Tranquility Divided

Part Two

by G. Lawrence

Tranquility Divided is a sequel to Tranquility Down. Born on the moon and raised by computers, Grey Water's social skills are sometimes found wanting. Now he and Kris Fairfield are in southern California deciding what to do next. This is an old-school science fiction adventure (originally published 20 years ago) with advanced sciences, spaceships, evil aliens, Machiavellian computers, troubled romances, and fierce battles. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Chapter Two

ON CAMPUS

"Hello, Grey. How are you?" Valerie said, finding him alone on the patio of the President's Residence. Perched on a cliff above the ocean, he was watching the rolling waves pound the sandy beach.

"Adequate," he replied.

"You got in late last night, and here you are at six in the morning with a report log in your lap. Don't you ever sleep?"

"I'll take a nap later. How is your campaign progressing?" Grey inquired.

"Good, I would say," Valerie answered, hesitating only slightly. "The Nationalists are still strong in the industrial belts, but we're building in the west and the outer provinces. Especially Scotland and Cuba. The Greens have always been a force in Canada, and the Peace Assembly still has roots in England. I'd say we're doing real good."

"You won't carry the House. Not this time."

"Oh, so now you're a political analyst, too?"

"It's what I've learned from Life Support. The system warned me not to tie Tranquility to your campaign because we'll still need to work with the Nationalists after the election."

"No wonder you hate that machine," Valerie complained.

"My opinion of Life Support aside, I will not be endorsing your party," Grey replied.

Valerie sat down, surprised and hurt.

"We were counting on your help," she said. "Your popularity with young voters is so high, it could make a difference."

"You'll win the senate seat for Western Region, and John Farmer will carry his congressional district," Grey said. "I predict your coalition will capture forty percent of the seats, which will give your party much influence. A place to build from. I need to develop an international coalition, and I can't do that with the Northern Alliance in chaos. I'm sorry, but that's the way I see it."

"The Nationalists have suppressed freedom for twenty years, Grey. Stifled dissent. We need to fight them!" Valerie urged.

"You need to fight them. My father may have been a citizen of the Northern Alliance, but I'm not," Grey said. "I wasn't even born on this planet. It's not appropriate for me to get involved."

Valerie looked into the steady gaze of his intense gray eyes, then decided not to make an issue of it. Not for the time being.

"Speaking of involved, did you hear about the shooting in the harbor last night?" Valerie asked.

"I have heard no reports," Grey said.

"Seems somebody killed a couple bootmen of the Doss cartel. Somebody with a blaster. Any idea who it was?"

"Such speculation does not interest me."

"Not going to confess?"

"It's unreasonable to believe that I'm involved every time some lowly criminal element is slaughtered," Grey responded.

"Fair enough," Valerie said, searching for clues but not finding any. "I've issued a special directive to the campus that I think you'll like. I know how you hate getting mobbed, so the word is out for everyone to leave you alone. Treat you just like any other visitor. M.I.S.T. security will blue tag anyone that tries a stalk."

"And what is the purpose of this directive?" Grey asked.

"I want you gone from this house. Off this beach," Valerie said. "Go on campus, meet the students. Talk to the professors. Quit being such a goddamn hermit!"

"I understand," he agreed.

"Does that mean you'll cooperate?" Valerie persisted, knowing him well enough to demand a definite answer.

Grey looked over the edge of the balcony, seeing the waves crash into the shore, and dwelled on an old ballad, remembering;

Oh Sage, remind us of your truth;

Life's a gift you mustn't squander.

We'll never walk this path again;

Time flees from those who wander.

"Yes, I will visit the campus and socialize with the populace," Grey promised.

____________

"Hey, where are you going?" Kris asked, catching Grey as he dressed in the small bedroom of their Malibu beach cottage.

"To the campus," Grey said. "Your sibling has convinced me interact with humans of my own age."

"People your own age," Kris corrected.

"Yes, that's what I meant," Grey agreed.

He put on the outfit that Valerie had purchased for him, loose forest green trousers, wide black sneakers and a beige shirt decorated with swirling black stripes. Grey thought it very silly, wishing he could just wear his usual work overalls.

"Looks good," Kris said, herself wearing a frilly summer dress of tan cotton with yellow satin streaks that was all the rage among the beach crowd. Grey liked the way her long black hair hung down across her shoulders, providing an interesting color contrast.

"Want company?" Kris asked.

"Would Daniel be a legend if he had company in the Lion's Den?" Grey joked.

"You are, you know," Kris said, moving forward to give him a kiss.

"Are what?" Grey asked.

"A legend," Kris whispered. "Oh, I know you make fun of the idea. When we were still at Tranquility, all we saw were the censored press reports. But ever since we've got here, it's been obvious. The way people act around you. The way they talk about you. Even I'm a little awed sometimes."

"Even if I'm not six foot four and built like a linebacker?" Grey said.

"If you're not what?" Kris laughed.

"A story best left untold," Grey said. "I intend to invade the campus today and investigate the indigenous life forms. This afternoon, I'm compelled to meet Colonel Zopek on the beach for a game of touch football. I understand females are encouraged to participate."

"Love to, but I'm due at Mugu around three. Leading a training session for the cadets," Kris said. "Want to come? I'm sure they'd love a few pointers from an expert."

"There's nothing about Earth combat techniques that you don't know better than I, and your teaching methods are no doubt superior," Grey said.

"I don't know if that's true, but thanks for saying it, lover," Kris said. "I hear Roger and Tey are considering an early date so we can be at the wedding. Going to the party on Saturday?"

"Affirmative," Grey said. "General Vandebrown..."

"Your grandfather," Kris interrupted.

"Yes, my grandfather will be in attendance. Roger wishes me to know him better."

"How do you feel about that? James being an advisor to the Council and all."

"His Council affiliation poses no obstacles," Grey said. "If I precluded everyone who once plotted against me, I'd have few acquaintances."

Kris laughed, knowing it was true. "But he didn't know he was your grandfather then. I'm sure most people don't want to kill you once they get to know you."

"That's an encouraging development," Grey said.

____________

Grey dismissed the security detail that Valerie had assigned him, put on a floppy wide-brim hat that covered much of his face, and walked alone toward the campus, crossing underneath the Pacific Coast Highway through a pedestrian tunnel. The Malibu institute, located in the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains, featured a beautiful quad of ancient red brick buildings. Outer lying structures provided research facilities, laboratories and student housing. Governor Thomas McKinsey, Grey's long dead predecessor, had owned a controlling interest in the school, dedicated to space research of every kind. Including military hardware. Laureen McKinsey, Valerie's godmother, had later served as president of the institute. Grey considered himself lucky to be so near such a valuable resource.

Just beyond the quad, Grey found an untidy area and immediately suspected it might be a congregation area for students, having read of such phenomena. He soon spied a two-story recreational complex called the Flip-Side. Assuming it didn't refer to the reversal of magnetic flow into a nuclear converter, he sucked up his courage and entered.

The Flip-Side proved noisy and disorganized. Food areas to the left were busy providing breakfast service. In the center, more than a hundred students were talking loudly and sharing meals. An empty dance floor and podium to the right indicated where the entertainment would be later in the day. A broad staircase led to the second floor where additional tables overlooked the eating area, and that's where Grey immediately headed, seeking a post for high ground observation. He was halfway up the stairs when a familiar voice stopped him.

"Grey? Grey! It's you!" an attractive female student shouted, rushing to embrace him on a small landing.

"Miss Den, interesting to meet you again," Grey said.

"It's J.D., and don't treat me like a stranger," Judith said, gradually lowering her voice to a bare whisper. "After all, we did spend the night together."

Grey had not forgotten that Saturday evening when he had ventured into Ventura with the young Edelson brothers for a night on the town. Pretending to be Ben Brown, a visitor from up north, Grey had helped Judith with her graduate application. But that was not all he and the petite auburn haired student had done. Nor had Judith been slow to figure out his true identity.

"It's nice to see you again, J.D.," Grey said.

"You do learn fast. Had breakfast yet?" she asked.

"Negative. I thought to experiment with the local fare."

"Wow, you're getting braver, too," Judith laughed. "I've got a table upstairs and plenty of extra lumpcakes. Come on up."

Without asking permission, Judith hooked her arm through Grey's elbow and took him to a quiet table overlooking the entertainment area. Only one other student was present, a slightly overweight female with blond hair and a records pad next to her breakfast plate.

"Rustodia, look who I found?" Judith said.

The female student looked up, pondered the statement for a moment, and then nearly choked on her food.

"What the fuck! It's you! Him! The god-damned Governor!" Rustodia said.

"Let's hope your deity is more generous than that," Grey said, taking a seat where he could see activity on the floor below them.

"Devil's buns, Rustodia, quit spitting up your food," Judith said. "This is my friend, Grey. And you got the memo yesterday. Don't make a fuss or you'll have the blue badges all over us."

"Sure. Glad to meet you, sir," Rustodia said.

"Grey's the reason I'm here," Judith said. "If not for him, I never would've gotten an interview, let alone a scholarship. He wrote my thesis proposal for me."

"I outlined a course of study, but none of my suggestions superseded J.D.'s proposal," Grey corrected, reaching for a glass of orange juice while looking at the lumps of baked wheat on the table. Judith got him a plate, put several lumpcakes in front of him, then added Maple syrup. Grey tasted one and did not consider it bad.

"It's an interesting proposal," Rustodia said. "How much of it is true?"

"Your question is unclear," Grey replied, his brows furrowing.

"All that stuff about Chung being better than Huddleston. It's not true, you know. Huddleston wrote the book on subspace theory," Rustodia said. "Chung and Nalo and the other gnats aren't even snipers."

"It's good you are a student. If you study hard, perhaps there is still time for you to learn something," Grey said.

"Is that a rug?" Rustodia asked, wondering if she had been insulted.

"Grey's not a believer in Huddleston, Rusty. The more I read, the more I think he might be right," Judith said. "I don't know about Chung, though. I keep getting a feeling there's something missing."

"Chung is not without flaws," Grey agreed.

"That's not fair. If Chung is flawed, how can you slam Huddleston?" Rustodia asked.

"Ridiculous human," Grey hissed. "Developing a comprehensive theory of subspace inter-dimensional dynamics has nothing to do with fairness. It's about unlocking a gate to other star systems. Flawed theories will not suffice, nor will blind adherence to dated icons."

"Huddleston has proved there is no gate. Not one that can be physically accessed. How can you, or anyone, be so sure he's wrong?" Rustodia said. "Are physics on the moon different than here on Earth?"

"Negative," Grey said, declining to elaborate.

"But you know something, don't you?" Judith said. "I can see it in your eyes. You know something we don't."

It was true. Years before, the alien entity Quexitor had told him about stargates and how they allowed quick passage from one star system to another. Provided a properly adjusted stargate already existed at both ends of the voyage. Grey knew that such a spatial subtext did exist, he just didn't know how to prove it.

"The solution appears elusive," Grey admitted. "Perhaps a deeper investigation will someday reveal the answer. However, that doesn't mean we need to accept an incorrect theory in place of one we don't yet understand."

"This is a discussion the gang would love," Judith said. "Would you be willing to share? Breakfast again tomorrow?"

"Perhaps," Grey said.

As the ladies left for class, Grey pulled the floppy hat down and went to investigate the research areas near the base of the mountain. It felt good to have students and teachers pass by him without recognition, though he did get an occasional suspicious look. But his luck ran out when he reached a hangar like structure housing the prototype development department.

"Governor Waters, this is an honor," a tall man with searching blue eyes said, emerging from the front office before Grey even reached the door. Another man followed, somewhat pudgy with thinning coal black hair and dark brown eyes. Both had scholarly appearances and seemed too old to be students.

"Doctor Ralston Carmino, chair of development," the second man said, offering his hand.

"Daniel O'Neal, technology innovation coordinator," the first man introduced.

"Grey Waters," Grey said, shaking each hand firmly as he was once taught. "I was hoping to see your prototype laboratory."

"We'd be happy to show off," O'Neal said, guiding Grey through the outer offices and past some classrooms into the hangar.

Grey was stunned. He expected to see benches of small components and perhaps an engine, but here was an entire fuselage! The craft under construction was fifty meters long and nearly ten meters in diameter with a cone-shaped forward bridge. Back and above the bridge was an observation bubble. A track around the middle showed where a gravity ring would be installed, the centrifugal force of the rotating quarters allowing a healthy area for the crew to sleep. At the rear were two vacant compartments for the engine mounts. Though much of the ship was still a skeleton, Grey had no trouble imagining the final design.

"We've designated it the XL-3. Great, isn't she?" Carmino said. "We're bidding on the new Mars contract."

"I had no idea you'd developed an entire spacecraft," Grey said, walking closer for a better look.

"We've still got a couple years to go," O'Neal said. "These Sauster engines require a whole new type of main-frame."

"And we're still experimenting with the exterior shielding," Carmino added. "The alloy needs to be light, but tough, too. Maybe something like the ceramic steel coating used on the moon."

"Tranquility has a new alloy that is highly superior, developed during the Lunar Republic's period of isolation," Grey said. "We call it depolarized aluminum."

"We understand you and Doctor Fairfield are on good terms. Can we arrange to test your new alloy?" O'Neal asked.

Grey looked at the half built hull again, finding features that his old cargo vessel would never be able to offer. Nearby, dozens of engineers and student assistants were reviewing building plans.

"Perhaps we can work out an arrangement," Grey said.

____________

"Okay, kid. We call this touch football," Mike explained. "We get the ball, then we've got to take it downfield between those two red cones. Got it?"

Mike pointed at the pair of plastic markers fifty yards up the beach. The Pacific Ocean was rolling in on their right, the waves occasionally large and thunderous. The sand was soft and deep above the water line, brown and hard closer to the surf.

Though already late afternoon, the day was still hot. Each team, dressed in nothing but brightly colored swimsuits, consisted of seven males and two females. Several of the men were as large as Mike, and one of the women was equally large. A crowd of nearly a hundred people were watching, most sitting underneath umbrellas and drinking beer. Some were students, others instructors and administrators. Many were just friends of Zopek and his football teams.

"I observed this procedure during the Freedom Celebrations," Grey said. "It should not prove beyond my abilities."

"It's a sport, kid, not a procedure. Have some fun," Mike said. Then he laughed when Grey pretended to be mystified.

They formed up, three players making a scrimmage line with Mike playing quarterback and Grey at halfback. Four others spread out as receivers, two high up on the dry sand and two near the water. As the ball was hiked, Grey quickly found himself knocked down by one of the large rushers. Mike's hurried pass was incomplete.

"Okay, let's try that again," Mike said in the huddle.

The next play went the same as the first, only now it was one of the females who pushed Grey into the sand while chasing Mike down toward the water line. The second pass was deflected.

"Hey, kid, let me give you a hint," Mike said in the huddle. "If you want to keep your reputation, try not to let the girls knock you on your ass. Put your arms up to block. Brace yourself."

Grey did as instructed, but only with marginal improvement, while Mike scrambled for a five-yard gain.

"Are they giving you a hard time?" one of Grey's teammates asked with a smile, a feisty female named Unnis known for her aggressive play.

"I resist better when I'm armed," Grey said.

"Too early to give up the ball," Mike said. "Let's try a surprise. Larry, you go long. Draw Jesse downfield. I'll hand off to Grey and flair out. Grey, I want you to stay behind the line of scrimmage and throw the ball back to me before you get downed. Unnis and Carl, you've got to hold the line. Understand? Okay, on two."

The team clapped their hands and lined up. The ball was snapped, Mike handed it to Grey, made a block, and rolled out. But suddenly Mike was hit by the largest female and toppled backward. One rusher tried to touch Grey, but Grey dodged just out of reach. Then he saw Larry running fast on the hard sand and threw the ball with all his strength, careful to make it spin according to its intended design. The ball sailed downfield and was caught for a touchdown.

"Wow!" Unnis yelled. "Mikey, did you see that?"

Others had noticed, too, many jumping to their feet and cheering. Grey felt an odd sort of gratification by the acknowledgement.

"Yeah. How'd you learn to throw a football?" Mike said.

"While growing up, the Medical Computer made me practice many sports to enhance my physical development and to increase my potential for future social interaction," Grey explained. "Had I someone to practice with, no doubt my blocking would be better."

The other female team member, a cousin of Mike's called Snappy, took hold of Grey's hands and tested his strength, then felt his biceps.

"Damn! You may look skinny, but you've got the muscles of a farmer!" she said.

"I am a farmer," Grey said with pride.

Snappy looked Grey over again, but not as a famous celebrity. The other team members laughed.

"Better watch your step, Snappy," Mike warned. "Kris has her brand on this one."

____________

"Hi, lover," Kris said, dashing into their cottage an hour after sundown. Sitting on the couch with a reports pad in his lap, Grey looked up to see she appeared tired but excited.

"Good evening," Grey said.

"What are you doing?" Kris asked, jumping on the couch next to him.

"I'm auditing Tranquility's quarterly accounts," he said. "Now that our first trading ventures have commenced, it's important to monitor the cost and profit ratios."

"Tonight? Can't Nicholas or one of the computers do it? How come you always get stuck with the shit work?" Kris said.

"It's my responsibility," Grey said. "Visiting Earth has proven an interesting experience, but Tranquility must remain my center of focus."

"This isn't just an interesting experience and you know it. We've made a lot of progress here, and found allies, and even if you are Governor of the Moon, it doesn't mean we... That is, it doesn't mean you still can't have a life."

"I've always had a life, even if it doesn't appear like one to you earthlings," Grey said. "Now Tranquility needs a life, which means trade and colonization. And keeping the computers from reasserting their authority. I also need to raise a considerable amount of funds. None of these events will occur without effort."

"I don't know that I ever really got this before," Kris said.

"Got what?" Grey asked.

"I just realized that you're always going to be governor, whether you're here, or on the moon, or off among the asteroids somewhere," she said. "Guess it never occurred to me that this is the way it's always going to be."

"I don't understand the problem," Grey said, sensing she was displeased in some way.

"Well, it's just that you know who you are," she said. "On the moon, when it was just to two of us, everything seemed clear. And after the invasion, when you were injured,... Even after the situation stabilized, I was more than just the governor's girlfriend. Since coming back, I've begun to feel like an accessory."

"I have never requested that our relationship be your primary function," Grey said.

"And I would've said no if you had," Kris replied. "Look, I think I'm just run out. The training was hard today, and Admiral Spruce has transferred in two more teams. They've even asked if I want to be reinstated with an instructor's rank."

"You are highly qualified," Grey remarked.

"You wouldn't mind?" she asked. "Even if it means we don't spend as much time together?"

Grey put the records pad down and pulled Kris into his arms, giving her a kiss for reassurance. He wasn't sure why, but he knew that if he'd asked the Life Support Computer for advice, it was exactly the response the system would have given.

____________

The following morning, Grey decided to once again venture forth to the campus, heading for the student-gathering place. He was surprised to find a dozen students collected around the breakfast table. Judith was full of smiles, as was Rustodia. Everyone was holding their class note pads.

"Good morning, Grey," Judith said, squeezing over to make room for him. Grey took a seat, accepted a glass of banana crush, then picked up a rather eccentric looking bread roll filled with a strange jelly.

"I understand you have some questions," Grey said, studying the motley group of aspiring scientists. He soon recognized Jesse from the football game and several students from the prototype laboratory, but was reluctant to admit he found most people difficult to tell apart.

"Professor Hubbard's been giving a tough shovel on Huddleston," one of the students said. "Defends him like a rich uncle. Some of us... well, a few of us, we like Chung, but we don't want a stinking hyena, either."

"A what?" Grey asked.

"A bad review," Judith explained.

"I lack authority over the odor of your animal life, but Huddleston is weak on several fundamental principles," Grey patiently explained. "Chung is not without error, but more adequately explains the problems of subspace access."

"Can you prove it?" a student asked. The others all leaned forward, anxious for Grey's reply.

"No one has yet proposed a comprehensive theory of subspace inter-dimensional dynamics," Grey said. "A dogmatic approach is counter-productive. I would suggest you challenge Professor Hubbard to prove his faith in Huddleston. Such an exercise would certainly expose the flaws in his view and lead to correction."

"Hubbard would choke on cat hair before admitting he's wrong about anything," Jesse said, his friends instantly agreeing. "Can't you give us something to work with?"

Grey sighed, feeling he didn't have the time to tutor novices on a problem even his own years of study had not solved, but the eager faces were intimidating.

"Huddleston is based on a flawed premise," Grey began. "He speculates that space shares a common fabric that can be measured using the twenty-seven equations of Einstein's Resolved Theory. But space lacks the commonality that Huddleston requires. Chung acknowledges the dilemma, demonstrating that stars by their physical composition must exude a dark star belt that creates subspace dropouts, but he fails to satisfy the terms of measurement."

"But we've never even detected a dark star belt," a student said. "We know black holes create gravitational wells, but... "

"It's a fallacy that gravitational wells and dark star belts share a spatial relationship," Grey interrupted. "I suspect the two phenomena may not even co-exist without significant dimensional disruption."

"But that means Chung is wrong, too, doesn't it?" a student said.

"In all probability it explains why his amendments have never balanced," Grey agreed.

"I don't know how we can disagree with Hubbard if we can't offer an alternative," Rustodia said.

"What would you do, Grey?" Jesse asked.

Again Grey noticed the intent expressions. The expectations. Why do these humans always think I have every answer? he wondered.

"There's one thing I've learned about stinking hyenas," Grey said. "If you decide to take a stand, choose your ground carefully."

____________

Grey found it interesting how rumors could spread across the large campus with the speed of a computer relay. He was not happy to discover himself the object of the latest rumor, and his so-called feud with Professor Hubbard, a person he had never met. And though he had been extra careful not to call the misguided teacher a ridiculous human, it had nevertheless become part of the popular myth.

"I have not initiated any conflict. These rumors are uncalled for," Grey said when he encountered Judith and her friends outside the prototype laboratory.

"Everyone's talking about it," Rustodia said. "This story isn't going away."

"Why don't you come to Friday's class? See for yourself," Judith said.

"Not a coward, are you?" Jesse dared.

Grey turned to glare at the impudent student, a deadly glint in his eye that caused the entire group to step back.

"I will visit this class, and if the professor insists on pursuing conflict, I will deal with him accordingly," Grey announced.

"Shackers! You're not going to shoot him, are you?" Rustodia said.

Grey offered a grim smile, and when the students realized he was teasing them, they joined in the joke.

____________

The classroom was a modest sized auditorium not far from the campus center. All four hundred seats were already occupied except for two off the center aisle being kept open for Grey and Judith. Grey tried to enter unobtrusively, but realized the futility when the room fell silent. Every head soon turned in his direction.

So much for that plan, Grey thought. Maybe if I sit low and remain quiet, they will find someone else to stare at.

A few minutes later, Professor Peter Hubbard entered, a slender middle-aged man with a gray goatee and thin square shoulders. The audience was particularly quiet, which struck Grey as unusual. He had never known any group of humans to be so subdued.

"Today we shall continue our discussion of Huddleston fourteen and the discrepancies in Nalo's criticism that render her arguments mute," Hubbard began, daring someone to disagree. None did.

Hubbard turned to activate the electronic chalkboard, a screen two meters high and six meters in length. In one hand he held the electronic chalk, in the other hand he waved a long wooden pointer. He went to the podium just off to the side of the presentation area, and with a quick wave over the inputs, posted Huddleston's twenty-seven equations on the screen. While growing up, Grey had often learned from a similar device with the help of the Library Computer, but his screen had been significantly smaller.

"As we discussed last week, nearly all theorists agree that Huddleston's fourteenth equation provides the balancing platform for his theorem, mocking Chung and rebutting Nalo's dissent," Hubbard declared. "Without Huddleston, the Einstein Revisions become meaningless, and we have no tenable theory of molecular diversion."

A laugh was heard from the audience. Grey had tried to control himself, but occasionally the humor of the humans was simply too much for him. Hubbard was not amused.

"I see we have a distinguished visitor with us this morning," Hubbard said, walking to the edge of the presentation area. "And from what I've heard, he has profound thoughts on this very topic. Welcome, Mister Waters, to our humble classroom."

From the man's tone, Grey didn't feel especially welcome, nor did he appreciate once again being the center of attention.

"What, no brilliant remarks? No advice for those of us so unlearned?" Hubbard said.

Grey was beginning to detect a note of sarcasm and guessed Judith had been correct about the professor's thin-skinned approach to science.

"I've got an idea," Hubbard continued. "How about we invite our esteemed guest down to show us the errors of our ways?"

Grey didn't believe the invitation to be sincere, but the students suddenly began applauding and Judith poked him with her elbow. Before he quite realized what was occurring, he was being ushered down the aisle.

"We are pleased to meet you at last, Professor Waters," Hubbard said. "That is, those of us who don't attend your lectures at the local tavern. May we request your exalted insight on this most difficult problem?"

Grey looked at the chalkboard, glanced at Hubbard, then turned to see the motley audience watching his every move. He felt a nervous tightness in his throat and moisture in his palms that was most uncomfortable. After a moment of silence, some of the students began to murmur.

"What? No brilliance from the lunar Einstein?" Hubbard said, preparing to dismiss him.

Grey didn't feel like being dismissed.

"One requires no brilliance to see Huddleston is confused," Grey said. "True, when I was twelve years old, I thought him quite intuitive, but I've outgrown such childish misconceptions."

There was total silence at first, then many of the students began to laugh nervously. Hubbard's face turned red and Grey was forced to watch what the embarrassed professor might do with the wooden pointer waving back and forth in his hand.

"This is not to say that Chung is correct, nor does Nalo accurately identify all of the unanswered variables," Grey soon continued. "But careful examination does reveal some intriguing patterns."

Grey went to the podium and brought up Chung's theory, placing the controversial dissenter's twenty-seven equations on a long line directly underneath Huddleston's for comparison. Then he posted several revisions made by Nalo and added a column at the end for Einstein's Resolved Theory. Soon the chalkboard was awash in complicated equations and symbols. Grey took the pointer from Hubbard, thankful not to have been struck with it, and started with Huddleston's fourteenth equation.

"Contrary to popular belief, this equation does not provide the balancing platform for Huddleston's theorem, though it's essential concepts are crucial to taking the next step," Grey explained slowly, mostly for the benefit of the students, but also to make sure Professor Hubbard wouldn't miss the central issues. "Only if we assume space, and therefore time, are subject to a single model can the equation hold true, but as Chung shows us in equation twenty-three, gravitational pooling in dark star belts indicates an uneven distribution of matter even in a common void. Chung goes on to say in equation twenty-five that this uneven distribution is universal, but this is an error, as Huddleston has already proven in equation three. Nalo correctly points to the contradictions inherent in equation fourteen as Huddleston's primary flaw, and discounts Chung's last two equations entirely, but Nalo provides no remedy."

Grey entered a new series of comparisons in the area in-between Huddleston and Chung, then used the marker to highlight sections by hand, breaking down the equations to their primary factors. Many students noticed Grey was performing the procedure without any reference to notes, or even a calculator.

"By recognizing the impact of Chung twenty-five, we are forced to conclude that Huddleston fourteen does not, in fact, reach the threshold required for true balance," Grey went on to explain, drawing the figures out for everyone to see.

"The discrepancies are infinitesimal," Hubbard meekly protested.

"There is no such thing as an infinitesimal discrepancy. Either the theorem is correct or it isn't," Grey firmly responded.

"But if Huddleston is wrong, and Chung is wrong, and Nalo has no remedy, then what's the answer?" a student called out.

"Unknown," Grey admitted. "Certainly if interstellar space has an accessible dimensional subtext, then the correct formula would show us a theoretical model for obtaining that access. This is a difficult problem. I'm sure there's an answer but it's eluded me for many years."

"Well, if it's eluded you, certainly you can't expect ordinary mortals to grasp it?" Hubbard said. "As for access, it should be obvious from Huddleston twenty-seven that no such access is possible, even if such a subtext exists, which I'm confident it doesn't."

Grey could tell Hubbard was deeply angered, but the professor wasn't the first authority figure he had disagreed with. Nor the first to be wrong.

"Perhaps I'm not a superior mathematician, Professor Hubbard, but I have studied some of your human history," Grey said, preparing to resume his seat. "Two hundred years ago, flying was said to be impossible. Many learned men proved it with their equations. Fifty years before that, it was said trains traveling faster than thirty-five miles an hour would kill their passengers with the acceleration. They had equations for that theory, too. Believe Huddleston if you want. I will search for the truth."

"We already have the truth," Hubbard insisted, pointing toward the chalkboard. "Here, in equations three and four. Twenty-four. The elegance of fourteen. Chung's blundering and Nalo's jealousy will never turn this truth upside down."

Grey turned back to look at the chalkboard, staring at the fourteenth equation. Hubbard was waiting for an answer. Waiting for Grey to defend his position. Waiting for a vigorous argument. But Grey had forgotten all about the angry professor. All he could see was Huddleston's fourteenth equation contrasted with Chung's just underneath it, and Nalo's correction underneath that. On the surface, not one of the three sets of figures agreed, but suddenly Grey saw that wasn't the situation at all. They complimented each other. Complimented, and led to an inevitable conclusion.

"McKinsey's ghost, how could I have been so stupid," Grey said.

"Ah, a confession at last," Hubbard announced.

"Silence, human!" Grey said.

Grey went to the podium, rearranged the figure tracks to make space, then took the electronic chalk and began making corrections on the board. The work was performed slowly at first. Cautiously as he felt his way. Shoving, adjusting, tweaking and bending. Before long he was lost in the problem, scribbling with a furious passion. He didn't notice the total silence in the hall, or the retreat of Professor Hubbard to the podium. None of that mattered.

The fourteenth equation was the most difficult, but gradually it gave way, collapsing into the equation below it. Nalo's dissenting figures were drawn up and integrated, then extrapolated until Huddleston and Chung merged with an almost mystic symmetry. Grey found his breath growing short as new figures were added, then abbreviated and set in formula. His throat was dry. For a moment, he wanted a drink of water, but he quickly removed such distracting thoughts from his mind.

Grey didn't know how long it took, but he finally came to a section that would take too long to calculate by hand.

"Do you need a factor?" Hubbard asked.

Grey saw the professor standing at the podium imputing his figures, the angry glare replaced by an astonished curiosity.

"I need a value for x2," Grey said.

The value appeared, instantly updated by the computer. Grey smiled, drew a line through Huddleston fourteen, another through Chung, and a third through Nalo's amendment. Then he wrote in a preliminary equation of his own that drew strength from all three.

"Provide a value for xy," Grey requested.

Hubbard entered the figures almost as fast as Grey was writing them, then punched the solution key. Grey smiled again. Equation fourteen appeared solved. Only twenty-six equations to go.

Grey turned to equation thirteen, using the new data to reconfigure the original theories. Then he pushed forward to fifteen, then back to twelve. Once or twice he remembered someone speaking to him, something about a taking a break or stopping for food. He dismissed the questions with the contempt they rightfully deserved, plunging ahead with feverish abandon. Years of puzzles fell into place. Facts he knew but couldn't prove appeared with utter simplicity. One equation after another surrendered its secrets. After reworking equation one, he proceeded to twenty-seven, then backtracked once again to fourteen. The pillar upon which the entire theory rested.

"Need a value for Z, Governor?" he heard Hubbard ask.

Grey was surprised, though he shouldn't have been. Hubbard had supplied dozens of solutions based on the rough figures, but this was the first time the professor had preempted him with a missing calculation.

"Affirmative," Grey said, feeling his heart pounding.

The chalkboard readjusted and the final figures appeared. All twenty-seven equations balanced with a delicate beauty that left Grey awe struck.

Grey had hardly caught his breath when the auditorium erupted with applause. He whirled to see the gallery packed to capacity, every seat, aisle, crook and niche filled with tired looking humans. Hubbard approached him first, admiration glistening in his weary eyes.

"Congratulations, Governor," Hubbard said, shaking Grey's hand.

Grey noticed the grip hurt. His hand was cramped and swollen, though he hadn't noticed it before. The continuing demonstration from the audience that now erupted into cheers left him disorientated. But there was nothing disorientating about the chalkboard. Huddleston had been correct, in a way, laying the groundwork. Chung had provided the extensions necessary to reach the next step, and Nalo had shown the paths not to take. What remained was a unified theory of interstellar mechanics. And a doorway to the stars, if Earth's technology could keep pace.

Judith and Rustodia appeared at Grey's side, each giving him a kiss. Jesse shook his hand, then wrapped an arm around him.

"Where did all these humans come from?" Grey asked.

"They kept coming as word spread," Judith said. "There's at least a thousand more outside. Maybe two thousand."

"Word spread?" Grey said.

"Grey, you've been at that problem for ten hours!" Judith said. "You've been live on the scholastic web for the last nine. Every college link in the country's probably going astro!"

Grey was stunned and turned toward the media booth. It had never occurred to him that his work was being observed, let alone spied upon by thousands of humans. What would Life Support say? he wondered. This is exactly the kind of moment the Machiavellian machine was always speculating about. A moment of impact. It reminded Grey to be careful about what he said.

"Thank you, Professor Hubbard," Grey said, shaking the professor's hand. "It was your observation that provided the crucial insight into this problem."

Hubbard blushed with embarrassment. He tried to talk, then paused to gather his wits.

"Thank you, that is extremely generous," Hubbard finally said. He puffed up his chest and turned to the audience, now grown quiet with expectation. The hesitation proved Hubbard was no stranger to dramatic displays. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Waters Theory of Interstellar Mechanics."

There were cheers and applause, but Grey raised his hands to make them stop.

"Excuse me," he said. "Not that I wish to correct Professor Hubbard, but this is not my work. Only a revision of others. Naming the theory for me is inappropriate."

"What if we call it the Huddleston-Chung-Waters Theory of Interstellar Mechanics?" Hubbard asked. Grey could not think of a good argument against it and reluctantly nodded his assent. The excited audience agreed.

____________

"Did you hear?" Congressman Kim said, bursting into Senator Tyman's office without waiting for permission.

Sitting at the big desk overlooking the capitol building, Tyman was forced to interrupt his conference with Congresswoman Kamar and Senator Welch of Midwest Region.

"What's that, Jeff? Waters' latest publicity stunt?" Kamar said.

"Publicity stunt? Hell, Deena, don't you know what this means?" Kim responded. "Step-two Variable technology. Better drives for a Mars ship. Even interstellar travel might be possible someday."

"Our scientists are looking into it," Tyman said. "But it doesn't help us much. The moon is ten years ahead of us in step-two variable research. All we've got is promising hardware."

"Isn't that a good start? We buy new technology all the time. Is the moon refusing to do business?" Kim asked.

"Quite the contrary," Kamar said. "That damn Vandebrown has already approached us with a deal. Access rights for spare parts. And Smyth says we should accept! Put ourselves in debt to those traitors!"

"Not my people," Welch said. "We haven't held the Nationalist standard for twenty years just to bend over now. Waters has got to go."

"We haven't agreed to that," Tyman quickly said. "High Command is looking into a limited exchange. Cut a few back door deals. If it looks like we can hold the cutting edge, we may be able to use Waters for our own benefit."

"No, Roy, that's not right," Kamar said. "You wanted him dead just as much as we did. Even more. There's no backing down now."

"I'm not backing down, I'm saying we have options," Tyman shot back, rising from his chair.

"Waters hasn't gone out of his way to embarrass us, and he hasn't been supporting the opposition candidates, either," Kim said. "Why kill him if he's no threat?"

"Jeff is right. An assassination isn't going to help us win this election," Tyman agreed.

"We all know he's just lying low waiting for another chance to fuck us," Kamar protested. "Maybe your memory is short, but we remember how he made us give up the moon."

"I'm still the Director of the Congress-In-Council, Deena," Tyman said, turning red with anger. "And that's something you'd better remember."

* * * * * *

As with many novels, this story will prove to be a journey. And not an easy one.