report of the survey and most of all the iY had been taken by Paul. Was it safe? If it fell into the wrong hands, it could be disastrous.

Time was short indeed. He might only have a few hours. No doubt the message would be intercepted or at least tracked by the FedEmp fleet or others. It was not a great leap to trace it back to him. No doubt the empire would see it as a complete act of treason, and he would be forfeit.

Rey began urgently moving throughout the residence packing a carryall that would attach to an enviro-suit. He prepared as he could, ate dressed and prepared. It would be cold, and very dangerous where he must go. Kwiswath must help but the journey to that mountain, just across the valley yet was nearly impregnable to a human. He finished packing. He dared not attempt to use a shuttle a FedEmp corsair would make easy prey of that. He went on foot. Better yet on skis down and the snowshoes back up. Rey exited his beautiful mountain retreat which he was not sure he would ever see again. He checked the time. It had taken longer than he had thought, almost 4 hours. He bent to attach a long slender Arandice ski to his boot when he heard the whine of the Corsair. It burst out of the clouds, and a tongue of fire flashed out of the small ship and touched the house exploding the back half. Rey exposed in the open was an obvious next target, but the forward momentum of the fast-moving ship carried it over Rey clearing the partially burning house by only meters. He knew he had only seconds and fumbled with the skis and finally secured them both as he heard the whine again a flash exploded not twenty meters from him into the deep snow with an eruption of white and steam and fire. Rey pushed off over the crest of the mountainside and raced down the snow into the forest the fog and the snow. The corsair pursued and fired wildly but missed Rey as he flew over snow banks and wove through the trees. An explosion hit behind, and Rey could hear the trees exploding and falling. He burst out into the open, and the corsair spotted him and bore down and as it was readying to fire on the exposed Rey. A shear of wind altered the ships aim and exploded close behind, tossing him further down the slope and sliding and crashing down a deep crevice that dropped deep into the valley. He crashed into a ledge and went over and fell hundreds of more feet and landed in the bottom of the valley into deep snow that saved him from being smashed to bits against the rocks below. His arm severely burned, and he was unsure of whether his leg was broken. The pain was searing, and he began to fight with consciousness. The corsair buzzed the area several times and with no site or reading of the now buried Rey. It departed the scene satisfied that its quarry was dead.
Chapter 42 A Blip into the fleet

A small vessel of unknown origin appeared suddenly and without pre-warp vortex trace, not more than 10 kilometers directly in front of the FedEmp flagship and interstellar military residence of the Red Marshall.

The watch of the flagship, Captain Jensen, froze at the sudden sound of intruder alarms and blinked several times before he realized a ship had penetrated the perimeter. He was dumbfounded and then hit the command panel to activate the defensive protocols and escalated the alert to his commander. And the same was occurring on 25 FedEmp frigates, cruisers tenders and troop ships in the vicinity. The small tiny vessel immediately began broadcasting Imperial signals and as a hundred fleet weapons targeted the blip in the middle of the fleet. The arrival was impossible. The technology to do what had happened was not known and... It dawned on the officer that this was something new and it was frightening the entire assembled power of the empire. The message was repeating, "The Royal House of Caladan and his royal highness Duke Artemos Artemon sends greetings to the Marshall of the imperial fleet. The Duke's representative will be arriving posthaste. A petition will be delivered to Marshall Toffin. The message repeated until suddenly a medium sized vessel smooth and black blinked into existence adjacent to the first. As the fleet's weapons focused on the new target. It blinked out and appeared on the far side of the flagship and began broadcasting the imperial signals again.

The appearance and movement of the ship left the officers of the fleet who were monitoring in disbelief. Captain Jensen was arriving at the offices of the Red Marshall as the vessel was hailing the flagship and requesting a parlay with the Marshall. Marines escorted the Captain into the antechamber of the Marshalls quarters. Minutes earlier Toffin has been deep in sleep, but the Captain and guards would be hard pressed to believe that as the Marshall appeared alert and fully uniformed with only his top tunic button undone. "Report." Snapped the Marshall. Com banks in the room showed clearly what was happening in space a few kilometers away and the Marshall knew what had happened but wanted to hear it from a witness.

The Captain, now at attention, "Marshall, two unknown vessels have appeared in near space...."

"And how did this failure happen. How does the fleet allow two vessels to simply dance into our midst?" The marshal's dark eyes bored into the Captain.

"It, it. Well, they just appeared. There was not a pre-warp vortex to..." The captain trailed off.

"What is that? What did you say? No pre-warp?" A vein on the marshal's head bulged.

"No, sir. No signal at all. It was witnessed three times." Said Jensen, recovering his composure. "The third was a warp movement from one side of the Red ship to the opposite. The calculated duration was too minimal for our sensors to measure. There was a time lapse but, was near, uh instantons. There was no warning."

"There was no vortex tunnel before or after?" Asked the Marshall.

"The signals are being analyzed. But there was no pre-warp tunnel. There was a minute disruption when the vessel departed. It is being reviewed." The captain replied.

"Captain allow the Caladan royal to present the petition. Secure that yourself and deliver it to the tribune. And summon the science officer immediately. Wait, also the tribune. Bring the petition here." The Marshall signaled the meeting ended.

"Sir." The Captain saluted pivoted and left. As he exited the antechamber with a sigh of relief, he almost ran into the science officer who was wide-eyed scurrying into the Marshall's quarters with a look of utter astonishment.

When the tribune, a tall, slender dark-eyed imperial magistrate arrived, the scientist was finishing the explanation of the theoretical quantum physics represented by the Caladan ship leap into their midst. "...is a next-generation technology that is based on fundamental rethinking of quantum mechanics." He was summing up. The frown on the Marshall only deepening. "Despite its short range and extreme power consumption. This is a completely new technology." He paused, as if for effect or maybe comprehension. "New technology. The thing is, new technology, like this, it changes everything."

A hint of a scowl crossed the Marshall's face. "Dismissed." He snapped. The science officer scurried out. And the Tribune entered the antechamber with Captain Jensen carrying a black message tube with a floating fish insignia.

The Marshall looked at Captain Jensen, "Well this cannot be good. Let's see what we have, better still let Tribune Priesse examine this petition. Jensen twisted the tube which slid apart and revealed a silver sheet of writing which he handed to Priesse.

The tribune studied it for a minute and looked puzzled. It needs translation. It appears to be in the new Royal language, that is uh ancient Portuguese. The Marshall's scowl deepened. He secretly detested the affectation of the emperor and his pretensions at ancient Portuguese lineage to an Emperor Leo or some such rot. The affectation had not pervaded into royal communications.

"Marshall this is a petition from Duke Artemos, of Caladan, requesting a formal hearing to deliver the person of Paul Smith to the representative of the Duke, forthwith. For uh torture and execution for crimes against the royal family." The Tribune stopped and furrowed his brow and hesitated a moment, then somewhat puzzled. "It's about a princess. It says that Smith has violated the honor of the duke's daughter and the offense is punishable by death according to the imperial law."

"Smith did what? With a Caladan princess. What in space...well, the Duke is a bit late on the death sentence. Smith will be executed by the FedEmp and not some upstart small royal house. With or without new tech."

The marshal stroked his chin for a moment, "Tribune," He snapped, "you will hold that sentencing hearing today! Or whatever showpiece will satisfy royal protocol, AND THEN WE WILL EXECUTE SMITH. And then we can be on our way far from this ice ball. Now, today! Is that clear?"

"Sir." Both the Captain and the Tribune answered together and exited the chamber.

The marshal could not decide what was more agitating. The game-changing warp technology of the Caladan or the swath that young Paul Smith had cut across the galaxy in his brief time alive. Well, it would end here and now. The marshal returned to his quarters and tried to sleep. But was haunted again by the nightmare of an exploding star.

Chapter 43 Trial

The fleet officer entered, "Paul Smith? Come with me. It is time."

Something about the officer's demeanor told Paul that this time was different. Paul nodded, was cuffed and hobbled by the marine guards and followed the officer to the waiting shuttle. The housekeeper watched him carefully as he left, and Paul was caught by her intensity. He had often wondered about the woman, but today. Paul was expecting to be taken to his execution but, when he entered the shuttle, he was instead informed it would be another hearing. Within the hour Paul was again escorted by four armed marines through tunnels through the now familiar tunnels and arrived at the side entrance to the same Arandice government courtroom he had been to before.

He was unchained, and two guards walked him to the same seat a table. After many minutes with clerks and uniformed civil servants entering and leaving. The judge entered the courtroom, and they rose. The judge sat, and they sat. The judge had orders to conclude this affair and have Smith executed, and he meant to do that.

There was a huge crack like thunder, and the building shuddered, and the lighting flickered on and off. The large windows on one side which opened to a courtyard of snow suddenly was occupied by a large black steaming interstellar craft. The guards and the judge ran to the windows and observed the ships door sliding open under a seal of a fish floating over water. Three persons emerged from the ship walked directly into the government building. Within moments the rear doors of the courtroom opened, and three persons in ocean blue uniforms entered and strode into the room and occupied the empty prosecution place to his right.

Paul focused on the strange uniforms, and then he saw her in the center of the three, it was Constance. He froze, and she stared at him. Expressionless. Emotionless. She was wearing the broach of the jeweled fish floating above the water. She was beautiful. She slowly moved her hand up from her side and touched the broach. The guards blocking Paul were the only thing preventing him from running to her. But the spell was broken when to the surprise of the judge chamber door opened, and it was announced that Imperial Magistrate and FedEmp Tribune Captain Priesse would now hear the petition of the Royal House of Caladan.

The Tribune announced, "Who speaks for the House of Caladan."

"I do, Constance Daughter of the Artemon."

"Proceed with your petition my lady."

Constance stepped forward glanced around the courtroom. "If it pleases the court?" and began to read. "A Casa real de Caladan apresenta a este tribunal o seguinte: 1. Declaração da dita Casa real de Caladan, declarando-se competente em relação a Smith versus FedEmp. a jurisdição é reivindicada pelo direito da carta real. 2. Além disso, um mandado real é aqui apresentado a este tribunal para a prisão e extradição de Paul Smith, oficial da Universidade planeta de Arandice por crimes contra a Casa de Caladan, para ser imediatamente transferido para o planeta Caladan para disposição deste assunto. 3. Um mandado de habito corpus para a pessoa de um certo Paul Smith ser entregue à custódia dos agentes da Casa de Caladan. E 4. Um mandado de ordem mandamus da mais alta corte de Caladan para o tribunal militar inferior da FedEmp ordenando que o tribunal cumpra adequadamente com seus deveres oficiais de corrigir um abuso de discrição na forma dos crimes de pessoa pelo supracitado Smith."

There was complete silence in the hearing room as the princess stared at the Fleet Tribune who had begun to sweat. He felt sweat begin to trickle down the back of his neck. His throat was dry. The look on the face of the young princess was positively chilling. Dealing with Royals and their imperial privilege was outside of his experience, they were untouchable and all somehow related to the emperor.

She continued, "I see this court is not acquainted with the proper filings of Royal writs in the official language, If I may. The Royal House of Caladan presents to this court the following: 1. Affidavit of the said royal House of Caladan asserting jurisdiction in the matter of Smith versus FedEmp. Jurisdiction is claimed by right of a royal charter. 2. Further, a Royal warrant Is at this moment presented to this tribunal for the arrest and extradition of Paul Smith, University officer planet of Arandice for crimes against the House of Caladan, to be immediately transferred to the planet Caladan for disposition of this matter. 3. A writ of habeas corpus for the person of one Paul Smith to be delivered to the custody of the agents of the House of Caladan. And 4. A writ of mandamus order from the highest court of Caladan to the inferior FedEmp military tribunal ordering said tribunal to properly fulfill their official duties to correct an abuse of discretion in the manner of the crimes of a person by the aforementioned Smith."

The now visibly shaking Tribune knew enough law that a member of a Royal House technically outranked a fleet officer by a great magnitude. If a fleet office were to cross a Royal, it might be at the cost of their neck. Of course, disregarding the orders of the Red Marshall was a daunting risk as well. What could one day hurt thought the tribune? He can get the Marshall on the record as ordering the execution, and he would be cleared.

"The petition of the House of Caladan for the person of Paul Smith is provisionally taken under consideration for a period of one day for review by the convening officer of this tribunal." That would be the Red Marshall. Let him sign off on this. "The prisoner will be executed by the FedEmp by blaster fire at noon tomorrow. That is all. This hearing is closed."

The two Marine guards seized Paul and began to lead him away to the corridor. Paul never took his eyes off Constance, and she stared directly at him. She touched the broach and mouthed words, but he could not hear.
Chapter 44 A Hero's Tale

Arboga Chicago was sweating profusely after his harrowing flight to the spaceport. The imperials almost had him that time, but luck was with him, and he dodged them switching taxis and changing disguises.

Now standing at the viewport of the Gratiot Queen, an old freighter readying for launch, he began to feel his panic melt away. He pulled out his com as the ship fired its engines and pulled up the story. He pushed a button and released a short version on the nets and the full story to Galactic Entertainment. It was his masterpiece. Almost two years in the works. He would show the empire that they could not kill his stories without paying the price. He had spent a month hiding and fleeing from the imperial police who were periodically searching for him. But all the while he continued to trace the background of that commoner that made the princess cry. And what a commoner he was this Paul Smith. He followed a trail all the way back to Altair. He was the son of Roderick Smith. One of the rebel leaders from Twenty Suns. Oh, it was magnificent. The FedEmp brought that one to Earth from the orphan planet. That fact was beyond magnificent. It would cause an actual political scandal. Then they made him a government official of an ice planet, and he beat the Red Marshal. It was exquisite. Chicago giggled to himself again. Well, the whole galaxy would get the story now about the dashing exploits of Paul Smith and the terror and incompetence of the empire! As the ship lifted, Chicago thought he saw an Imperial police shuttle land at the berth they had just vacated.

Chicago knew he was not safe on Earth and figured Arandice would be the best bet. He would follow the trail of that Paul into the stars and make a full-length Tri Vid of his heroic battles against injustice and the FedEmp. He could see it now, his name on the screen in giant letters!
Chapter 45 Escape

Paul justifiably believed this to be his last night alive and, he would face execution, in some fashion, in the morning. The women who cooked the meals, when admitted by the guards laid out what he presumed was his last meal. It was a large spread and more than he had ever been allowed in all his days in the keep. The tray the old woman put down even had a glass of wine. When the Marines exited, Paul dug into this his last meal. When he finished, he vowed to stay awake all his last night. Paul considered his short life, dozed and fell into a deep sleep. He dreamt that his mind was on fire and pain was wracking his body.

He awoke suddenly, and he was not dreaming that pain. His mind was scorched as if with fire. He has never felt anything like this pain. It was like Kwiswath probing him but malevolent and harsh. And then it suddenly passed. Paul recognized it for what it was. The brush of an eagle probing him. He did not know its name, but it knew Kwiswath and knew Paul knew it too. This one, however, was wild, capable of violent and dangerous things. He realized the searing fire's direction was near him, but not at him. For that he was thankful, yet the blast left a lingering burn on his mind, and he could not lift himself from the chair. He minds would not clear. Was this the execution he wondered? He just, could not think. It sounded like blaster fire, and then there was shouting then quiet. Paul waited numbly and was startled when the door opened, and haggard and grinning soldiers burst into the room, they wore FEDEMP uniforms and their blasters were out and smelled of ozone.

One, a small one where a uniform much too big looked familiar. "Smith, thank the stars your alive. Quickly now, come you must leave this place now. You have a journey ahead." It was Pehr Evin and Jagerhorn and Williams too, in imperial uniforms. Paul recognized them vaguely and asked them weakly, "Are you here to execute me."

"Laws no Paul," gasped Pehr, "we are here to rescue you!" Paul was in a fog from the eagle probe.

"William, lend a hand, up you go my patriotic traitor' chuckled Jagerhorn and they gave Paul a huge hug. "Just like that bear huh?"

"Yes, the blue bear. Ok, that's nice," Paul replied and started to drift back to unconsciousness.

They quickly dressed him in an enviro suit they had brought. It was FedEmp issue too, "You are in for the ride of your life now Smith." William grinned.

Pehr, urged them on, "Quickly now, the FedEmp will be monitoring. Go."

They helped walk Paul out of his apartment, and he saw marines, unconscious on the floor and the old woman who cooked the meals standing nearby with a blaster in her hand. She smiled weakly at Paul as he passed. The smell of ozone was thick in the air from the blaster fire.

As they exited the keep, Paul stopped and raised his hand pointing shakily, "Look a bird." Jagerhorn and Williams pulled Paul forward. An eagle towered before them. It was not Kwiswath, but another, and it was probing and wrapping itself around the edges of Paul's mind, but it filled with anger and danger. It made clear to Paul that it was here for him and to come forward. It brushed his mind again, and the fog began to lift a bit more. The bird bent down as Kwiswath had done once before and Paul, knowing what this meant climbed onto its back. The bird turned and surveyed the gathered foursome, the old woman, Evin, Jagerhorn, and Williams let out a thundering screech and leapt off into the sky and flew with muscular power and speed higher and higher towards the rare appearance of the Arandice sun rising over the plain. After many minutes it began a descent from the heights of the mountain and Paul saw the destination. A sleek black space vessel with men in black flanking an open gangway and hatch. They all appeared to be heavily armed. Paul could not recognize the uniforms or the ship. He knew little of space travel and vessels, but It was like nothing he had seen before.

The eagle circled down and landed abruptly in front of the ship and shrugged Paul unceremoniously onto the snowy ground. The Men in black uniforms were awed by the sudden appearance of a giant golden bird and unconsciously took steps back as the eagle turned on them menacingly. Several raised their weapons and Paul and their leader both called out to them not to fire. The bird stopped and looked down on them, and the men who had raised blasters screamed in pain. Paul felt it too. He was sure the other did too. His mind was squeezed, and he could feel the raw power and danger of the giant bird who burned with hate for the humans. The guards dropped their weapons and put hands to their heads. Paul felt naked and frightened by that power. The bird lowered its head and massive beak such that the giant eye was level to Paul's and studied him. It said it was Kisser and was from Kwiswath. It let Paul see visions of Kwiswath and this young bird together and understood it was an offspring. It also warned Paul that unlike his father, they were not going to tolerate humans much longer. The bird raised its head opened its giant beak and let out a blood-curdling screech that reached down to primal place in the small humans before him. It leaped up and powered its way up into the clouds which swallowed the bird. The wind from its wing knocked over several of the men.

The black uniformed troops recovered their poise and gathered Paul up, and half dragged and carried him into the black ship without comment or word. The ship was new and sleek and nothing like the old Gratiot Queen or any shuttle he had ridden. This vessel reeked of functionality and violence. It was a warship and unique. Paul panicked, and was confused; it must have been a betrayal why would Jagerhorn deliver him back to what seems to be a secret FedEmp ship whose crew was probably here to carry out the sentence of death. After several turns and corridors, they arrived at a hatched door which slid open, and Paul entered what appeared to be well appointed quarters. After the guards departed, Paul collapsed on the bed and rested. An alarm sounded, he felt a shudder, and the room seems to shimmer, and suddenly there was a moment of vertigo and zero-g. Paul realized they were in space and he dozed in and out of consciousness not sure if he was going to die soon.

The guards returned at some point with a woman who must have been a doctor as she examined him without question. Then he was left alone again without question or comment. The doors opened sometime later, and another uniform brought in a tray with food and water. Paul realized he was hungry and began to eat. Paul was pretty sure this was not FedEmp but someone else. Renvall maybe; some secret ship and team he had assembled.

The door opened again, and three of the black uniforms entered.

The first was the leader of the guards that had brought him in from the eagle. He was an intense man about Paul's age. He had the demeanor and bearing of a soldier. He stood to the right and the second to enter was the woman who had just silently examined him. She studied Paul carefully. Lastly, a tall male, with skin as black as his uniform, strode in and smiled.

Looking at a Doc in his hand and then at Paul, "Paul Smith." And paused, "You have had quite an interest day I do believe."

Paul blinked incredulously, and then laughed, "I guess that is one way of putting it. Are you my executioners? Likely not, who are you what is happening."

The very black man smiled ever more broadly and let out a peal of laughter. "Paul Smith, we are not your executioners." The way he said it made Paul think the man had no qualms about being an executioner, but not for him. "In fact, we do not exist and you, for now, are not Paul Smith, but," reading from the doc, "A Mister Jules M. Robens."

"Who?" Paul knew that name and could not recall.

"And none of this ever occurred Paul Smith who is also known as Mister Robens. You were freed from Imperial captivity by your rebel colleagues, and you stole the FedEmp shuttle at your place of imprisonment and left the planet. In your haste to escape that icy planet, you overheated the shuttle engines resulting in catastrophic core breech failure and your death in the ensuing shuttle explosion." The doctor looked amused, and the soldier scowled. "And it turns out that Paul Smith died in the shuttle disaster. But it had a military technician who escaped from the bonds of Imperial service, one Signals Yeoman Mister Jules Robens. I just made up that last part about bonds." chuckled the officer. "Mr. Robens, that's now you Mr. Smith, escaped on a lifeboat and are adrift in space. Which is where you are supposed to be in about 12 minutes and into which space, we will place you shortly." Then he laughed again seeing Paul's expression. "Now don't fret Jules Robens. This being a well-traveled sector of space. I am certain, very certain that your rescue is imminent." He smiled and winked at Smith. "Prepare him and meet me in the shuttle bay."

The soldier reached into the bag and pulled out a type doc pouch and slipped it into the utility pouch on Paul's suit. He also affixed a new FedEmp logo onto the suit. The doctor finally spoke and inquired of Paul, "Have you ever been in a spacewalk" But the look on Paul's face she understood. "Well, this will be interesting then, this way" the doctor directed him out of the room and down the corridor and then up, and after numerous turns, they arrived at a large room with several small craft and a battered scorched ship's escape pod also with FedEmp markings. It was surrounded by a team of what appeared to be techs. The soldier instructed, "In you go Smith." The soldier and several of the techs lifted Paul and slid him into the tube-like craft. They strapped Paul into a prone position. Just before the hatch was brought down, the soldier leaned over him and looked into his helmet faceplate and smiled, "Enjoy the ride, Smith." He slammed the hatch shut and Paul was seized with the feeling of claustrophobia, as he could barely move. He could see what was directly in front of his face mask. In several seconds he felt a surge of acceleration, and the view shifted to the blackness of space with stars arrayed before him. The pod began to rotate. Then a beautiful blue planet began to fill the window and then passed from his view. The rotation completed several more times before Paul spotted the black object against the blue planet which was increasing in size each rotation. It was a ship rising from the planet and heading his way. During the next dozen rotations, it came to fill his entire field of vision on each rotation blacking out the planet. It was a vessel similar to the black ship that had plucked him from Arandice. It stopped only hundreds of meters from his pod. On the next rotation, Paul spied a gangway door open on the ship and figures emerging. After several more rotations, the figures arrived at Paul's pod, grappled with it and attached several devices. The pod with the space-suited figures attending lurched and began to move. Paul could no longer see the ship or planet only the blackness of space. After several minutes he was blinded by the light of the shipped as the pod passed through the gangway door. Paul could only see a ceiling of complex grids, mechanical and lighting. Paul sensed he was in a similar bay as the other mysterious black ship. The pod jolted to a stop with a thud. Faces appeared over the hatch and quickly unsealed, and a new team of black uniforms extracted Paul and his enviro-suit lifting him out and planting him on his unsteady feet and unscrewed his helmet. He found himself nearly surrounded by black uniforms. This time though, they were decorated with silver and blue and gold insignia. A phalanx of a dozen of them stood in military formation facing Paul. They were saluting someone or something. Paul looked around the bay and realized he was the focus. Not only of the salute but the focus of the crowd in the room. There was a less rigidly arrayed cadre in front of him comprised of officers or leaders with even more gold and silver and blue. There were several in colorful civilian attire, some smiling some rather grim looking. The cadre of three marched directly up to Paul and the centermost extended his hand to Paul. "Welcome to TDS Indomitable. I am Capitan Gustaven Aprari. Let me be the first to welcome you to our system. Paul took the outstretched hand, and the crowd tittered. "And this is my first officer, Augusta Rose and my executive office Eli Sophia. "

Paul was losing track of what was said and could only focus on the medallion that adorned the Captain's uniform. It was a gold disc with brilliant green in the shape of a fish floating above the glittering blue water. The fish had a black almond shaped eye. The fish emblem adorned every uniform and emblazoned on a 6-meter flag on the wall he was facing. A fish, floating above the water. Paul recognized the symbol and tears streamed down his cheeks. "then this is Caladan, isn't it?" he croaked out.

"Well of course it is." the officer smiled.

Paul grasped both officer's arms and put his arms around the startled captain. Paul stepped back and said, "Thank you." And looking at the flag, he whispered, "Constance." Only the three officers heard him, and they exchanged smiles, and the Captain coughed to get Paul's attention.

"Smith, you are very welcome. We have some administrative items to process, and then we can proceed to Caladan proper. And you can get settled into your new home." The captain signaled, and three very strange brightly clothed figures separated from the crowd and approached. The first was a very short round person with round lenses over his eyes and attired in an ill-fitting brown suit holding a doc of some kind. The man reached out and pulled the doc out of the utility pocket on Paul's enviro-suit. Paul vaguely recalled the soldier putting in the suit minutes before. Paul only had to wonder a few moments about the contents. The little bespectacled brown man studied the documents for several seconds and announced in a reedy voice, "The government of Caladan had received your application for asylum as a political refugee from war and violence perpetrated by the running dog Peoples Republic of Arandice and the fascist FedEmp." Paul furrowed his brow at the reference wondering what Renvall would have to say about that. "For the record," the man said turning to his colleague who was one of the tallest humans Paul had ever seen, "Record the refugees' name as Jules Maximillian Robens of Arandice."

Paul began to interrupt, "Wait..." The three all threw Paul a stern look, and the Capitan grasped Paul's arm and spoke quietly to Paul, "not now."

The now perturbed civil servant presented the doc to Paul who just looked at it. The little man looked impatient, and the captain took Paul's hand and pressed it onto the doc which turned green in color. The little man snatched it back and handed it to his tall colleague who had to bend over to reach it. The tall man then lugubriously in a baritone voice intoned, "Jules Robens of Arandice," Paul looked at the captain questioningly, and the captain just shook his head. He nodded toward the man. "After a thorough investigation and institutional review by the government of Caladan, your petition for permanent refuge on Caladan is granted by order of Duke Artemos, Artemon of Caladan. Welcome to Caladan." He held out the doc and Paul now guessing he was to do the same reached up and pressed his hand to the green slate, which blinked blue. Several in the crowd clapped. The tall man handed the now blue document to the third member to the crew. A woman with silver hair, bluish skein, and black robe.

She addressed Paul, "The high court of Caladan has received your application for citizenship in the Community of Caladan." She handed the document to Jules, cum Paul and smiled. "Jules M. Robens, you are granted citizenship in the Community of Caladan." She paused as Paul slowly pressed his had onto the doc, and it flashed gold. The crowd broke into applause. The silver-haired judge leaned into Paul and spoke only to him, "We had to keep up appearances. The Emperor and the marshal both are seeking you and would very much like to string you up I believe. And Caladan is not going to let that happen. You are safe Paul." And she hugged him and stepped back.

The now beaming captain grabbed Paul's arm and steered him through the adoring crowd who pumped his hand and touched his suit. When they finally made it out and into a corridor, Paul turned to the captain, "What is going on here, who are these people, I don't understand.

The captain chuckled, and the commander first officer chimed in, "You really don't know do you? I guess you could not yet know. You are probably the most famous person in the galaxy today after the Emperor. I mean, you defeated the Emperor. You even saved the princess. You are a hero."

The captain waved them into an office. "She's right. So, a fugitive journalist from Earth uncovered your past, on Altair, Krison, Earth, and Arandice. And all Caladan is grateful for your saving the life of our princess, that alone makes you a hero, but then you defeated the Red Marshal and freed the oppressed of Arandice. Quite a tale. Truly amazing."

Paul not sure what to say, just said, "Well, thanks." He wondered what Renvall would think of that and Toffin must be furious. And, he smiled.

Paul was given a quick tour of the ship and was taken to quarters as the vessel made planetfall. He was able to bathe and dress in an elegant suite provided to him. The 3V played on a com, and he watched the Arboga Chicago "biography" of Paul Smith on a galactic newsfeed. Paul was entranced. The story told the life tale of a Paul Smith interwoven with fact, fantasy and hyperbole. The result was that the character was a towering hero and protector of the weak and innocent. It told how the son of the ultra-democrat Roderick Smith had defeated the imperial marshal who had killed his father in the War of the Twenty Suns and destroyed the planet Altair. How Paul had rescued a princess of Caladan from a brutal attack by street thugs, how Paul had led troops in battle to stop the FedEmp from mass killing of innocents on Arandice. And there were even more amazing fetes of the Paul Smith. The overall fabrication was, well thrilling.

Paul was interrupted from his viewing of the heroic Paul on the screen by the captain who shook Paul's hand again, "It has been our pleasure to bring you to Caladan and wish you well. You now have an appointment at Artemon Central, and I believe some very important people are anxious to see you."
Chapter 46 Caladan

Paul gazed out the shuttle window and recalled a past journey two years ago in a shuttle from a spaceport across an icy planet. Paul marveled at the dazzling blue ocean and luscious green islands. The planet was beautiful. Artemon was the largest of the Islands of Caladan, almost a small continent, and held the capital of Caladan, Artemon Prime. It was also the imperial seat for the royal house, and that is where the shuttle headed flying directly through an open portico deep into the grand palace. After landing, a royal attendant approached, and they walked a lengthy route to an area of residences. It ended at an apartment, far more luxurious than any he had ever seen before. "This is your new home," said the attendant and handed Paul a key, "Hector will see to your needs."

"Mr. Smith, I am Hector, and I will be taking care of you." The man had silently appeared at Paul's side and startled him, "I am certain you would like to rest after such a strenuous journey, perhaps you are hungry or thirsty, may I offer you a glass of Caladan' s most beautiful wine."

"Well thank you, uh Hector and..." Paul turned, "Yes, food would be nice, but first I would like to see the ocean again."

"Of course, Mr. Smith, right this way." And Hector flung open the drapes and the glory of Caladan' s water was in front of him. Colorful boats flitted across the water powered by the winds and business-like ships traversed the water mixed with beautiful sleek vessels that could only be for pleasure. He there was a strip of wide white beach as far as the eye could see that ringed the island and he could see people walking and playing. Paul was mesmerized.

"Mr. Smith sir!" Excuse me. Hector was smiling curiously now. "You have a guest."

Paul had heard the door and turned towards that direction.

Constance stood tall in the main room.

She was wearing a shimmering blue dress that clung to her like skin. Her hair sparkled with jewels, and she wore the brooch. She reached up and touched it just as she had done in the courtroom just a few days ago. Had it been that soon?

"Constance, you did this. You saved me," he whispered.

"Yes, my love, I was not about to let a governor, marshal or Emperor take my Paul." And she ran to him and held him tight. "You are safe; you are home."

****

The red marshal sat deflated in his large chair behind his ornate desk in the command office of the flagship of the red fleet. He was flanked by aides and commanders all of them watching an array of com screens. Some were running the scenes of the blasted keep and unconscious marines crumpled on the floor and a band of rebels walking Smith out and then the marine's shuttle blasting off. Some of the gathered were watching a different story, that of the Galaxy Entertainment expose about a dashing hero and son of Altair who had saved a princess from certain death and then almost single-handedly defeated the FedEmp but sacrificed himself to save innocents on Arandice and was brutally tortured by the FedEmp and executed while the Marshal watched laughing. The actor who played the fake marshal had a resemblance noted Toffin. On the other screen was a speech by some senator calling for Toffin to be court-martialed and the chamber cheering her on. On his desk, com was an urgent flashing signal from the CICSC and another with the Emperor's seal.
Chapter 47 Election

Renvall had laughed out loud at parts of the story, but tears ran down his cheeks as the 3V laid out the story of the orphan planet Krison. He was spellbound when the story intimated that he, Renvall who had grown up with Smith, had been taken in by Smith's family when his father was killed. Why would the military leader of the Ultra Democrats take on an orphan in the chaos of the collapse of the revolt? Because Renvall father, so it intimated, had been the leader of the Twenty Suns revolt. Renvall had mixed feeling about that. It would certainly cement his political future, but also meant a complete break from the empire. He would be a pariah to them. He shook his head at scenes of Paul's execution, apparently done by actors. Renvall queried Jagerhorn, who only would smile and said Paul will be excellent and would say no more.

He wondered if there was any connection between Jagerhorn' s smile and the urgent request by the Ambassador of Caladan to meet. Renvall thought about the news story and the reference to the Illyrion weapon that was used to destroy Altair. Illyrion. Such a strange word. Then it came to him – Illyrion, could that be the iY, the most ethereal element with nearly unlimited power.

Just then Jagerhorn and Bons burst into his office. They held the dark book with the golden letters. The two were grinning from ear to ear.

Renvall looked at them. "Jagerhorn, do you know your chemistry?"

"Well, the advanced mining training covered most of the key protocols and interactions we needed and study of the elements. That's an odd question, sir."

"Jagerhorn, Illyrion, what is the sign for it? The abbreviation, what do they call it the two-letter version of the word, the what?"

"Oh that, from the table of elements? Why every miner knows that one, it's iY." And they handed him the dark report book with those very same gold embossed letters.

Chapter 48 The Eagles Withdraw

He was fading and knew he would not make it. It was all for nothing, and his beloved Arandice would be lost. It was then he felt the brush against his mind. It was Kwiswath' s mind from high in the mists of the mountainside. It brushed Rey's mind, and peace washed away the searing pain. And Rey dozed in and out of consciousness deep in the snow.

He lay at the bottom of the ice chasm, his enviro-suit kept him from freezing to death, but his life slipped away from dehydration and the slowly bleeding compound fracture of his left leg. Then pain had been pushed away by Kwiswath once. Now the bird was close. He knew it was at the top of the chasm, but it was to narrow and dangerous for the bird to enter. It could only touch his mind and soothe his pain. He could feel the deep sadness in the bird as it sensed his life slipping away. It formed the thought in Rey's mind. Goodbye old friend.

Chapter 49 The Duke checked

Constance walked Paul into an immense and intricately ornate room; a great hall in reality. It was the Duke's greeting hall, and guards escorted them as they entered. The Duke practically jumped out of his throne-like seat.

"Constance, my love! As beautiful as a sunrise on the tranquil sea. If your mother could see you now..."

He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek and turned to her guest. The duke positively beamed at Paul.

"Smith! Paul Smith! Welcome, welcome. We have so much to learn from you. Revolutionary Demographics aye? Fascinating!" The duke put his arm around Paul. "Surely you know of the Romans and then Britannica? And the Americans? And of course, Altair and the Twenty Suns? Why yes you would. We have so much to learn. You know Caladan must change. The galaxy must change. It is changing. We, Caladan have new things that may change everything. And I want you to help us." And he looked directly at Constance to drive home his meaning.

"Well uh, yes, Duke, I will and yes, I know Rome, Britain and all of them. Did you know the British king was mad during the American revolt?"

"Oh really, you must tell me more." Said the Duke with raised eyebrows.

"Father please," interrupted Constance.

"Well yes, another time then. We do have other duties to fulfill. But first, we have something for you. Where is it? Chancellor" shouted the Duke and a wisp of a man with bright eyes stepped forward to examine Smith closely. He had a wood case and presented it to the Duke who opened it and removed a golden object. Constance put her arm through Paul's.

"We the royal community of Caladan award you Paul Smith this treasured symbol of our freedom, community, our hope. He held it up, and it was a golden brooch identical to the one worn by Constance a gold disc with brilliant green jewels in the shape of a fish floating above the glittering jewels of blue water. The fish had a black almond shaped eye. The Duke put the brooch around Paul's neck. 'I award you the order of the 'Picis Defluere Volitatus,' for your defense of our astute ally The People's Republic of Arandice. Thank You."

Constance kissed him on the cheek. And the Duke declared, "Now, we have work to do!"
Chapter 50 Election

Renvall's victory in the hastily called election had been both swift and decisive. He had insisted on at least one other candidate's name being on the ballot, and Pehr Evin was added against his protests. In the brief campaign over the next several days Evin openly supported Renvall. The occurrence of the first election in the history of Arandice was a celebratory affair. Works and factories closed. The mines closed, schools closed, it was a carnival atmosphere. Millions voted for Renvall the hero of the Revolution and the heir to the Twenty Suns. Pehr Evin finished a distant second with an infinitesimal number of votes and humbly accepted the position of vice president.

Several days after the election, Renvall and Evin made a formal acceptance. The new president Renvall Klein made an address to the people. The speech was held outside on a typical summer day on Arandice scattered snow and near freezing temperatures. But, the sun did appear, if briefly and shone down on the crowd that stretched as far as Renvall could see. The crowd sensed what lay ahead. They cheered when that happened. Word had already spread like the snow, of the discovery of an immense breathtaking wealth of resources on the planet.

President Renvall called for unity of the nation to strengthen their defenses and to expand their economy. He advocated programs to encourage transport manufacturing and agricultural hydroponics. "Possessing as we do all the raw materials the fruit of our own soil in the industry, we must become free of the nourishment of the FedEmp. We must defend our frontiers our precious ores our national property of the highest value, and it shall be cherished. And of our national resources, the most precious of all will be illyrion. The planetary survey conducted some 100 years ago and kept secret by the University officers determined the existence of this substance on the planet Arandice. With that knowledge, we can firmly assert that we will defend our borders and will institute the creation of the Arandician Navy and the permanence of the Peoples Liberation Army. Harmony between the Arandician mining cartel is desirous. Discord does not have a place in the worker's labor in service to the AMC. People of Arandice must become as one great family with a common interest. Harmony and support of the seven pillars will be fundamental to the progress of our nation. Each citizen lives free with the human right to not be killed, to speak, to health, water, and food, the right to work, to petition, to be judged by peers, to movement and travel. These are your rights! This is your planet.

The release of Christopher Rey's iY report presenting the geomagnetic discovery of Illyrion on the planet had suddenly made Arandice one of the wealthiest planets in all the known worlds. Citizens of Arandice already saw the flood of visitors, ships, delegations and interstellar investors arriving in Clexton. Suddenly all eyes turned to Arandice as a new, if distant, center of the human galaxy.

Renvall smiled at the conclusion of his speech raised his hand palm out, fingers spread, the sign of the Ultra Democrats and the throng cheered him and themselves and a new bright future. He had no time though to bask in the glory. Urgent business awaited him in his office. When he arrived back to the central building none other than Frederick Gottfried, the banker was waiting for him, as expected.

"Gottfried, my pleasure I believe we have someone in common my colleague Paul Smith and you are acquainted."

"Why yes, indeed I had the pleasure of traveling with Mr. Smith to this very planet not two years ago. Shameful what has happened to him. He was a fine young man." Said a demurring Gottfried.

"Well, we shall see. You know he recommended you highly you Mr. Gottfried."

"Did he now." Said a surprised Gottfried.

"Indeed, he did. But now on to business and that line of credit we discussed, I believe it was three trillion Standard."

Gottfried was positively beaming when he replied, "Why yes of course."

When Gottfried exited the president's office 60 minutes later Marvin Ogabe the chairman of AMC was waiting in the lobby looking very anxious. Renvall smiled.

In this small and now bustling port of Claxton, Jon Bons and Jagerhorn and an escort of armed troopers made their way to the dock of the Gratiot Queen. They had orders from their new president to visit the ship and "impress" the captain into the newly formed Arandice People's Navy. The captain of that tired old ship would be the first admiral of the force. This was another recommendation from their dear friend Paul Smith now lost to them. They boarded the ship and made their way to the captain's quarters where they encountered a very surprised old skipper with a tall, gangling frame covered with wrinkled and stained ITS whites, red hair and space burned skin, arose and saluted Bons and Jagerhorn with a mug of some strong drink.

"Captain Leslie Kingsley, I and the Gratiot Queen at your service. Surely now there's no need for firearms. Whatever happened last night, it can be worked out somehow. Who is she and how much do I owe?" He winked at them and seemed to weave from one side to the other.

The two men merely smiled, and Evin informed the captain. "Why yes you can help us, very much so. There is something we want from you and, something for you to do."

"The Gratiot Queen is always ready for hire for the right price. Where is it you wish to go?" The captain winked.

"We want your ship to be in our navy. Well more precisely we want your ship to be the navy and you are going to be its first Admiral."

Kingsley smiled broadly, looking back and forth between the two, seemingly relieved, stiffened and stood straight and steady, "Well that sounds just splendid. Admiral you say. And for what Navy may I inquire? And can I have a new uniform as well?"
Chapter 51 Krison Again

JUNE 19, 3263, R.T.E.

A small marine detachment was all that remained on Krison from the once formidable FedEmp Marine brigade that had arrived three decades ago with the children. KED City, the dusty, worn remnants of the former quad orphanage was now a bustling city flush with planetary aid cash sent by its honorary sister planet and diplomatic partner The Peoples Republic of Arandice.

Much had changed in five years since the ascendancy of Renvall to the presidency of that distant planet. The planet had been abandoned by the FedEmp after the last class. The orphans aged 18 to the oldest at 36 years struggled to survive on the rocky planet, they fought bravely not to starve the first few years. They were saved when Arandice had rushed the Gratiot Queen to Krison with a young AMC banker named Allocutions Gottfried and a line of credit for billions in credits courtesy of the Arandician government, technology, a group of miners and diplomatic recognition of their government as an independent world by President Renvall. Next was a diplomatic courier ship which opened a consulate in KED City, then a Caladan freighter with more supplies from the Royal House of Caladan. After that waves of visitors and the seeds of development and growth flowed into Krison. The AMC bank had a shiny new tower in KED City, the tallest structure on the planet.

The sergeant major of the marine detachment, a grizzled old veteran of the FedEmp conquest of the Twenty Suns called the honor guard to attention. The massive space freighter towered over them as the dust settled and the landing assist ships headed back to space. The 100-meter high ramp creaked open and slowly lowered chains like some medieval castle drawbridge. The Surrexrunt Colors, a rose on a white field, snap in the breeze. A young marine in the back craned his neck to get a glimpse of the visitor the sergeant major hissed, "steady now".

The ships enormous gangplank settled, and a single, thin old man appeared. The sergeant major called out "Ten-hut!" and the steering melody of the Navy hymn rose into the Krison air. The Marshall long retired from service stepped from the shadows and squinted into the sunlight. The command of order arms rang out in marine AB blasters snapped into a salute. The old man stepped out and studied the small detachment and saluted the men.

"As you were Marines.' he called out.

"Order arms" boomed the sergeant major.

The red Marshall stared at the old marine sergeant major in the faintest smile appeared on his stern lips.

"Sergeant major Cromwell. I cannot believe it what has it been 25 years." asked the Marshall.

"It has been thirty-two sire and far too long." replied the sergeant major, "and Welcome to Arandice."

"At ease sergeant major I am no longer that Marshall."

He stepped forward and shook Cromwell's hand, "it's good to see a familiar face."

For a moment the detachment thought that the sergeant major would cry.

"Thank you, sir" he croaked back. It's good to see you.

"So, Cromwell, this is my new home." he squinted at the dusty skyline of KED City fifteen kilometers distant.

"Yes, we felt it provided a nice view of the ridgeline of the city and the river. The sunsets are excellent."

"And a safe distance from KED City as well."

"Well yes sir, it may take some time for the orphans to accept this gift."

"Indeed, Cromwell it will take time." He turned and looked back at the ship.

"Yet, now we have work to do, and I need to give them what we took away so many years ago. Their names and their families and their history."

For the past three years the Marshall, humiliated and cashiered after the fiasco of Arandice scoured the known universe's habited planets and FedEmp databases for records of all things pertaining to the Twenty Suns.

He brought artifacts visual and written records, and most of all, his techs had assembled the DNA census' of the twenty planets. With that information he would allow the orphan children now all adults men with families to learn their true names and that of their mothers and fathers.

The old man suddenly staggered. He felt as if something had gotten inside his mind, like one of those neural nets. Cromwell grabbed his arm and steadied him. It was then he saw them and knew it was coming from them. He had been told the stories. The welcoming delegation of orphans were standing off at a distance to one side and in the center was a young man and woman. It had been them. It was the twins John and Charlotte, now the leaders of Krison and of all the orphans. While they were waiting to greet the visitor to their planet, Charlotte had reached out and probed his mind and let him know they could do that. The Marshall stared at them in fear.

The two had served, by the acclamation of all orphans on Krison, as their planetary leaders and diplomats. It had been so on their small world since the departure of all the FedEmp caretakers six years ago.

They watched, and without speaking aloud Charlotte thought to her twin, 'Paul is right, he is very old this mighty red Marshall who took our parents, he has a dark mind.'

'He does. Paul said he was evil at times and now is humiliated. Paul and his princess defeated him'

'Renvall too.'

'You always had a thing for Ren.'

Charlotte blushed.

'He was amazing.'

'They both were.'

'This broken Maracel, he brings us, the victims of his violence, gifts.'

'Interesting.'

'Does he seek forgiveness.'

'Understanding?'

'Perhaps penance?'

'We at least know he is bringing us more than even he realizes in that cargo hold.' Jon smiled and silently they approached the old man.

Charlotte spoke evenly and clearly. "Welcome to Krison, Mister Toffin former Marecal Excerit de la Rosa servus Surrexurant. We orphans have been expecting you."
End Notes

**Chronology**

ALL DATES are R.T.E. (Reg Tech Era)

1970 McGraff develops theory of Revolutionary Demographics

2715 Aranson discovers and names Arandice

2718 Aranson granted mineral rights with clause for cartel

2780 Federation petition for planethood status, class 3 granted

2796 Second Stellar and Planetary survey

2798 Third Stellar and Planetary survey

2801 Fourth Stellar and Planetary survey

2991 Population of Arandice reaches 100 million

3066 Alleged sighting and report of mythical bird

3067 Fifth Stellar and Planetary Survey Permanent Federation Presence: Federation Planetary and Ecology team stationed on Arandice. Headed by Christopher Rey I

3082 AMC Institute established by C. Rey I

3090 C. Rey I named Officer of the University by Emperor

3219 Auto Factory introduced

3221 First labor accord

3227 Auto Factory reintroduced

3242 Labor strife on Arandice begins Altair Rebellion and Freedom of Man

3242 War of the Twenty Suns begins

3247 Altair eliminated by Illyrion device. End of War of Twenty Suns

3255 Paul arrives on Arandice

3255 Clexton, Arandice revolt crushed Paul charged with treason

3258 Massacre

3258 Arandice rebellion People's Republic of Arandice recognized by Red Marshall

Salazar develops uncalculated warp transit for the Caladan

Trial

**THE RIGHTS OF HUMANS**

1 The right to not be killed

2 The right to speak

3 The right to health, water, and food

4 The right to work

5 The right to petition

6 The right to be judged by peers

7 The right to movement and travel

**THE FIVE FINGERS OF THE HAND OF FREEDOM**

The five tenets of the Freedom of man and the Ultra Democrats

Community

Fraternity

Freedom

Democracy

Strength
Twenty Suns

About the Author

Doug Blair is national expert in electronic medical records and a long term healthcare consultant working nationally at major health systems in the US. He has maintained a strong sense of political activism. He grew up and Detroit and saw first hand the disruptive nature of corporations and labor movements. He currently resides in another old rust belt city, Akron, Ohio in Highland Square in an old urban century house with his wife Rose and several pets. <https://www.smashwords.com/interview/dougblair38>

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