Fulcrum: The Globur Incursion

By D. Rebbitt

John Forest was famous. His intervention in an experimental fighter at the Battle of the Markus Nebula turned the tide against the Globurs and made him a hero. That was over 20 years ago. Now, he is recently retired and trying to settle into his new life on Earth.

The imperial senate called the war and ongoing skirmishes an "incursion." Globurs probe for weakness and attack without mercy. In the interstellar space along the rim frontier, fleet outposts and patrolling task forces continue to defend humanity in a stalemate that has lasted decades.

Now, the stalemate has been broken.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483576527

Book preview

written.

Chapter 1

It was a bright spring day with only a few wisps of cloud to color the sky. The terminal was awash with sunlight as it slanted in from the late afternoon sun and the large windows gave a beautiful view of the nearby mountains. As he collected his small bag, he noticed many looks cast his way, even some stares.

John did not consider himself worthy of notice. He was, he felt, very average. His brown hair, his height just under two meters, and even his broad good-natured features were all very average. His eyes were hazel which set off his most noticeable feature, the unusual color of his skin. He supposed they had never seen a veteran before.

Although his hair was cropped close to his skull, it was a style worn by many who lived most of their lives on the nearby moon, or in other low gravity environments. He wore his clothes like a uniform and was a bit amused at how untidy civilians looked.

He was certainly more muscular than most people. His face had seen the suns of dozens of planets on the rim of the empire. No, John decided, they must be looking at the distinctly blue tinge to his skin.

That alone marked him as a soldier. It was his for life, a gift from the fleet, his implanted augmentation marked him as a combat veteran from the rim. It was only at this moment that Fighter Group Commander John Forest of the 4th Imperial Fleet Group (retired) wished the support technicians had not deactivated his augmentation. They had always deactivated it whenever he went on leave, but this time he was not going back.

His augmentation meant grafting technology into his body. It wasn’t visible to others, other than the blue tinge that came from the carbon elements in the nanotubes throughout his skin. They were the ones that extruded his armor to cover his body and protect him from weapons fire or hazardous environments like a vacuum.

He had a small AI processor to look after the functions and the medidoc that dispensed a bunch of medications and controlled the nanoprobes that tended any injuries. The medidoc also helped deal with the degenerative process of aging, so all former fleet combat personnel made very nice (if slightly blue) corpses when they died of old age.

The augmentation gave him a lot more physical strength and durability thanks to the carbon filaments infused in his bones and muscles. He also had greater hearing and sight sensitivity. He could hear things outside of the normal human range, especially high frequencies. Similarly, his eyes could see into the near infrared and ultraviolet.

Then there were the weapons. Both arms were weapon projectors, one a high energy beam and another exploding force bubbles. They were powered by the same small power plant that ran his augmentation and charged an accumulator for the weapons.

In combat, most suits incorporated a power supply so that the weapons could be used continuously. Both weapons projectors had a focal point about three centimeters from his hand or fingers so that he could use them while wearing a flight suit or combat armor. Then there was the only other visible feature of his augmentation. A hard docking port on his right hip designed to interface with a ship.

Artificial Intelligence or any other system that was equipped with a port. It was impossible to jam a hard connection and sometimes that could be very important. He could still interface with systems remotely like everyone else, but his augmentation was more powerful and had much greater range. The deactivation had left him with the enhanced senses and strength but little else.

He suddenly felt naked and alone for the first time in his over fifty standard years. Not many veterans came to Earth. It was a long way from the rim. The trip had taken almost six months on the huge starship that had already left the system.

Even traveling at many times the speed of light and making stops at other Imperial systems that were major hubs, it had been a long trip. There had been a group on the ship that had completed their 25 years of Imperial service and were headed to various worlds. They left the ship in twos and threes at each stop until, at the Barradus system, John said goodbye to his last friend, Corbus.

That had been over two months ago. Corbus Molentes had been a good pilot and one of his squadron leaders. He was going back to his parent’s farm. John didn’t think Corbus would make much of a farmer, but Corbus had always been keen to give it a try. He had said that was what kept him sane, especially when things were tough during the latest Globur incursions.

The Globur were the first alien race humans had ever encountered. There had been a discovery of some ruins on a world at the edge of human explored space. That expedition and ships had been destroyed soon after that, and the ruins were now in the Globur controlled area of space. The first contact reports had described their ships as globular in design, and the moniker had stuck.

They were entirely different from humans having an insect-like appearance including six appendages. They were warm blooded and did have a skeletal structure. Their atmospheric requirements were also similar. That meant they were also interested in the same sorts of planetary systems as humans.

Humankind had never been in an interstellar war before. The Globurs seemed to have well-developed tactics and were very efficient. They also thought completely differently from humans, and it showed in their technology and their very effective tactics.

Globur technology was mostly biological. Their ships looked much like giant bloated beetles, and their weapons had mostly bioelectric and biomechanical components. Fleet intelligence had long ago guessed that the Globurs may have been in other interstellar conflicts.

They had attacked without warning or provocation. No effort to communicate with the Globurs had been successful. Any effort to surrender usually ended with the Globur simply destroying the ship in question. They ruthlessly exploited any weakness and in the early days seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of ships.

Human systems had been ravaged, and the Globur advance had only been stopped in a few places until the famous Battle of the Markus Nebula where the Globur advance was broken and a major Globur battle group entirely destroyed. Once humanity had reclaimed the lost systems, a stalemate of sorts had developed along the frontier.

The Imperial senate called it an incursion, but it was a war. A war that took millions of lives and saw many warships turned into lifeless hulks drifting in space. It had raged for years, but according to the Senate of the Empire it was contained with minimal losses.

That was a long time ago. The Globur had not attacked a planetary system in many years but constantly raided remote outposts and attacked merchant ships. A convoy system had been developed early in the conflict, and constant patrols by Fleet Task Forces had been somewhat effective in curtailing the activity.

John’s fighter group had suffered over twenty percent casualties in the past four years. Many of his friends had died. Worse still, a few had been captured. As the fighter group commander, he was a flag officer in command of all the fighter wings based on task force ships and carriers and answered to the rear admiral for all fighter operations. It had been a challenging job, but now he hoped to move on to something else and put that life behind him.

John looked at the blue sky and sighed. He understood only too well how people so far from the rim would care little for an incursion. Even when families got the word that their son or daughter had perished defending the empire, they were spread across more than 300 star systems.

Very few people from the core worlds joined the fleet so very few, if any, notifications would appear on Earth. John was jolted out of his memories by a tug on his pants. He looked down to meet the eyes of a boy not more than six or seven.

Are you a soldier? asked the boy. John smiled and replied, Not anymore. The little boy smiled and pronounced, you look funny, before skipping off to join his mother who seemed concerned for her little son. She cast a sideways glance at John that was anything but friendly and filled with a sort of disdain.

People from the core worlds looked upon any sort of body modification as some sort of mutilation and were almost universally repulsed by it. Those looks of curiosity and disdain had increased as John made his way to Earth but there was no way for him to change the color of his skin and he simply shrugged it off.

He had augmentation for as long as he could remember and all the people he saw now, from pink to jet black looked pretty strange to him. Everyone on fleet duty at the rim had the same blue tinge, and there were lots of veterans on the rim worlds. He knew veterans on the core worlds were a rare sight.

Feeling suddenly enclosed, he headed for the door. The cool spring breeze of the North American plains welcomed him. A myriad of smells floated on the breeze tickling his senses. It took him a moment to realize that this was fresh air. The air on ships was clean enough but completely free from any smell. He had very few memories of his childhood, but it did smell sort of familiar.

Twenty-five years was a long time. Twenty-five years since he had gone to the Imperial station to begin his training. Every draft had an even thousand, mostly from the rim worlds. They were sent to the fleet training depot in the deserts of Proteus Prime to learn the hundreds of ways to deal death and try to survive. He was told had been the only recruit from Earth. People from the core worlds generally thought that joining the fleet was something the poor and unfortunate from the rim worlds did.

He had survived that and his service along with about eighty percent of his graduating class. Most of the losses had been in the later days of the war almost twenty years ago now. Some of them would never really be survivors. Almost any part of the body could be regenerated. But the mind was another thing entirely.

Anyone captured alive by the Globurs during the incursion, and later recovered, never really came back. They recovered their health, but many were insane, or psychotic. Only a few managed to return to any kind of life; none ever returned to active duty. The Globurs never took prisoners anymore, though.

John linked with the terminal AI and ordered a cab. When he arrived at the platform, he saw it was a bright new one and looked similar to the small one man fleet light fighter units John had flown at one time in his service. It was a little bulkier than the slim fighter and lacked the weapon mounts, but it still had some of the streamlined design and control surfaces.

At least, thought John, I can step straight in, instead of climbing in from the top. Cabs did not have to worry about hard landings or water environments. The cab linked to him and welcomed him onboard and asked for his destination and happily scanned in his identification to process payment.

His ID was coded to his DNA and unique. With the right scanner, someone could find out almost anything about him. Of course, Fleet IDs were protected by the AI in the augmentation, so access was not so easy.

With little fuss, John was off to the city. Selah was in what used to be known as Colorado, before the empire days. It was small by Earth standards boasting only some 1.5 million inhabitants. Since both of his parents were long dead, John had rented a living unit near his new employer’s headquarters. Everyone he had talked to about it told him that they were good lutes and similar to the lutes in fleet leave centers.

He had rented this one sight unseen (other than a holographic tour). He could always move later he figured. John felt apprehension as the cab glided through the city. It looked clean enough. Things did seem just a little too disorganized. No fleet base would be run like this, John thought aloud. He glanced down at the cab console. Time to destination? he queried. There were a brief pause and the cab replied sixteen minutes at current rate of progress. John settled back in the seat and ordered the cab to display the local news.

The news was about people he did not know and issues he cared little about. He snorted loudly at the lead story about an organization called People For Peace who were trying to organize another peace mission to end the conflict with the Globurs. They said it was the warmongers in the fleet that had started the whole thing. He could not believe the newscaster was actually taking them seriously.

Shaking his head, he turned to look at the passing buildings and the huge holographic ad signs. He wondered what was going on out at the rim, how that new group commander was looking after his ships and his pilots.

Well, they had been his for the last four years at least. If he had stayed in the fleet, he would probably have gotten command of a fleet carrier. He was tired of the boring routine, then the sudden fighting and the losses. He wanted something else for his future. He just did not have the lifer mentality required to become an admiral.

With a soft bump, the cab came to a halt as it settled on the landing pad of one of the towers that made up the city. It announced that the destination had been reached. It also added that his account had been deducted the appropriate amount.

As John got up, the cab ran an automated announcement that by order of the city governor the lower 50 floors of the tower they were in had been designated a high-risk violence area, and citizens should take appropriate precautions. What the hell does that mean?’ John demanded. The cab only opened the door and replied, Have a nice day." Great choice John - you ass, he thought to himself. Locating and renting a lute when you were a bag full of light years away was not easy and besides, he did not know anyone on Earth who could help him.

John stepped onto the pad and set down his bag. He looked up the building but couldn’t see much beyond the next ten floors because of the early morning haze. No armor, no weapons, what appropriate precautions? The door in front of him scanned him and quickly chirped, Please restate your name.

John paused and wondered what other surprises awaited before finally answering, John Forest, and you are? The door replied Forest, John, identity confirmed. Access granted, new tenants must meet the building representative in the lobby on the 100th floor. All queries must be directed to the building representative. Buildings were not very smart, but the door did unlock, and John stepped inside and summoned a lift.

The building representative arrived looking very much like a harried lower level executive. With ten thousand lutes they always looked rushed and overworked. Her silvery suit with the company logo on it made her easily identifiable. So, you’re the soldier he snorted eyeing him up and down with distaste.

Former soldier replied John. Whatever you say, said the representative disdainfully. I am your building representative here. My name is Deirdre Donaldson. I certainly hope we won’t have any trouble from you. I know that soldiers can be a lot of trouble. I’m retired, said John laconically and I’m sure there won’t be any problems. Well, we will see, Deirdre replied as she tilted her head and sniffed uncertainly.

"Now you want to be certain to get off on the right foot here’ continued Deirdre. John was beginning to wonder when she would stop talking. She was an attractive woman with long dark hair. It was hard to guess her age, but John started to consider that she might be a good match.

Are you listening to me Mister Forest? she said sarcastically looking somewhat annoyed. In retrospect, John realized she had been annoyed since he met her. Sure, go ahead, said John with a smile. As I was saying, she prattled, You must introduce yourself to the neighbors as per buildings policy 3/12-5. All building policies are available in your mark 27 living unit. Are you familiar with the interface and system?

Sure, said John, They are same as the ones the fleet uses in the leave centers. They most certainly are not! sneered Deirdre. These are state of the art units from Liberty Luxury Living, a division of the Butin Corporation. Certainly much better than the trash used by the fleet! John raised an eyebrow but decided to remain silent.

Now, commanded Deirdre as she looked him up and down like a questionable appliance of some sort, you must be registered as a building resident. All police officers must complete a special form, which requires additional information on your so-called improvements. Deidre announced testily.

I’m not going to be a police officer, said John as his smile began to return. He could see that she really did not like fleet people and was beginning to enjoy annoying Deirdre. Not a police officer? All you fleet people become police officers! I’m sure it has something to do with them letting you use that gun of yours! finished Deirdre failing to hide her growing annoyance.

It was true that John did have a gun of sorts. He had, in his left arm, a biometric array that launched what was best described as an exploding bubble of energy. The bubble actually formed about three centimeters from his palm and shot toward the target exploding on impact. It was very effective against small or lightly armored targets.

Because he was right handed, the power beam or gun was in his right arm. With pointed fingers and a thought, he could cut through a ship hull or in wide beam cause things to melt or burst into flame. The hardware was so much a part of his body that it could never be removed. Those veterans who became police officers (as most did), could have their power beam reactivated at a minimal power setting. Other cops just carried regular stun beams in their holster.

John had thought about police work, but he was tired of the military and tired of the demands of that lifestyle. The bluish hue of his skin would forever mark him as a veteran and a probable police officer. Most probably a police officer here on Earth, Fleet people rarely retired here and John was beginning to wonder if they all met a Deirdre and left.

Well if you are too good for police work, what is your big executive job then? demanded Deirdre. I’m going to manage maintenance contracts for grav cars at the main Butin Corporation office here in Selah. I guess we will sort of be coworkers.

Hardly! snorted Deirdre. Maintenance people are in a lower division; some things don’t mix. Besides you will never get your gun turned on there Well, I don’t need it anymore unless I see some high-risk violence. retorted John letting his temper get the best of him. What do you mean by that? said Deirdre her eyes narrowing.

You know - the warning in the cab, said John. What? Which cab company was it? That is totally untrue! I’ll call legal right away, said Deirdre in an agitated voice. Millennia of human progress and an empire of over 300 star systems and we still can only solve disputes two ways – violence and lawyers, said John sarcastically.

Deirdre shot him an acidic look. What cab company was it, she demanded. I don’t remember, I didn’t know there would be a test, replied John. But you’re a soldier, call up the memory she demanded. Sorry all my augmentation was completely deactivated by techs during my out processing John lied. He really did not care about it and did not want to get involved in this sort of squabble. Deirdre peered down her thin nose at John as if he was a lower life form. Well, you should find out as soon as possible and pass me the name. I sure will lied John.

Deirdre took John to an interface port where he was able to link into the main computer to answer the tenant (regular) questionnaire as the computer logged his biometrics into memory for identification purposes. Move closer to the panel, said Deirdre. Don’t have to, said John used to be in the Fleet. We all get upgraded data links. Deirdre rolled her eyes and tapped her foot impatiently.

John soon finished, and Deirdre announced that she, having wasted far too much time on him, was leaving to deal with a complaint. I wonder who would want to complain to her thought John as he watched her leave. He shook his head as he picked up his bag and headed for the lift. The lift detected his ID and opened to admit him. The doors closed, and it began to rise to the 178th floor. Lifts were based on fleet technology used to combat high G maneuvers. A separate gravitation field was generated by the platform so that the occupant did not feel the high gravity acceleration and deceleration. John was on his floor in less than a minute, and the lift began to move towards his unit.

As he stepped from the lift, the view was stunning. Not many worlds outside the core built structures as high as those on Earth and today this floor was above the clouds. Streams of grav cars could be seen below, and the mountains in the distance rose majestically through the clouds. This is more like it, he said aloud.

The hallway was equipped with silent floor, which was soft and, as the ad said, silent underfoot. The hallway vaguely resembled a fleet carrier passage except there was no hum or vibration from the engines. It all seemed a bit surreal. Almost immediately he came to the door with his number on it. The door opened into a large bright living area.

Off to the west, it had begun raining. Bright shafts of sunlight pierced the clouds here and there making the river below sparkle like fused silica. The river valley was green and lush with trees. Another thing made possible through reclamation technology.

In the twenty-first century, recycling had been all the rage, and it had been incredibly inefficient. Modern technology reclaimed 99 percent of most materials, but never less than 95 per cent. Most of the building John was standing in was made from reclaimed material.

The huge towers allowed for very effective collection and processing of waste. Most of Earth’s natural resources had been exhausted centuries ago. In fact, if the early gravity drive had been discovered a century later, humanity probably would have poisoned itself to death or run out of resources.

Only system bound ships used gravity drives exclusively anymore. For interstellar travel ships now used their quantum drives which allowed them to jump to another place in a short period of time. The speed in quantum space was uniform but did allow a ship to take along with it the velocity it was traveling when it entered quantum drive. That velocity made little difference in the transit time, but the ship would arrive and exit into normal space still at the same velocity it started out with.

The ships had generators which charged the drive. Initiation of the field required a huge amount of energy. The bigger the ship, the longer the drive took to charge. Once activated, the drive created a field which effectively took the ship outside the normal universe and moved it along the same vector until the field collapsed or was deactivated.

Once the full power field was active, it would naturally decay over time since it was impossible to generate or recharge the drive field while in quantum space. Ships would bleed energy from the field to make it safe to dump the field and make a smooth transition to normal space. Trying to enter normal space by deactivating too strong a field released too much energy and could destroy the ship.

A drawback of the quantum drive was that the transitions involved instantaneous speed changes best done in interstellar space. No one had ever been able to jump into a system anywhere near the star. Gravitational shear forces tore ships apart.

Inside a star’s gravity well everyone had to slog around on gravity drive. The big starships could manage about a thousand gravities of acceleration, and their quantum generators would be recharged for another jump in as little as 15 hours. Some large imperial vessels could get up to 1500 gravities or more in combat and jump every eight or ten hours. It sure was a big difference from the commercial grav cars. They could only get 5 gravities of thrust on a good day, in an emergency, and only for a short burst.

John smiled as he thought about piloting a fighter. Suddenly he was jolted out of his memories by his living unit AI. Welcome, John Forest to your new home. Is there anything I can do for you? John realized he had been standing inside the unit just daydreaming.

As he began to reply, he thought the voice sounded remarkably like the annoying Deirdre Donaldson. He stopped himself Change settings? he mused aloud. Specify replied the AI. Synchronize interface John commanded. The AI linked with his interface, and he scanned through the voice selections until he came to one he liked. The voice reminded him of Leena, one of his squadron leaders. She had been a fiery woman with jet black hair and eyes. Her quirky sense of humor and heavy sarcasm were popular with the members of his squadron.

She had shared his bunk many a night before her fighter was vaporized by a direct hit while on an intercept. She had been a good friend. Sometimes John still missed her. She had made him see the humor in things and her cheerfulness had helped him get past some tough times. That is why he decided to name the AI Bob. Leena would have been pleased.

Bob offered to arrange for supper. John selected one of the preprogrammed menus of clam chowder followed by fish and chips. Bob, John asked, Have you ever seen a clam No John replied Bob. Ever tasted a real clam? No John replied Bob. Then Bob, how am I supposed to know what I am eating really tastes like clams are supposed to taste?

Bob was silent for a moment, and John began to hope that Bob wasn’t as stupid as the building. John, my data shows the water they are raised in affects the taste of clams. There have been no indigenous natural clams on Earth for centuries. However, I have synthesized clams with the taste of those from the Pacific coast of the former Unites States. John chuckled So how does that prove that they taste like the real thing? he asked.

My data indicates that this flavor and texture were synthesized at the Imperial bio food genetic modeling facility on Mars, and the taste would be accurate with point three percent. Great, said John. Don’t they also make fleet emergency rations? That is true John," confirmed Bob.

Those emergency rations tasted like crap! The only way anyone would eat them is if there was really nothing else. Besides the fifty-year shelf life always made me reluctant even to look at them. John observed.

The taste was specifically engineered to be unpleasant but not inedible to protect the rations from being eaten prematurely Bob informed John. John laughed aloud. Are you kidding me? I was a fighter group commander and no one ever told me that!

I am afraid it is true John. I know that your information access is not the best on the rim. I am sure it was not a secret Damn said John starting to grin Here I am eating synthetic clams designed on Mars to taste like Earth clams by other people who have never seen a clam.

They do have the clam genome, John, informed Bob. Yeah, right, said John. Would you like to discuss the rest of the menu? asked Bob. Don’t get me started laughed John The last thing I need to know is that some guy in Taurus Sigma made this cod from a reasonably correct series of assumptions based on a reconstructed data file.

John at the rest of his meal in silence. He stared out the window, still a little uncomfortable that he didn’t see a field of stars. The height above ground was a bit unsettling. That struck him a weird since in space you basically hung out in the middle of nothing. Feeling a bit nostalgic, John thought about his past.

His records showed he had been just seventeen when he had left Earth. He was a rarity. An Earther, who joined the fleet as an enlisted person. These days, almost all others who did join were from rich families and thought a military service would look good later when they ran for office or vied for a senior corporate post. Their parents got them a commission as an officer and a short hitch of ten years. They also pulled strings to ensure they were stationed in the core and did not need to get any augmentation.

As John, polished off the rest of his meal, the evening was coming, and John could see a few stars beginning to twinkle. He found that oddly comforting. He sighed and wondered if he would ever really get used to the blue skies and mountains. Stranger things had happened, John supposed.

He got up from the table and went into the living area. He could see the lights of the city and some of the other towers around him. He tried to relax by listening to some music and reading some more about the Butin Corporation. He remembered his interview with his new boss. He still really had not met him. However, considering the distances involved the holoconference was more than adequate.

He remembered the Salman and the interview very well. He had replayed the event over and over in his mind over the last few months, still wondering if he had made the right decision. Salman had the look of a very jovial individual who obviously lived well.

His thinning hair and a broad smile set below a set of brown eyes that twinkled with what John thought may be mischief made him seem a little like an overgrown elf. Salman was a not a tall man, but definitely a wide one. We have never had a veteran at our office Salman had said happily, Aren’t you the same Forest who was at the Markus Nebula? John had felt his stomach turn at the question. That was a long time ago, he had said stonily. Salman had looked a little amused and quipped, Well I’m sure you won’t go on about that like some of those other fellows. I’m sure John replied.

Salman had been more than a little condescending but John had made up his mind to completely get away from fleet life when he left the service. Too many that left ended up working for some branch of the Imperial military in dead end jobs. John was determined that it not happen to him. He had seen many before him cling to military life and waste their talents trying to keep doing some semblance of what they had done in the military.

John detested those people who still used their military rank when introducing themselves – just adding a "retired’ on the end. He had always had a strong sense of himself and had never defined himself by his rank in the military. He supposed that made him a bit of a rebel. That was an idea he liked.

Fighter group commander or weapons technician third class he was John Forest and that meant something to him at least. His interviewer had asked him many questions about his expertise since he had a hard time translating senior military leadership academy graduation into management and leadership training.

The recruiter had asked about organizational skills and John had started to talk at some length about moving a wing with its carrier several sectors and be ready to mount a major operation in less than two weeks. Coordinating the move, supplies, technical support, escorts, repairs, and drills. Salman’s eyes began to get a hazy look almost immediately. John had stopped and asked Salman ‘Would you like another example."

Salman seemed to come back from wherever his mind had wandered and said Oh no, great answer! Very impressive! They had talked about John’s experience with grav cars and propulsion systems. It seemed that the military units were somewhat different in many ways to civilian versions. Something Salman had been only too happy to point out. He wondered if Salman knew Deirdre. Maybe they were married. The thought made John smile.

At least he had gotten the position. A real job, not some crap fleet weenie job telling everyone how great he had been when he was in the service - a real job in the real world. He had handled maintenance for his fighter squadrons, well really overseen it but the technical side had always fascinated him. Earth seemed a very alien world to John right now. What had he been thinking? Coming back to Earth where he knew no one? Maybe the doctor on Outpost 42 had been right. Maybe he was running from the memories of the war.

He picked up the company manual and went to bed. As he had correctly guessed, by reading it, he was asleep in minutes. It had been a long day getting his entry authorized on the orbital station and waiting for his shuttle to the surface. It had also been and a long trip. Finally, he was able to rest at the end of one journey and the beginning of another.

With a soft tone, Bob awakened John in plenty of time for work as he had instructed. When he stepped out of the shower and pulled on a robe, his breakfast was already waiting.

Outside the sun was just above the horizon casting reddish rays across a mist that seemed to cover most of the ground. It looked as if the surface was under a layer of rose colored cotton. John pulled on his business suit and left his apartment feeling like a different person. He wasn’t used to choosing his own clothes, but he thought he might really grow to like it. He took the lift down to the 150th-floor shuttle pads. Bob had told him that was the one assigned to his lute and all the others from floors 100 to 200.

The morning was cool, but not cold. Many heads turned his way as he waited for a shuttle. John wondered if he would ever get used to the looks. Of course, they all looked strange to him. All pale and pink. It made them seem somehow soft. His blue/gray complexion gave the impression of a matte finished metal. Everyone he had dealt with for years had the same hard look.

Glancing around, John was amused that many seemed to manage to look untidy in even the simplest of garments. How this was accomplished, John could not understand. He caught his