Tranquility Down

Part Six

by G. Lawrence

In this sequel to Tranquility in Darkness, we find Grey, Kris, and their allies struggling to establish the Lunar Republic as a legitimate nation. This old-style science fiction novel is told in 11 parts.

Recap: Hiding on Earth after the crash of his spaceship, Grey is working on a southern California farm pretending to be a drifter named Ben Brown. All characters are over 18 years old. All rights reserved.

* * * * * *

Chapter 6

ON THE TOWN

Marsus made a point of giving Grey a big meal Saturday evening and modifying an outfit for him to wear, tailoring the pants and shirt sleeves for a better look. Grey thought all the fuss a bit wasteful but cooperated rather than give offense. The whole family, in fact, seemed excited by the preparations, everyone giving advice or making comments.

"You have our number, right?" John asked again.

"Your communications access. Yes, the coordinates are secure," Grey assured him.

"Don't drink too much and don't get in any fights," Marsus warned.

"Fights?" Grey asked.

"Those Edelson boys can get rowdy," John said. "Don't worry, Mar. I made Pete promise to keep Ben out of trouble."

"Use your scanner if you have problems finding girls," Jaybee advised.

"I recognize your remark as humor, young person," Grey said. "Rest assured that identifying females is within the scope of my abilities."

"Don't be too sure, Ben. We're not that far north of L.A.," Marsus laughed.

"Let's not confuse the boy," John said. "But hold on to that scanner, just in case." The whole family laughed, but this time Grey didn't understand the joke.

A runner pulled up out in front, a bright red road vehicle much different than any of the transports Grey had used at Tranquility, with a raised passenger compartment in the middle and sleek, streamlined sides. Powered by hydrogen charged cells, it was efficient and capable of great speed. Grey chose a place in one of the rear seats, nodding at the two young men in front.

"Remember what I told you," John said, speaking sternly to Peter and Walter through the passenger side window. "I'm holding each of you personally responsible for my guest."

"Yes, Mister Farmer, we'll be careful," Peter said.

"Mind you are," Marsus stressed. "Ben's from a small village way up north. He doesn't understand all our urban nonsense."

The vehicle turned in a tight circle and was soon headed down the hill toward the main road, giving Grey a chance to feel the imitation leather seats and notice the runner's unique smells. The movement was different, too, much smoother than John's truck, and better visibility through the bubble top windows.

"This really your first trip to the big town?" Walter asked. "Where are you from?"

"The Aleutians," Grey said again, wondering why people seemed to readily accept that particular explanation. But the Security Computer had said humans were more likely to believe big lies rather than small ones.

"We were kind of rude at the pumping station," Walter said. "We didn't mean nothing. That work you did was great. Going to help everyone. And when you kicked Mason's ass, that was a hundred degrees."

"I kicked no ass. I merely suggested they leave peacefully," Grey said.

"Everyone in the valley's talking about it. Some say you're a rogue enforcer, others say you must be a retired Black Sash doing a Lone Ranger," Walter suggested, leaving an opening for Grey to confirm one of the rumors.

"A Lone Ranger?" Grey inquired, unhappy to hear the pumping station incident had received so much attention.

"They say there are some vets who roam the countryside defending people from the gangs, and even sometimes from the government," Peter explained. "No official status or anything, just out to set things right."

"I've not heard of such phenomena," Grey said.

"Just rumor, not anything you're going to hear on the news," Peter elaborated. "When people get desperate enough, all kinds of stories get started. I don't buy it. Life isn't that romantic."

"Just because Jillian dumped you," Walter prodded.

"Oh, shut up," Peter said.

"Well, what about it, Ben?" Walter asked.

"I am not a Lone Ranger or government agent, nor have I ever participated in the Black Sash tournaments," Grey said. "Mister Farmer required assistance, so I helped. That's all."

"See? I told you," Peter said.

The landscape whipped by as the vehicle sped along, the number of private houses and multiple unit dwellings increasing as they passed through several small towns before approaching a moderate sized city. Grey thought the sights interesting and wished they were not going so fast.

The City of Ventura had brightly illuminated streets, a multitude of businesses, and vehicles of various functions parked next to the wide sidewalks. Most of the buildings looked old, at least on this side of town, and some were nearly ancient.

They stopped in a parking lot near a large auditorium decorated with colorful neon signs. By the number of people flowing into the building, Grey had to guess it was a popular gathering spot, and he grew nervous to realize he might encounter more humans than he'd ever seen before. The last banquet he had attended at Tranquility, which had fifty participants, suddenly seemed very small. Then Grey noticed the name of the establishment.

"The Lunar Landing?" Grey asked.

"Uh-huh, this is the hottest nightclub in town. Maybe the region," Walter said. "Total moonscape."

"Why?" Grey asked in astonishment.

"It's all the pop now," Peter said, not quite as enthusiastic. "Ever since they broadcast that documentary, it's all the kids want to talk about."

"You saw it, didn't you? Governor of the Moon," Walter questioned.

"Some of it," Grey replied. "I wouldn't describe it as a documentary, however."

"You don't like him?" Walter asked with a hint of anger.

"Like who?" Grey asked.

"The Governor of the Moon. Grey Waters!" Walter exclaimed. "The bravest, most ass-kicking fighter there ever was. He once beat five seekers with nothing more than a half-charged blaster. He doesn't take shit from anyone, not even the Congress-In-Council, and danger means nothing to him."

"Sounds rather foolhardy," Grey demurred.

"He's a hero," Walter persisted. "A real hero, not like those political clowns the government slaps medals on."

"Give Ben a break, Walter," Peter cut in. "Maybe he's seen enough action that he's not so easily impressed."

"Have you?" Walter asked.

"I've had my back to the wall once or twice," Grey confessed, wondering what Walter would think if he found out his hero was just an ordinary person. "Maybe I'll appreciate the Governor more when I've learned more about him."

"Can't be fairer than that," Peter said.

They had a lengthy walk to the nightclub entrance where Grey was required to flash the fake identification reluctantly forged for him by the Administration Computer. He was given a tag and followed the Edelsons inside.

Just beyond the entry, Grey saw the main hall had a towering ceiling and numerous food service providers installed in the surrounding walls. A wide dance floor formed a big circle around the room, and in the center of the hall was a multi-level saloon with a glowing replica of the moon hanging over it. Huge wall panels featured electronic displays replicating romanticized views of famous lunar landmarks including Tranquility's landing bays, the White Towers, and a rough outline of Tranquility Ridge. There was loud music playing and the lighting altered on a frequent basis, causing a mild degree of visual distortion. It didn't look like anything he had ever seen before, but the patrons seemed at home in the bizarre environment.

Grey followed Peter and Walter through a noisy crowd to the bar where they found seats in an outer ring overlooking the dance floor. Most of the dancers were young, in their late teens to late-twenties, and wore clothing that was skimpy on material. Especially the females, who were showing many of their attributes.

"Isn't this great?" Walter said.

"They've done a terrific job," Peter agreed. "This used to be the old Marine Corps training center, before they moved the unit over to Point Mugu. You'd never guess how drab this building was."

Grey would. He had rehabed enough aging storage decks to see the modifications clearly. But he also knew what it's like to work with scarce resources, so he didn't dwell too critically on the results.

"May I bring you something?" a very attractive hostess asked.

"You can bring me everything," Walter said with a twinkle in his eye.

Grey noticed that the female server wore a tight-fitting silver outfit with wide padded shoulders, apparently designed to resemble the space clothing he had seen in old science fiction programs. She had long auburn hair, nice brown eyes, and wore a headband with the Tranquility Lunar Colony logo on it. Grey smiled, finding the uniform humorous, but in a strange way he was also flattered by the homage to his birthplace. The hostess noticed his smile and smiled back, willing to ignore Walter's clumsy flirting.

"I'll have a Sunrise, my brother will have a Jack and Six. What about you, Ben?" Peter said.

"I'll have a red eye," Grey requested.

"Ah, the Governor's favorite," the hostess said, tapping a keypad as she scanned their ID tags.

"Wait, I'll have a red eye, too," Walter decided.

The hostess changed the order and disappeared into the crowd.

"How are the nightclubs back home?" Peter asked.

"Smaller, and not so many people," Grey said, working to control his nervousness. Fortunately, few if any of the humans bothered to look twice at him, unlike Tranquility where his every move felt scrutinized. Grey liked the sensation of anonymity.

"What happens next?" Grey asked.

"First we dwell, spy the ground," Walter said, holding his hands out flat to emphasize the strategy. "Then get a snack and hunt some legs."

"What is the purpose of hunting legs?" Grey pursued.

"Get honeysuckled. You know, poached? Don't tell me they don't get laid in the Aleutians?" Walter said.

Grey thought the terminology over carefully, recalling some of the slang words used by Kris and many of Tranquility's more recent visitors.

"The purpose of this exercise is to engage partners for sexual intercourse?" Grey inquired.

Both Peter and Walter stared at him, then laughed.

"That was funny. You said that just the way Grey Waters would have," Walter grinned. "You must have liked that vid more than you thought."

The hostess returned with their drinks and Peter produced his credit disk. The drinks were in colorful beverage containers with decorations showing famous lunar landmarks such as the Apollo Landing Sites and the Space Heroes Monument.

"Here's to the best crop we've ever had," Walter said, offering the toast.

"We don't have a crop yet, but I agree," Peter said. "To our best year ever."

Grey sipped the whiskey, finding it strong and flavorful, then took a stiff drink, enjoying the hearty burning sensation. Walter coughed on his red eye and had to slow down.

Over the next hour, Grey watched the brothers approach and make startling statements to many of the females, occasionally with some success, but usually not. He was satisfied to view the storm of social interaction raging around him from a distance, the pace of the exchanges far more intense than the relaxed socializing he had studied at Tranquility. Where once he had seen two or three pairs of humans flirting on the community level promenade, now there were hundreds of attempted communications in patterns that seemed to change by the second, each filled with hope, excitement, fear and disappointment. Until this moment, Grey realized he had not understood what the Medical Computer meant about overactive hormones.

"What do you think, Ben? Does California have the prettiest girls in the world or what?" Peter asked. "Are you having a good time?"

"It's very interesting. Thank you for bringing me," Grey said, relaxing enough to let the room's unique energy filter in.

"Rough night," Walter said, returning from another unsuccessful foray. "How you guys doing?"

"Saw Sandra and Mitzi, both with dates though," Peter reported.

"I keep telling you, you've got to break new ground," Walter lectured. "How about you, Ben?"

"Making excellent progress," Grey said, giving Walter an excuse to change the subject.

Suddenly a roar of noise arose from far off to the rear, hundreds of voices cheering in unison. The big room started to empty rapidly.

"The games are starting. Hurry or we won't get seats," Walter shouted, jumping up from their small table.

Grey and Peter rushed to follow as Walter jostled through the crowd, entered a gate that greatly resembled the one at Lunar Stadium, and made it to an aisle overlooking an arena. No, not exactly an arena, Grey thought, more like a training field decorated to give a more entertaining appearance. The ground floor, about twenty meters wide by sixty meters long, was similar to the garrison training center at Tranquility. Which was no surprise. Both were made around 2040 by the same contractor, only here, the live fire shielding protecting the spectators had been removed to give a wide-open view of the action.

Walter wasted no effort getting them seats, forcing several couples to move over. The expectation level of the audience was high, some sort of sporting event apparently being anticipated.

A few minutes later, to great fanfare, a man outfitted in an old spacesuit walked to a podium overlooking the arena

"Honored guests, tonight the Lunar Landing is proud to present our 20th Weekly Free Open with the very latest holographic displays," the man announced. "Pump your shields and seal your armor, here comes our first contestant."

The crowd screamed as a youthful male entered the arena wearing extremely light full environment body armor, complete with a holstered sidearm, an energy shield still racked on his rear shoulder carrier, and a belt filled with jammers, a converter, a recharger, and even spare power packs for the blaster. Grey instantly realized the equipment wasn't real. Facsimiles. Training tools. He studied the overhanging beams and saw a vast array of holographic projectors similar to the ones he had trained with as a child. Before he decided that live fire exercises would prove more valuable.

Suddenly a bell rang three times, the contestant closed the visor of his imitation armor, and the holographic image of a seeker appeared at the far end of the arena. Modeled exactly like the nightwatcher series that Grey had battled so often while growing up, the flying armored sphere moved forward in a manner and speed that was only possible in lunar gravity. Even the sound effects were good, the hissing wail of the thrusters accurately replicated.

At first the seeker image jetted forward on power jets, then circled into the contestant's weak right flank on wing jets probing for an opening. The contestant unracked his energy shield, strapped the oval presentation plate to his left forearm, and drew the blaster with his right hand, stepping sideways to avoid the seeker's movement. After a brief exchange of low intensity laser fire, the seeker continued the circling movement.

Though the image moved quickly enough, Grey thought it lacked the agility of the seekers he had fought, the slight bounce and shift that gave them a defensive advantage not quite sharp enough. Apparently the programmer was still thinking of their movements in terms of Earthly gravity.

When the seeker backed off and then charged again, the contestant scored a direct hit and the image disintegrated. Grey was amazed the battle ended so suddenly. None of the seekers he had fought ever folded after just one shot, and that last generation of seekers brought to Tranquility by the United Alliance, the sentinel class series, was so heavily armored almost nothing could knock them down. Nevertheless, the crowd cheered even if Grey didn't.

The second round also featured a lone seeker, and though the attack pattern varied and movement was more rapid, the outcome remained the same, the holographic image overmatched by the contestant's modest skills. Admittedly it took a direct hit to score, and the intensity of the sensor contact was a factor, but Grey still yawned and wondered what time it was.

"Isn't this fabulous?" Walter said. "Just like the battles the Governor fought, taken directly from his biography. The Governor has fought seekers lots of times. They're almost impossible to beat."

"Doesn't look so hard to me," Grey mumbled.

"Just wait," Walter urged. "That's only the prelim. There are five rounds altogether, if he makes it that far." Walter's eyes were bright, the crowd noisily enthusiastic.

"We know it's not like the real thing," Peter admitted. "Not even like the live fire tournaments the army holds. But only soldiers get to test their skills there, and only the elite get a chance at a Black Sash. Here anyone can have a crack at it."

Round three began and this time two seekers appeared, one coming straight on and the other moving into flanking position, ducking low and scoring hits on the contestant's converter cables. The combatant stepped backward, fired at the closest opponent, then turned on the flanker to chase it off. He was quickly attacked from behind, however, by a blaze of aggressive laser fire, then squeezed by a double flanking formation. Rather than roll out, the contestant stood his ground, destroyed one seeker, but then took a fatal hit from the other direction. The game was instantly over.

The crowd applauded with appropriate admiration, the contestant's score of three kills a little better than expected.

"He should have moved more," Peter said. "Last time we were here, someone made it all the way to round five. He was good, but three seekers at once was too many for him."

"Three seekers at once should be too many for anybody," Grey said.

They watched two more contestants, the first losing a few seconds into the first round, the second putting up a sturdy fight, winning the first three rounds before getting careless in round four. With a little more practice, Grey thought he might have lasted longer. At least against these images.

"You should try it, Ben," Walter said.

"Yeah, Ben, do it," Peter agreed. "Top prize is five hundred credits."

"Is your friend any good?" someone behind them asked.

"The best," Walter said, lacking the slightest evidence to back up his boast.

Grey was ready to reject the invitation when many of the spectators jumped up chanting, "Over here. Over here," and pointing at him. A spotlight searched the area of noise and two ushers came down the aisle, signaling for Grey to follow. Rather than make a fuss in public, he got up to follow the ushers with Peter and Walter eagerly trailing behind.

The locker room beneath the stands offered adjustable suits in a variety of sizes. While Peter dealt with the registrar, Walter and an assistant helped Grey select an outfit and suit up. A second assistant laid out the weapons, power packs and an energy shield, and a third assistant read Grey a list of rules laced with advice. Grey didn't hear anything he hadn't already observed, so he spent his time checking the equipment, particularly the ejector mechanism on the McIntosh blaster. After ejecting and inserting new power packs several times, he tested the weapon's accuracy on a nearby target screen. It was sufficient.

The round in progress didn't last long, an unqualified female contestant going down in less than thirty seconds. The next round didn't even last that long, the contestant leaving the arena to the jeers of the heavily drinking crowd. Grey positioned the holster on his hip the way he liked and tested it with a slow draw.

"Do you have any liquid silk?" Grey asked.

"We do, but not many ask for it," the second assistant said, producing a spray container.

Grey took the sprayer and applied it himself, working the top of the holster and the outside edge of the McIntosh in a distinctly professional manner. Peter and Walter smiled when the assistants looked impressed. Then Grey tested the holster again, sprayed one last spot, and stepped before a full-length mirror to study his motion. After setting, he drew the sidearm so quickly even the assistants blinked at the speed.

"Wow!" Walter said. "Pete, did you see that?"

"Adequate," Grey said, still not entirely pleased.

He adjusted the armor, shifted the positioning of the converter cables attached to the energy shield, then racked the shield on the rear shoulder carrier until he needed it. Last, he reviewed the tactical scanners that appeared on the screen inside the helmet, asked questions about the tracking ratios, real time input and the blue factoring. Unlike the armor and weapons, the scanners registered like the real thing, designed to provide tactical information to the combatant. Having adapted to several different models over the years, often with no time to practice, Grey found reading the equipment rather simple.

"You're up, youngster," the registrar said. "Any last questions?"

"Negative," Grey said, closing the visor and activating the air conditioning unit that was supposed to duplicate a closed environment life support system. The suit's visuals were excellent, telling Grey that the proprietors took the quality of their sport seriously.

Grey followed the referee up a narrow tunnel and emerged into the arena amid polite applause.

"Our next challenger is Benjamin Brown, a farmer visiting from our northern provinces," the announcer declared.

With a cautious posture, Grey took up the designated position two thirds of the distance from the seeker's zone of entry. Then the bell rang three times and the first seeker appeared.

Grey didn't unrack the shield at first. The seeker probed forward, paused on hover jets, then charged. Grey drew the McIntosh and fired from the hip, prepared to skip sideways and fire again, but the direct hit disintegrated the opponent. The first round had lasted ten seconds.

The crowd was silent initially, then began to applaud while exchanging whispered comments.

The second seeker appeared. Anxious to test the suit, Grey retreated without drawing his weapon or unracking the shield. The flying sphere moved left and fired, but Grey stepped right and ducked. The seeker moved to circle behind him, attempting to take pot shots at his converter cables, but Grey danced sideways and almost got behind the seeker instead. Once he felt comfortable with quicker movements, Grey drew the blaster, waited for the seeker to commit, and then destroyed the image without additional effort.

Again the applause was subdued, but this time it was a growing sense of expectation that kept the noise down.

Grey unracked the shield for round three, pulling the oval presentation plate off the shoulder carrier and strapping it to his left forearm, then channeling the converter cables for power. He took up a position with the weapon still holstered, keeping the shield high as he set for the drill. And remembering the lessons taught to him by the Security Computer- move, turn, attack!

The next opponents appeared, two seekers that jetted forward aggressively. One took the lead, the other flying wing, but they did not immediately charge in like their ill-fated predecessors. The programming was allowing them to adapt their strategic modes, which Grey liked. Do be so elaborately equipped, and even applauded, for facing such pathetic opposition made him feel foolish.

Grey waited until the two seekers were encroaching on his right flank, then stepped back and wheeled around to present the shield, pumping the power so that the blue waves of deflective energy radiated out before him. The lead seeker continued to circle his flank while the wing seeker turned inward to attack. This was a maneuver Grey had seen many times.

Using the textbook escape, Grey rolled out and attacked the lead seeker in the middle of the flanking movement, then turned and side-stepped backward, striking the wing seeker at his front. He could have taken the seeker out, but he withdrew further, allowing the seekers to reform. The seekers started to move forward again, but this time Grey suddenly launched a rapid frontal assault, running forward with the sidearm blazing. One seeker was hit and disintegrated while the other tried to break left around Grey's shield flank. Grey performed a skip and spin to trap the seeker against the wall and destroy it.

Once again the victory was too easy, but Grey was beginning to enjoy the exercise, and it felt good to be in action again even if the event was overly artificial. As he took a deep breath going into the fourth round, two more seekers appeared, hovering at long range and scanning their opponent.

Grey decided to have more fun this time, shifting all the way to the left when the seekers tried to turn that flank, then moving all the way to the right when they changed tactics. Refusing to allow the seekers flanking access, he passed up chances for a quick victory to methodically push the seekers back into the corner where they had no room to maneuver. Each time the seekers tried to break out, Grey would shift into their path with brazen indifference to the consequences, and he finally ended the round with a spectacular double shot that destroyed the seekers at nearly the same instant. When Grey ejected the spent power pack and slapped in a fresh charge with a flamboyant flair, the crowds rose to their feet cheering.

The referee signaled to Grey and he walked back to a waiting area just underneath the announcer's podium almost out of view from the stands. There Grey opened the visor and took a drink of cool water, noting the absence of the metallic taste so common at the farm. Spring water, the assistant called it, and not at all bad.

"Goddamn, Ben, where'd you learn to do that?" Peter asked, coming down from the stands during the intermission.

Above them, the stadium was busy as the waiters filled orders for more drinks and many of the spectators began making bets on the final round.

"What are your chances?" Walter asked, leaning over the railing. "One more seeker and you tie the record. Two more and you win the grand prize. Three and ... okay, no one expects you to get all three. Can you get another one? Can you get two?"

"What are the odds?" Grey asked.

"Not as high as they were before round four," Peter laughed. "A lot of folks out there are true believers."

"Only two more seekers?" Grey asked. Walter nodded. "I've got forty credits left in my pouch. Please wager them for me."

"You got it," Walter said, disappearing into the stands without a backward glance.

"Can you afford to lose forty credits?" Peter asked.

"The risk should provide extra motivation," Grey answered, thinking strategies over in his mind.

"Last round, three seekers," the referee announced, starting a rush back to the seats.

Grey closed the visor, double checked his equipment, and walked back into the arena, surprised to discover a thundering commotion in progress. The crowd, male and female alike, drunk and not drunk, were shouting and stamping their feet. Grey decided not to let the demonstration distract him.

The three seekers appeared. Cautious, they spread out slowly and hovered in a Zulu formation, a deep center supported by two enveloping wings. Even though it was a good strategy, Grey had hoped for something more creative. But he didn't commit himself prematurely. There were several variations to one on three combat, and none of them included a rash offense.

The seekers maneuvered just out of optimum range, exciting the crowd and thus making for better entertainment. Grey cooperated, performing a few basic feints and turns as if it was really part of a battle plan. Once the introductions were over, the seekers got down to business, shifting into a double flank, alternate wing attack pattern. Grey simply retreated, shifting to cut off a rear attack by dancing back and forth against each wing. Once he ran out of retreating space, he slid along the wall to his right keeping the energy shield up while taking glancing hits as he watched the shifting formation for an opening.

The seekers initially kept a distance, creeping up to take pots shots and probing for an error, but Grey had done this too many times, for too many years, to be drawn out by a hologram. After several minutes of chasing Grey slowly around the edge of the arena, the seekers shifted to a new strategy, one hugging the wall in front of him, another hugging the wall behind him, and the third hovering out in the center to block an escape. This was the moment Grey had waited for.

Grey stopped, jacked up the energy shield to full power, and kicked off the wall, four quick bounds taking him into the center with his sidearm blazing. The seeker stationed there fired into the energy shield, then dropped low for a shot at Grey's converter cables. Grey sidestepped, spun, and destroyed the seeker during the same movement that allowed him to present a new front on the tardy pursuers. There was an immediate exchange of close quarters fire, then Grey danced left and turned, using the shield to block out both attackers.

Losing their maneuvering room, the seekers climbed for altitude and circled around in a tight formation, then separated and dove against both flanks at once. As Grey concentrated on the nearest enemy, the other dropped low and scored successive hits on his converter cables, knocking the energy shield offline. But it was too late. Even as the protective blue energy field dissipated, Grey was able to destroy the seeker facing his front and spin around to meet the last surviving opponent. The seeker started to give ground, but Grey coolly ejected the blaster's depleted power pack, slapped in a new charge, and ran the final seeker down, destroying it just outside the original entry zone.

The lighting in the stands returned to full brightness and Grey could hear the audience screaming through the thin lining of the helmet. He looked around and was appalled to see so many people so excited over such a simple sport. In a way, it made him sad, and he quickly walked from the arena back down the access tunnel to the locker room. He got there a moment ahead of the assistants, much to his relief, and hurried to discard the armor. The crowds were still cheering as Grey quickly dressed and ducked out the side exit into the parking lot.

Nearly an hour later, after Grey had cleaned up in a public fountain and spent some time star gazing, Peter found him sitting on the ground near the runner.

"Thought you might be out here," Peter said. "What happened? Too many bad memories?"

"Something like that," Grey said, surprised to find the young farm hand more astute than he looked. Peter sat down next to him and handed Grey a drink, a light fruit flavored concoction with a trace of rum.

"I can tell you're not interested, but you're missing a hell of a party," Peter said. "The population went nuts after their mysterious hero turned phantom. Everyone's trying to guess who you are. Probably a hundred guys in there right now scoring legs by claiming to be you." Peter laughed, thinking the situation funny, and Grey laughed, too.

"I had your prize money transferred to my account, if that's okay. Didn't know your numbers," Peter continued.

"Pete! Pete!" they heard Walter shout.

Peter stood up and waved.

"Ben? What are you doing out here? Every girl at the Landing is sizzling for you. Come on, get yourself a harem and there'll still be a six-pack left over for us," Walter urged. He dug into his pocket and handed Grey a pile of disks. "A hundred and sixty credits, plus your original forty, plus eighty more. Your share of my winnings."

"How much did you win?" Peter asked in surprise.

"Eight hundred credits," Walter boasted. "Bet everything I had. After that show in round four, odds were even up he'd break the record. I bet he'd clean house, but by then the best I could get was four to one. If we'd slapped down before the match, we could have gotten ten to one easy. By the way, Ben, the manager says if you'll come back next week and let him advertise the match, he'll pay you a thousand credits win or lose."

"Ben isn't interested, Walt," Peter replied.

"Not interested?" Walter said.

"I would prefer the incident not be mentioned, especially back in the valley," Grey urged, rising to dust himself off. "I'm not a performer and have no desire for publicity."

"No, no, please," Walter pleaded.

"If it's credits you want ...?" Grey started to say.

"You think I'm in it for the money?" Walter asked, his expression suddenly changing to a frown.

"He didn't say that," Peter interceded.

"It's not about the money," Walter said in a hurt tone.

"This has been an interesting experience, but I'm unaccustomed to so much noise," Grey said. "I don't want the attention and I don't need the credits."

"I have an idea. We've got money and time, how about heading down to The Pier?" Peter suggested.

"What? With all those snippy university types?" Walter said.

"I've got a hunch Ben might like it. The music is good and the girls are just as pretty," Peter argued. "Not afraid of a challenge, are you?"

"Tonight I'm not afraid of anything," Walter said.

"Well, Ben? How about it?" Peter asked.

"I'll buy the first round," Grey agreed.

____________

"There she is, Nick," Tamera said, entering the Lucky Clover for the customary Saturday night gathering. "She looks so sad, I don't even know what to say."

"We must try our best," Nicholas said, taking Tamera by the hand.

They walked over to the bar where Kris was sitting with an empty glass before her. Lost in thought, Kris didn't notice them until they took stools next to her.

"Hello, Kris," Tamera said, giving her a hug.

"We have missed you this week," Nicholas said. "Everyone on the planning committee has questions."

"More like complaints," Tamera quickly added. "Now that Grey's gone, there are more disagreements than ever. And the computers aren't helping."

"Roger is deputy governor, take your problems to him," Kris said without looking up.

"We are not trying to bring you our problems, we just thought you should know," Nicholas replied.

"I'm only the security officer," Kris said. "If you see someone shoplifting, give me a call."

Kris jumped up from the bar and bounced toward the door. Nicholas gave Tamera a quick glance and raced to follow. Kris was fast, however, and more experienced with movement in the lunar gravity. She was halfway down the main corridor before Nicholas was able to catch her.

"Kris! Kris, wait," he called out.

Kris stopped outside the community level hygiene compartments. She wasn't crying but Nicholas thought she might be close. He took her in his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder.

"I know you are hurting," Nicholas said. "I have seen Tammy in pain, too, but she is trying to be brave."

"It's been two weeks," Kris said, making no effort to disengage. "No tracks, no trace. Only messages that don't explain anything. I don't even think they're real messages, just something the computers have cooked up."

"I believe you might be right, but I also think there is more than we realize," Nicholas hinted.

"What do you mean?" Kris asked, pushing back to look him in the eyes.

"Have you performed your gravity chamber, yet?" he asked.

"No. Kind of been skipping it. Hope the Medical Computer doesn't catch me."

"It will. That machine misses nothing," Nicholas warned, taking her by the hand.

They walked through the men's locker room, empty so late in the evening, and entered the long narrow room just past the showers where the gravity chambers were located. Near the entrance they found the larger chambers that could accommodate eight or more residents, but as they walked toward the rear, the chambers became smaller and even began to stack upon each other. Nicholas picked the unit that he and Tamera usually used and turned to unseal Kris's jumper.

"Do not worry, this is not a romantic gesture," Nicholas said, helping her step out of the uniform before removing his shirt and pants.

Once they were stripped down to their underwear, he opened the pressurized hatch and they climbed inside.

"I still don't like these things. Like sitting in a big oven," Kris complained, taking a seat on the low padded bench and laying back.

"Worse. They look like the big clothes dryers Tammy's aunt runs back home, but they are better than having l.g.d.," he agreed.

Nicholas signaled for the hatch to close, initiated the gravity cycle, and entered a special privacy code before sitting back next to her.

"Okay, so what's this about?" Kris asked. "You're not trying to make me, and you probably don't need the extra treatment."

"The computers are lying to us," Nicholas asserted. "I do not know where Grey is, but more is known than is being said. I also think the frustration everyone is feeling must be addressed. There is too much suspicion and doubt."

The gravity cycle began, a humming noise followed by a gradual increase in pressure. Before long artificial gravity waves were being generated through the chamber, pushing and tugging at every fiber of their bodies. Uncomfortable and invasive, but also necessary to prevent the effects of lighter gravity deterioration.

"Is there a message for me in this?" Kris asked, her breathing growing labored as sweat broke out on her chest.

"Roger may be deputy governor, and I may be chief of staff, but you are the one who must take charge," Nicholas said, his breath also a little short. "I do not know what this is all about, but if Grey is working on a plan, then he is also counting on us."

"We don't even know if Grey is still alive," Kris said.

"I know in my soul he is well," Nicholas assured her.

"How can you be so sure? Aren't you a little too male to have female intuition?"

The force of the gravity waves increased sharply, going beyond uncomfortable to stressful. The strain caused additional perspiration, and Nicholas could not help notice that Kris's thin underwear was becoming transparent.

"Grey loves you," Nicholas insisted. "If he was in serious danger, he would have asked me to take care of you, like he did before. If he was not alive anymore, the computers would be trying to seize control of the base. You know they have never given up expectations of controlling this project."

"They've been awful demanding lately," Kris mentioned.

"But they are not in charge," Nicholas insisted. "And they won't be unless we let them."

"What can I do?"

"You must take leadership."

"Me? I'm only the security officer."

"Does Grey lead us because he has a title, or because everyone respects him?"

"You know the answer to that," she said, relieved as the gravity cycle began to wind down. Now soaked in sweat, she sighed as a cool breeze began to flush the cubicle.

"You also command such respect. You owe it to us, and to yourself, to use that respect the way Grey would want."

"Guess I haven't been much help lately," Kris apologized, sitting up as Nicholas quickly ordered the hatch open.

"I hope to have not overstepped my place," Nicholas said, also sweating from the gravity cycle.

He jumped out of the gravity chamber and raced to pick up his clothes. Kris slowly leaned over to pick up her uniform, looking almost naked in the harsh white lighting.

"Kris, there is something I must say," Nicholas said in a more formal tone than usual. "We both heard that story about Tammy and Grey in the biosphere."

"I believe them when they say nothing was going on," Kris said.

"I, too, believe them, but that is not what I am saying," Nicholas said, looking down with a blush. "They can manage that. They possess a special strength, but I ... that is ... you are very beautiful. Maybe we should not share a gravity chamber again."

It took a moment for Kris to realize what he was saying, and why the big man was clutching his clothes in front of him so awkwardly.

Kris laughed, a twinkle in her eye for the first time in weeks.

"Thanks, Nick, you're a true friend," she said.

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and dashed back into the women's shower room with a dance in her step. Nicholas needed to relax for a moment before taking a cold shower.

Back in the Lucky Clover, in a quiet booth off to one side, two observers had watched Kris flee with increasing concern.

"I'm really worried about her," Tey whispered. "We've got to do something."

"I know, I know," Roger said. "I expected the Defense Computer or Security to brief her on the mission by now, but nothing's happened."

"You should tell her," Tey insisted.

"Don't you think I want to? What am I supposed to say? I don't know where Grey is. I'm not even sure he's still alive."

"Those computers know," Tey pressed.

"I'm not sure they do," Roger disagreed. "Maybe this is all part of the plan, or maybe someone screwed up. I want to tell Kris. Hell, I'd like to tell the whole planning committee. They're a good bunch of kids. But I'm afraid. What if Grey gets hurt because I didn't follow orders?"

Tey sat back in her seat with a soft sigh of resignation. "I hadn't thought of it like that," she said. "I didn't even realize this might be harder on you than anyone else. I'm sorry about that."

"Let's not worry about me. What can we do for Kris?"

"Nick went after her, maybe he can calm her down."

"You don't think they are ...?" Roger questioned.

"No, I don't think," Tey said with a disapproving frown.

"Just wondering," Roger mentioned. "So many young rabbits around here, seems like you need a scorecard."

"This gravity can be exhilarating," Tey agreed. "Makes the old feel young, and the young feel superhuman."

She reached under the table and took Roger's hand, flashing her eyelashes. He laughed.

"How about giving the situation another week?" Roger said. "If we haven't heard anything by then, I'll tell Kris everything I know. Hell, we can even fire up New Ranger and go looking for him."

"She's going to be mighty angry that no one told her sooner," Tey warned.

"Maybe I can shift blame to the computers. Wouldn't surprise me a bit if this whole mess is their fault," Roger said.

"We can't go blaming the machines," Tey laughed.

"If you spend enough time at Tranquility, you'd be amazed how much the computers can be blamed for," Roger replied.

____________

The Pier was almost as described, a structure that looked like a pier even though it was actually located a block inland just off the coast highway near a stately-looking hotel. Grey could smell the ocean but couldn't quite see it in the dark, much to his disappointment. He was pleased, however, to discover the nightclub was significantly smaller than the Lunar Landing and far more controlled. Grey, Peter and Walter raised a few eyebrows with their blue-collar clothing, but the hostess was still very polite.

Grey liked the new environment. The patrons were still mingling and flirting like the other gathering, but discussion was being substituted for screaming, and the music was the new bouncy jazz style that he enjoyed monitoring. Though Grey played no musical instruments himself, he had learned to admire the talent the procedure required. The bright, irregular lighting of the Lunar Landing was now replaced by discreet, often indirect lighting. The lounge and adjoining bar was very much like the Lucky Clover back home, which helped Grey to assimilate.

"What do you think, Ben? Does it synchronize?" Peter asked.

"Excellent," Grey approved, locating a table off the dance floor near the corner.

They made themselves comfortable as a waitress arrived to take their orders. Grey switched from red eye to beer, wondering how the local brand would compare to the brew he made in the biosphere.

"Hello, we don't get many farm boys in here," a tall female said.

Grey noticed the young woman had closely cut reddish gold hair and appeared to have very large breasts held back by a tight sweater.

"Sit down, maybe I'll show you my plow," Walter offered.

"Smooth, Walt. Real smooth," Peter said, but she only laughed. "I'm Pete, this is my brother Walt, and this is Ben, a visitor from up north."

"San Francisco?" the young woman asked.

"The Aleutians," Walter answered.

"Oh, a genuine ice boy," she said with a grin, waving to someone at the bar.

A moment later, a second female appeared. She was of medium height with a dark complexion, very long black hair, and intelligent brown eyes.

"I'm Wendy, this is my friend, Joanna," the first female introduced. "We're students at Channel U."

Grey noticed the females were wearing more conservative clothing than the previous location, but in subtle ways, just as likely to be provocative.

"Take a seat," Walter said, shifting to make room.

Grey listened as the two young males and two young females began to make small talk, much of which he found nonsensical. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was ideal for observation, the beer was cold, and the music enjoyable. For a few minutes, Grey was able to set aside his usual burdens and simply relax.

"Ah, such aspirations," a young man said, arriving at their table to interfere with the socializing. He was a slim, rather snobbish human that Grey instantly disliked. The intruder was soon joined by another equally obnoxious male and they took chairs at the table without invitation. Both males were of equal size to Peter and Walter, wore their hair short, and sought to exude an air of academic loftiness.

"Deep in intellectual discourse?" the one said.

"Barnaby, will you butt out," Wendy said.

"Butt out? But I'm interested in a lively debate," Barnaby said. "Why, just yesterday Sherwin and I were discussing the new Huddleston Theory of Interstellar Mechanics. You're taking Nassif, Joanna, so I'm sure you must be sharing her insight with your new friends here?"

"As if it's any of your business," Joanna answered.

"Don't be selfish," Barnaby persisted. "Tell me, farmer lad, what do you think of Huddleston? You know all about molecular divergence, don't you?"

Grey could sense that the Edelsons were getting angered by the rude teasing, especially Walter, but he only laughed at the silly human's remarks.

"What's so funny, runt?" Barnaby said, turning toward Grey with an aggressive posture.

"You are," Grey replied, continuing to chuckle.

"Yeah? And why is that?" the arrogant male asked.

"Huddleston's Theory doesn't address molecular divergence," Grey explained, speaking slowly so the dimwitted human might understand. "Divergence is section three of the exception to revision thirty-six of Einstein's General Theory of Relativity. Huddleston refers to molecular diffusion, which attempts to measure the density of dark matter drift. And the theory is wrong. It doesn't take into consideration the effects of gravitational pooling in dark star belts or Chung's Second Theory, which more accurately seeks to reconcile uneven distribution of matter in a common void. What do you think of Chung? Do you think interstellar space has a spatial subtext capable of facilitating faster than light acceleration? And if so, how can it be reconciled with Nalo, who recently postulated that subspace strata cannot be mathematically articulated?"

Barney's face turned red, perhaps from too much drinking, Grey thought, and the young man quickly left the table with his unwanted friend close behind. The females laughed.

"Wow, you guys must have something going to hang out with a dome like this," Joanna said.

"I often rely on Peter and Walter for advice," Grey revealed. "Astrophysics has its place, but agriculture is a science, too. One I never underestimate."

The women appeared impressed and soon the four of them departed for the dance floor, leaving Grey blissfully alone at the table.

"Hi, there," still another female said, this one approaching meekly.

"Hello," Grey said, attempting to smile. After an awkward pause, he motioned for her to sit as protocol dictated.

"I'm Judith Den, a senior at the university," she said. "My friends call me J.D."

When Grey failed to offer a response, she gave him an odd look that he recognized. It was a signal Kris often used.

"Ben," he said. "I'm called Ben Brown, a visitor from up north."

He noticed the female was quite attractive, though not as full-figured or elaborately outfitted as the others, and had very big dark brown eyes. She also seemed nervous.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Judith asked.

"I'm adequately provisioned," Grey said, his beer only half finished.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you said to those two tweeds. You know, about Huddleston and Chung. Is it true?" she asked.

"Is what true?" Grey asked.

"That Huddleston's Theory is flawed. I've been trying to apply to the M.I.S.T. graduate program, but it's awful hard to even get an interview. Something like this might give me a chance at a scholarship," she explained.

Grey could see this was important to her. Access to an education had never been an issue to him, nor had he realized until recently what a challenge it posed to others. But then, she wanted to pursue a higher education while he had never been given a choice.

"Chung's Second Theory is stronger than Huddleston in many respects," Grey confirmed. "The mechanics of interstellar drift are not so complex when variations of density are factored in. Testing the subtext can be difficult, however, as Nalo has made clear, though portions of her conclusions are exaggerated. To reach a reasonable hypothesis, the equations need a number of substitutions determined by the gravitational thresholds that are being measured."

"I almost understand some of that," Judith said, trying to smile.

It was a nice smile, Grey decided. He looked around, found a napkin, and sketched out a quick series of formulas as Judith watched with close attention. As the first column was finished and he started adding footnotes, Grey could hear the female grow excited. He looked up to see a definite intelligence in her eyes and an ability to grasp what he was doing.

"These are most of the basics," Grey said after finishing the last of three fully inscribed napkins. "You'll need to turn these numbers, but once you're arrayed, the rest shouldn't take long."

"This is incredible," Judith said, pawing through the notes while making sure not to get them wet. "I've never seen anyone do this by hand before. Half of this stuff isn't even in my textbooks. What school do you teach at? Are you transferring to M.I.S.T.?"

"I'm not an instructor," Grey said. "I've been trained as an energy engineer. Astrophysics is just a byproduct of my research."

"Maybe I'm trying to get into the wrong school?" Judith wondered.

"For what you wish to study, the Malibu Institute is a fine institution," Grey assured her. "I have no doubt you'll be successful if you persevere."

Judith ordered a round of drinks to celebrate and started giving Grey a closer inspection, studying the shaggy blond hair, the intense gray eyes, and the slender but apparently strong body. And his hands, which showed evidence of strenuous labor.

"Where are you working now?" she asked.

"On a farm," Grey said with a hint of pride.

"With those two?"

"No, they live nearby. They've been generous enough to let me join their recreation this evening."

"Why a farm?" she asked, edging closer.

"One might call it a vacation. I've done farming on a small scale most of my life. A big farm is more fun, but it would be better if the local farmers were more productive."

"The government hasn't been kind to them since the uprising," Judith said. "Now that Laureen McKinsey is dead, it might get even worse. She had enough clout to hold off the carpetbaggers."

"McKinsey's death has had unfortunate consequences," Grey agreed, remembering that day in the Loop almost a year before when Delta had cut the scheming old woman down. He had arrived too late to save her. Tranquility's seekers weren't holograms.

"Some say Valerie Fairfield might run for McKinsey's old senate seat, if they ever have elections again, but I don't know. Those are big shoes to fill," Judith wistfully added.

"Doctor Fairfield is very resourceful," Grey knew. "With M.I.S.T. and McKinsey Industries to support her, the Congress-In-Council will be reluctant to interfere directly."

"Don't tell me you're a political science major, too?" Judith laughed.

"I've had better satellite access than what the censors here permit," he said.

"They say Tranquility's put a whole new string of coms in orbit and they can be accessed with a few simple prompts," Judith suggested.

"Who says?" Grey asked, surprised his recently installed web had been discovered so quickly.

"People who don't like having their access restricted," Judith said hesitantly. "I hope you don't work for the government. If you do, I can kiss my graduate hopes goodbye."

"I have accessed Tranquility's satellites, too. I don't see anything wrong in wanting information," Grey responded. "I may even know a few access sequences you haven't found yet."

"Hey, Ben," Peter said, arriving at the table flushed and out of breath. "Walt and I are getting some rooms over at the inn. These girls are really nice, and after all, we do have all that prize money. Hope you don't mind?"

"Not at all. I was hoping to see some of the town in daylight. Maybe the beach, too," Grey said.

"Tastic. We'll get a room for you and leave the number at the desk," Peter said.

"That won't be necessary," Judith said. "Ben's staying with me tonight over at the Sea Shell."

"I see," Peter said with a sly smile. "Well, that's great, too. How about we meet for breakfast, then, before heading back. Denny's around eight?"

Peter returned to the dance floor without waiting for an answer. Grey found it amusing that the more reserved of the brothers had become so enthusiastic and was glad they hadn't been forced to sacrifice the social goal of their evening on his behalf.

"Sorry, we didn't have time for the usual preliminaries," Judith said shyly but actually not so shy.

"I make an effort not to argue with females," Grey said.

"You're even smarter than you look," she laughed. "How about we get out of here?"

They requested the check only to discover Peter had already paid it, then walked toward the door, making a brief stop at the restrooms on the way. It wasn't until she saw Grey standing near the door that Judith noticed a shoulder bag tucked discreetly under his arm. Just as they stepped out into the warm almost summer evening, several students passed them on the way in.

"J.D.," a young man greeted.

"Hi, Eduardo. Hi, Liddy," Judith acknowledged.

"Did you hear? Over at the Landing?" Eduardo asked.

"Hear what?" Judith said.

"Somebody did it. At the games," Liddy reported.

"Beat nine seekers and hardly worked up a sweat," Eduardo added. "Greatest match I ever saw. Then he disappeared without a trace. Didn't even stay for the interviews. Hell, if it had been me..." He paused to glance at his date, then lowered his volume. "Well, the guy could've gotten laid a hundred times over, and that's the final truth. Everyone's talking about it."

"Sorry I missed that," Judith said. "Who was it?"

"Don't remember his name," Eduardo said, going past them into the nightclub. "Some farmer from up north."

Judith turned toward Grey and gazed at him under the off-yellow light coming from the streetlamp, but her new companion showed no particular interest in the news.

* * * * * *

Five parts to go.