Gambler's Bluff

By L.L. Shaddox

Lieutenant JG William (Bill) DeGeorge, star fighter pilot with a slight tendency to get into trouble...periodically, He is stranded on a planet his fleet was preparing for colonization during a battle with the opposing Bomitoc forces. The fleet retreats unaware Bill survived the battle.

After making repairs to his star fighter craft, Bill flies up to a derelict cruiser orbiting the planet and rescues with three female medics that all out rank him, trapped in a science lab with the oxygen dissipating rapidly. He sees what he can scavenge to finish his repairs.

His life becomes even more complicated when the four of them discover the presence of enemy Bomitoc warriors on the planet with them. Regulations state that Bill, the senior combat officer in a theater, take command. The ladies don't like it.

The discovery of captive humans on a distant planet orbiting a pulsating star about to go nova leads Bill to form a desperate plan involving the rescue of not only humans but Bomitoc scientist as well.

Can one man alter the destiny of countless races and hundreds of planets by bringing an end to a galactic war?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deep Woods Publishing
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954359086

L.L. Shaddox

L. L. Shaddox became an avid reader when he discovered series books where teenagers solved mysteries. His love of reading grew to include adventure, science fiction, mystery, suspense, and fantasy. He spent most of his free time reading and nurturing his imagination. He was told by his Advanced English instructor at the end of the course; “You need to write.” She planted the seed that started his desire to write. Years later he got his first computer with a word processor and started writing for his personal pleasure until a friend read a piece he wrote and asked why he wasn’t getting published.

Book preview

* The Star Fighter’s Creed *

Iam the nameless Star Fighter.

Vigilantly, I guard the frontiers of the galaxy.

I do my duty in truth with honor for freedom,

Even though my only witness is the night.

I owe debt to those who have fought before me.

I protect those who cannot defend themselves.

Gratitude and praise are foreign to me.

I shall pay the price of freedom with my blood.

Carve not my name upon a stone.

Hallow not the ground with my bones.

Lay me high upon the funeral pyre.

Set loose the burning, consuming fire.

Send me out in a blaze of glory,

So that all may see me go.

A spangled, sparkling glory,

Fitting the honor, I have fought for.

Chapter 1

A Chance Meeting

L ieutenant. Captain Percy Snipes’ voice sounded ominous.

Lieutenant J.G. William DeGeorge snapped to attention with his back to the wall. Fighters up, sir.

Captain Snipes stopped and faced Bill. The captain, a skinny wisp of a man, stared up into Bill’s face. Their physical differences were further dramatized by the pale blue uniform worn by command officers and the black battle uniform of the fighter pilots. Bill worked on schooling his expression as the commander stared harshly into his hazel-green eyes.

What are you smiling about, lieutenant? Straighten your triad, he said.

A flashing sweep of his right hand-corrected the backward cant of the distinctively shaped beret and checked the lower point so that lay above his right ear. Bill snapped back to attention.

I heard a humorous anecdote, sir.

Duty hours are for working, not for swapping jokes or womanizing. Now aren’t they, lieutenant?

Affirmative. Duty first, sir.

What I want to talk to you about is the game coming up. The tradition of that trophy runs deep in our ship’s history. We need it back from the Cavalier. That trophy certainly would look good in the annuals of our squadron if your team won it. Is your team up to the game?

Affirmative, sir. We can promise you a good game, sir.

I don’t want a good game. I want you to play that game like you claim you would fight Bomitocs. I want you to go out for blood and give Admiral Bacon a victory.

We’ll do our best, sir.

The admiral and I expect nothing less. What are you doing loitering around the corridors? Don’t you have a reconnaissance to conduct?

Yes, sir. Bill rendered a snappy salute and darted down the hall. He turned the corner and slowed to a walk. He resented the way Captain Snipes picked on him. Bill’s team had only lost one game in the past year. His commander rode him about that trophy every time they crossed paths, rode Bill harder than the other men in the squadron. All the Starfighters worked harder than the entire fleet with their rotations between planet reconnaissance and security duty on the outer rim of the solar system. He knew he had been in trouble a few times in the past, but his commander treated him like the black sheep and acted as if Bill had to prove his worth every breathing moment. Bill had never disliked anyone in his life as much as Captain Snipes. That, and Bill just didn’t trust the man to be an honest person.

Bill stepped through the airlock of the fighter bay and stuffed his charts and recording discs in the locker labeled Lone Ranger. He pulled out a pair of coveralls and put them on. He gazed at his Gleaf fighter’s lines a moment.

The sight of it still generated the same feelings of pride and joy he felt in his heart the first time he saw one. Just sitting in the hanger bay, the craft appeared to be moving at warp two. His flight instructor had told Bill a racer pilot had designed it and named the craft after a majestic bird of prey on the planet Ryelin. His eyes moved to the triangle symbol on the fuselage formed by the words: duty, honor, sacrifice. His rank and name were written just below the canopy with his call sign, ‘Lone Ranger,’ below that.

He reached out and touched the nose of the sixty-foot-long bird. The craft sported a wingspan of forty-five feet. The wings started even with the front of the cockpit, curved out, backward and then inwards to a point. Two-thirds of the craft consisted of engines. The impulse drive allowed the craft to travel inside a solar system, and the warp drive permitted star jumping. Her wings held the gravity repulsion units. The cockpit was a self-contained miniature spacecraft. The survival pod could separate and carry the pilot across a solar system to land on a planet.

Hello, lieutenant, his maintenance technician said.

Hi, chief. How’s my sweetheart? Bill asked, nodding at his craft.

Here’s the inspection report. The man held out a computer tablet. Bill glanced over the computer readout of his systems analysis test.

Her controller on the main gun is out of adjustment, chief.

Yeah, I noticed too. You ready?

Righto, chief, Bill said.

The mechanic stepped up to the nose of the craft and turned the locks on the housing with a wrench. The two men removed the nose housing and Bill assisted in the adjustments. He loved getting his hands dirty and helping maintain his craft, something most of the other pilots hated.

Four members of his squadron sauntered through the maintenance bay. Bill spotted their frowns and knew he would be subjected to their not-so-friendly ribbing later. Most of the fighter pilots were glory-hounds and thought his friendship with the enlisted mechanics was beneath them. He sighed and continued. After they were through, Bill read the printout again.

Chief, what about my air resupply pump? Is this a correct reading? The tech looked over his shoulder.

Little low but still within allowances. I’ll check supply. We’ll replace it before your next flight. How about that?

Good, let’s keep this printout and compare it with the next one. That way we can show rebuild the deterioration rate. Do you have any more to send with it?

You sure you don’t want to quit flying these babies and join the maintenance crews? You’re smarter than those other battle jockeys.

You’ve taught me well. But I love flying these things. Gotta run.

The older man chuckled. Fighters up.

Bill strolled away, smiling. He stripped away his coveralls and returned to his room. After a quick shower, he examined his spacesuit. Once satisfied it needed no repairs, he climbed into it. He grabbed his artist pad and flight bag with supplies and extra clothes. In the corridor, Bill ran into his friend Cathy.

Bill, how do you put up with that lousy captain of yours?

Bill reflected a moment. He’s just jealous of the uniform, Bill said.

Cathy chuckled. She glanced at the sketchbook in his hand. You going to draw me another pretty one? she asked.

Your husband is going to get jealous if we keep this up. Your quarters must be plastered from wall to wall by now.

The last two never reached home. Someone from the Cavalier talked me out of them. Besides, you’ve only given me seven so far. I have three left. Your poetry makes them so special. That and they are the best charcoals in the galaxy.

Here, he said, neatly ripping a drawing from his book.

Thanks. I’ll try not to let someone talk me out of it. She gave him a peck on the cheek and walked away reading to herself.

Bill returned to the fighter bay and got his charts. He stowed everything in his fighter and started his preflight checks as he warmed up his impulse engine.

Base control, Galaxy 81, request permission for departure, over.

Galaxy 81, cleared for departure. Be advised, Cruiser Avenger is six kilometers off the port side in parallel orbit, over.

New radio operator?

Roger, base control. My flight plan is the shortest route to the surface for aerial observation of the northeastern continent. You have the sector listed in my flight plan. I’ll have my radar on to avoid any complications.

Roger, Galaxy 81. Turn you over to stables control for launching, over.

You’d think I couldn’t fit a sixty-foot fighter between them. Yep, this voice has life in it. The robot must be in for repairs.

Galaxy 81, stables control.

Roger, stables control, I am at point fifteen on the checklist, awaiting your commands, over.

Roger, Galaxy 81, double-check your atmosphere suit and instruments. We have a staff shuttle to launch first, over.

Roger. Standing by. Bill rechecked the sealing latch on his helmet and pressure suit, then glanced at the instrument console.

Galaxy 81, this is your squadron commander. Are you armed?

Captain, loaded but not armed until General Quarters Two, over.

Double-check it, Galaxy 81.

Wilco, Captain.

Benkales Nebula. He never lets me forget, even if it wasn’t my fault. Blast. Just going to be another routine patrol of the surface, with two days R & R down there after the flight. He clamped his jaw shut and took in a deep breath. Not the time to get into a tiff with the commander if he didn’t want to lose his two-day pass.

Galaxy 81, stables control. The bay doors are open. We will launch you on your command. Signal when you’re ready, over.

Roger, stables. Check procedures completed; you may launch, over.

The launch lift came forward and adjusted the cradle to fit the undercarriage of the fighter. It lifted the fighter clear of the locks and pushed it backward, increasing momentum. As the lift reached the end of the track, it released the undercarriage and stopped. The fighter slipped silently backward as it cleared the hull of the ship.

Galaxy 81, stables control, you’re on your own. Returning you to base control.

Roger, stables. Break. Base control, Galaxy 81, over.

Base control, over.

Base, Galaxy 81. Range from docks twenty-five meters. Will activate maneuvers in sixty seconds. Break, what is the flight plan of that staff shuttle? I’d hate to ruin some staff officers furlough.

The schedule shows it will be in Sector B3752 of the surface.

He groaned. Great! My patrol sector for today.

Base, please advise the officer we will be in the same sector. I’ll be cruising at an altitude of 2000 meters. I’ll start at the north and work my way south. Ask him not to interfere with procedures. Bill fired his engine and turned the nose toward the planet. Three kilometers toward his destination he could see a light. The main engine of the shuttlecraft.

Base control, Galaxy 81, advise the pilot of the staff shuttle I’m going to pass them at a close but safe quarter of a few hundred meters. Bill throttled his impulse engine and accelerated to 2g’s. He figured the shuttle to be doing 1g. He throttled back. His momentum was sufficient to get him ahead of the shuttle. No need to scare the shuttle pilot.

As he approached, he chuckled. His fighter was above and upside down in relation to the shuttle. The sun was above him, so Bill couldn’t see inside the shuttle’s cockpit as he drifted by slightly faster, fifty meters away. He rendered a salute. At least he can’t say I wasn’t courteous.

At a safe distance, he accelerated to get well ahead of the shuttle so that he would have plenty of free space for his entry into the atmosphere. He checked his charts and computed an entry that would bring him down in his sector for patrol.

He would fly east and west working his way from north to south. He turned on the autopilot and studied the space photographs of his sector looking for locations the bug cutters wanted attention paid to. He couldn’t wait for the solitude and relaxation of the desert where he would spend his R & R.

Bill looked at his flight log. His 50th patrol and the routine never changed on an uninhabited planet. It was a simple reconnaissance looking for signs of intelligent life forms. But they still had to cover the entire surface. Every time he got an R & R, he spent it on the surface to sketch with his pencils and charcoals.

The sunrise coming through the gaps in the mountains and the way it changed the colors of the sand and rocks amazed him. Sometimes he would take still-graphs with his camera to record the colors just the way he wanted them and finish the drawing later. He could watch the cactus blossoms open at sunrise with large red and yellow petals and smell the perfume of the flowers attracting insects. Being down on the planet was better than being on space patrol. Space patrol consisted of traveling out to maximum radio and radar range to patrol for Bomitocs.

Bill cruised about a thousand meters over the hilltops. Nothing to note but sand, cactus, scraggly bushes, tumbleweeds, and a few ant mounds. But he circled to check them closely. Static broke in over his earphones.

Galaxy 81, base control.

Galaxy 81. Go ahead, base.

We have an emergency call from an F-U3 class shuttle supposedly in the southeastern quarter of your sector. Planet orbit is about to put you out of direct communication with us. Check out the problem. The vessel is on the emergency frequency and their call sign is Specter-01.

Roger, base control. Interference has already started. I have good copy, and I’m changing frequencies now. Bill punched in the emergency frequency on the digital indicator and listened for a moment.

Specter-01. Specter-01. This is Galaxy 81 over. He paused. Specter-01, Specter-01. Galaxy 81. En route to your location for rescue. Copy? Over.

He waited a moment. Base control, Specter-01, doesn’t respond. Static garbled base control’s response. Bill banked his fighter and accelerated to six g’s to get some altitude as he checked the radar.

I hope the half-witted officer turned on his beacon. If he’s still alive.

After a few moments, Bill caught the signal. It was located in the central southern quarter of his sector all right. He noted the bearing in case the signal went dead.

The most dangerous equipment in the federation is a staff officer with a navigation chart and calculation table, Bill said and chuckled.

Specter-01. Specter-01, Galaxy 81, over. The radio answered with silence. It would take another ten minutes to reach the coordinates, so he waited. The beacon went dead before he was halfway there.

When he arrived, he saw a large dust cloud settling to the ground. Nothing natural he had seen before created a dust cloud like that. That’s what the bug cutters tell you to look for as an indication of intelligent life, unnatural phenomenon.

Bill cut his power and guided his craft for a fly-by close enough to make certain. He spotted the shuttle, halfway up a hillside. Evidently, the pilot had tried to land by sliding along his skids to a stop. Why he didn’t fire up his impulse engine and take to space? He tried to call again but received no answer. Bill banked to return. He cut in a wide circle to avoid damage to his own craft in the event of an explosion. It was the staff shuttle he had passed up planet bound.

Base control, Galaxy 81. I have a visual on Specter 01. They are on the ground and in one piece, over.

Specter-01, Specter-01, Galaxy 81, over. There was still no response. He saw a suited figure standing on the wing, waving. The pilot appeared okay. Bill’s airspeed had deteriorated, so he activated his anti-gravity unit. When he got close enough again, he could see some damage. The starboard skid had collapsed, and the wing crumpled from impact with a boulder.

By the time he settled his craft uphill from the downed shuttle, the figure was trying to disembark. He still wore his atmosphere helmet which inhibited seeing where his feet were. The figure lost its footing. He bounced on the wing and slid off to crash to the ground headfirst and remained still. Bill shucked his helmet and jumped to the ground.

He ran down the slope to reach the unmoving figure. He jerked open the faceplate in case the suit’s atmosphere controls had been damaged. The face reflected the pilot’s unconscious state.

Must be a young kid, just out of the academy.

He rested his hand on the pilot’s chest and felt him breathing. He moved to check for broken bones. A groan stopped Bill with both hands on the figure’s left thigh.

Lie still and let me finish, Bill said.

I don’t have any broken bones. Just some nasty bruises. The pilot sat up.

Bill jerked his hands back at the sound of the pilot’s voice. A female voice. Huh?

I said, all I have are some nasty bruises. So keep your paws off me.

Excuse me. You had a high impact velocity. I was just rendering first aid, Bill said.

I’ll be fine as soon as I get this bucket off my head. The catch is bent.

Let me. He examined the release. Yep, and it’ll bust the latch when I force it to release. You’ve got a good one to explain to the stables warrant and quartermaster both, Bill said.

What do you mean?

You’ve busted the landing skids, starboard wing, and no telling what else. They’re gonna have to send out a hook to get you. You can’t go up without an atmosphere suit working. That means either another suit or a pressurized bay, Bill said.

Can it be fixed? I’ve only got until tomorrow.

Whoa, lady, I’m not a stables mechanic. Just a fighter pilot making an analysis of your damages, Bill said.

I thought you were a scout jockey.

Bill’s temper steamed. Now listen, lady. If I hadn’t opened your faceplate, you could have suffocated before you came to. Besides you’re the one who crashed the admiral’s shuttle. Bill pointed to the emblem on the fuselage of her craft.

Who is she to operate the admiral’s shuttle, alone? Watch your Qs, bud.

It’s not my fault the instrument panel fried and shut off all the power. I am a qualified shuttle operator. I just don’t get much practice, since my primary job is as an operations communication ensign.

What frequency do you run?

Flagship Reliance fighter frequency. Why?

You’re behind that flat mechanical monotone voice over the fighter freq that we’ve been listening to for the last several months?

What do you mean, mechanical monotone? She crossed her arms across her chest.

He shrugged. Sorry. That’s how you sound when I’m out exploring or on battle station.

A scout jockey. I thought so.

Look we are the best defensive line before or behind your cruisers. You couldn’t reconnoiter this planet’s surface near as fast. He pinned her with a squinty glare.

So, you confess to being a three-minute man. Huh?

That only pertains to our life expectancy in a major battle, lady.

She laughed.

Bill posed hands on hips. Starfighters’ duties are the hardest in the fleet, short of the Marines. We are the hardest men and hardest worked.

Yes, and when you aren’t out in your fighters, you’re in trouble on the ground. Even your tempers are short.

He gave up. Look, you’re alive and uninjured. He opened a side panel on the shuttle and removed a large, heavy cylinder. I’ll call up stables for a hook and go. I’ve got to finish my recon before the sun sets, he said and stormed up the slope.

Chapter 2

The Downed Pilot

She watched him stomp up the hill then studied the cant of the crippled shuttle. She removed her suit before she walked up the hill towards the Gleaf fighter. The fighter pilot was bent over the peculiar cylindrical object. He worked in the shade of the wing, oblivious to the world, talking to himself. When she got in earshot, she could hear his words and had to work at holding in her laughter.

The first new female you talked face to face within a month other than Cathy, and all you could do is argue with her. She ought not to have called me a scout jockey. True we are used as scouts for explorations, but we are fighters first, the pilot said.

You’re right and I apologize.

He jumped up in his surprise and banged his head on the wing. What?

I apologize, but you shouldn’t have called me a flat mechanical monotone robot. For your information, I sing in the chapel choir, she said.

He rubbed his head and stared at her. Okay, I’m sorry too. he apologized as he rubbed his head and admired her appearance out of the suit.

I have a question.

Lady, questions don’t bother me, just the origin and the answers for them. He sat and punched on a small keyboard connected by a flat cable to the cylinder.

I’m Victoria Alexander, Fleet Fighter Operations Communications Ensign just transferred over from the Cavalier..

He eyed her, wiped his hand on a rag, and took a deep breath. Bill DeGeorge, Starfighter, Galaxy 81, assigned to Flagship Reliance of the 15th Fleet. Known as the Lone Ranger.

She sucked in her cheeks and rocked back on her boot heels. You’re the one that almost hit the cruiser, Rockford, with a torpedo.

A blush colored his cheeks and ears, and he cast his gaze back to the keypad. That was a mechanical malfunction in my instrument panel, even if the captain doesn’t believe it.

Easy, Bill, I just made the connection, no offense intended.

Do you have any more connections? Bill asked hotly.

Just two, she said.

How about three: One, I’m the best pit ball player in the fleet. Two, I hold the record for maximum centrifuge G-force with the best performance in the fleet. Third, I found Halo-13 when he crashed his fighter in an unassigned sector on R and R, Bill said.

I forgot about that one.

He huffed. Yeah, so does my commander. He conveniently forgets all of them.

Victoria decided a change of subject was called for. What are you doing?

I’m preparing to send up your ship’s signal pod to let the fleet know that they are still going to have to put up with you and dock your pay for crashing the admiral’s shuttle.

She squinted at him. This guy needed to lose the chip on his shoulder. Is that all?

No. I have to tell them the condition your shuttle and suit are in and the fact that your beacon is dead. Don’t expect to get picked up before tomorrow, late.

He lifted the cylinder and carried it about twenty yards into the open. He scuffed the ground with his boot and set it down. After he made certain it was level, he pressed a timer button inside and closed the door. He hurried back to the fighter and ducked under the wing. Victoria stayed put and watched the cylinder.

I recommend that you join me, lady. Those things scatter a lot of debris when they take off.

The rocket ignited and took off with a roar. The blast sent a spray of sand and small gravel flying. Bill pulled Victoria to the ground and shielded her with his body as the gravel peppered around them.

You could have given me more of a warning, she said. Ugh, do you mind? She protested and tried to crawl out from under him.

He rolled off her, rose, moved into the open, and focused on the rocket trail. Those signal pods have a tendency to explode or fizzle out at the second stage as they get old.

She pushed up and stood. What if that had happened?

I would have had to leave you here and go up to report things to the ship myself.

What? And leave me here all alone? She stared at him, her hands on her hips.

You crashed the admiral’s shuttle, lady, not me.

I told you that wasn’t my fault.

I guess I could check out the shuttle and see what I can do for you. However, you’re grounded without a suit, he said

Then what good would it do to fix it? she asked.

Well, if I can make it fly, I could program the auto-robot to take it back close to the ship and radio the stables warrant to send out transportation to take you back.

Oh well, I wanted to look around some before I went back anyway. Guess I’ll get to do that for sure now.

Go ahead, you’re grounded. Just stay away from those mounds over there. He pointed at several tall dirt mounds that stood about a quarter-mile away across the valley.

Why?

There are some six-legged critters over there that look a lot like ants on Earth except they’re seventeen inches long. They would enjoy feasting on somebody dumb enough to go over there. He glanced at her waist. Did you bring a sidearm?

She shook her head. No. Why?

Not a smart thing. You could still be in danger this close to them, especially if they get curious about you.

You have yours. I think I’ll sit here in the shade and wait for the verdict, she said.

He walked down the slope and over to her crippled shuttle. Half an hour passed before Bill returned. A grim expression rested on his face.

You know, at first I thought that you would have to be highly qualified before you even cleared the docks in an admiral’s shuttle.

Thanks for the high opinion, she said.

No offense intended. According to the computer log, that shuttle should have crashed about ten minutes before it did. You are either a great pilot or a lucky one. The gravity repulsion controls are shot. You glided that baby down. Nice flying.

A flush of warmth spread through her body. Thank you.

He nodded. "I should head back to my recon.

You wouldn’t leave me here with those giant ants, would you?

No, I have no grudge against them, he said smiling.

She swatted at him. He ducked the playful slap. As he did so he grabbed her arm and jerked her toward him. He spun her around and pinned her arms in a bear hug, but she kicked him in the shin and shoved backward, causing him to lose his balance. They fell sideways. They both laughed as she tried to escape, and he wrestled to pin her down flat on her back. He accomplished the feat quickly, leaving her gasping for breath.

You okay?

It’s just the heat and full gravity. How can you stand it? Especially still in your suit?

I work out in the gym on board. Physical fitness is a requirement of being a starfighter. Plus, I spend my R&Rs planet side.

Victoria realized how close they remained. Bill lowered his head toward her. She held her breath. Was he going to kiss her? Her brain scrambled for a way out of this moment. She’d just met him.

Can we wait ‘til after sunset? she asked.

Huh? Bill backed off. Wait for what?

So I can watch it? I haven’t seen a sunset in so long.

You picked a good area to land then We’re on the same time in relation to daylight as the ship. You can enjoy the fresh air and a chance to watch the sunrise.

Why not the sunset?

Because with the sunset, the days are over, and it gets as dark and cold as the void of space out here in the desert.

What about the moon?

It gives off a false light which distorts depth perceptions and reality. It provides no radiation to warm the body.

She squinted at him. What about the heart?

If you want to warm the heart, go to the sun.

You’re not very romantically inclined, are you?

What more could a communications ensign know about romance than a Starfighter?

I’m a woman.

Bill chuckled. Yeah.

Thank you, she said. Why do you watch the sunrise?

Romance.

How is that?

The morning sun comes up full of color and it is fleeting. You have to be there early to seize its glory. With its rising, the world awakens. The cactus opens her array of blossoms to the admirer and basks in the warmth of the sun. Along comes the dragonfly to sip the sweet nectar of the lovely blossom and snap... he clapped his hands together, he becomes chow.

Your sense of romance is slightly distorted.

Distorted? The cycle of life is a fact, eat or be eaten. That’s why I’m a starfighter, to help keep you dragonflies from being eaten whenever we find a planet or when an invader tries to take over settlements.

It’s not that simple. Why does the dragonfly live? She asked.

Alternate food for the cactus.

No, she said, to pollinate other flowers and reproduce.

Okay, then why do we have the cactus? To check the population of the dragonflies?

No silly, to store water and sucrose, to provide oxygen and prevent soil erosion with its roots, she said.

And ya had to go and get scientific on me. Why else are you down here? Bill asked. She was being overly precise in the discussion. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up.

Mainly, I wanted to get away from buzzing electronics and canned air. Ten months in the tin can finally got to me. Also, I saw a most beautiful rendition of the sunset down here someone did on paper in charcoals with a cute little poem attached. I decided to see a sunset for myself.

Where was it?

Several of us attended a private dinner in Admiral Bacon’s quarters. I saw it there.

He checked a grin. Interesting. Why haven’t you come down sooner? We’ve been here for several months.

Deserts and tropical rain forests don’t particularly interest me. I’m more accustomed to about three feet of snow. This heat is killing me.

Do you want something cool, sweet, and refreshing?

That would be nice. What did you do, bring a thermos?

No, I’ll cut you a petal from that flower. He pointed to a lingering cactus blossom nearby.

What if it’s poisonous?

Victoria, I wouldn’t carry a grudge against you that far. Besides, I’ve already had it tested and have eaten some myself. He chuckled and glanced at her bottom. You know, it’s easy to tell that you are a rocket rat. I believe I see the beginnings of a tail. He craned his neck to look at her behind.

What? she asked, twisting to look behind her.

A rocket rat never leaves the ship, and you don’t have an adventuresome spirit, he said.

I’ll show you. She got to her feet and stormed off towards the cactus. Bill jumped up and ran after her.

Hey, lady, being adventuresome is one thing but foolish is another.

Don’t call me foolish.

Okay, Victoria, look, if you touch that plant anywhere with your bare hands, you’ll suffer excruciating pain. So just let me get it for you. Bill reached down to his right calf and extracted a knife from the scabbard strapped there. In a dexterous motion, showing familiarity in working with the knife, he sliced away the prickly hide of the enormous red petal. When he finished, he had a thick wedge of the petal the size of his hand. Then he grasped it with his left and cut the refreshment free from the plant. He turned to Victoria and offered her the treat. She pinched it between the tips of her thumb and index finger. The syrup ran down her fingers. She held it to her nose and sniffed the sweet nectar.

Now I know what attracts the dragonflies, she said as she studied the unfamiliar food.

Go ahead. Bite off a piece and chew it. After you get the syrup out, spit out the pulp.

She hesitated a moment and said, You first. She thrust it toward him.

Bill chuckled as he cut a piece of the meat off and chewed a chunk. She watched him chew and swallow as if she expected him to die of poisoning. Bill spat out the out pulp. If you’re still not sure, I’ve got a canteen in my flier.

Oh, no, this will do, she said but hesitated slightly as she bit delicately into the spongy material. She nodded her head and moaned as she savored the cool, sweet nectar.

Be sure and spit out the pulp. Your system can’t handle the silicone base of its fibers. The bug cutters say it is harmless but don’t recommend ingesting large quantities of it.

Bug cutters?

Scientists.

Oh. They strolled back to the shade of her flier. When she finished the cactus, she said, That’s a most peculiar flavor. What does it taste like to you?

Pomegranates.

What?

It’s a very seedy fruit where I’m from.

What are pomegranates like?

The outer skin turns a reddish-pink when it’s ripe. Inside there are a lot of seeds and each is surrounded by a little sack of juice.

Interesting, she said.

Now that you’ve had the crash course on survival, you can eat without being eaten.

The roar of a craft flying over startled them. They looked up to see a large recovery vessel banking in a turn a couple thousand feet up.

I guess the ship dispatched them when you put out your distress call. I have to call them down, he said and ran up the hill to his fighter.

Victoria joined him when he climbed out of his fighter.

Your ride home is coming back. They were flying too fast and missed spotting us.

She acknowledged him with a nod. Why do they call you the Lone Ranger?

He blinked when she recalled his nickname. I have a tendency to keep to my own company a lot.

Why don’t you shuck your space suit? You are sweating profusely.

His ears burned. I can’t.

Why?

Uh, I have to finish my patrol.

It’s too late in the day. You may as well quit and get some rest. Here I’ll help you.

He held up a hand to ward her off. Whoa, I can’t take off the suit.

Why not?

He was saved from answering the question by the return of the recovery vessel. Your ride is here. He pointed to the craft sitting down below them. You need to go tell them everything about your crash for the commander’s investigation.

I still want to know why you can’t take off the suit.

He shook his head. Ask Cathy in the chart room. Her husband is a starfighter.

She grunted and started down the hill.

Hey, Victoria, how about we go to a movie or something sometime?

I’m sort of seeing someone from the cruiser Cavalier.

Oh. His ego deflated.

He flies the captain’s shuttle, she said.

You’re dating Maxwell? That’s a lack of loyalty to your ship, he said, turning to go to his fighter.

We were dating before I was transferred to Reliance. Besides, he’s nicer than some scouts I know, she shouted.

He grit his teeth at her words. He knew the man. Lieutenant Commander Maxwell captained the other pit ball team in the championship game. There had been a lot of talk that the game would be a real battle.

Bill sat beneath his fighter’s wing and watched the crew rig the sling to the commander’s shuttle. They left, taking Victoria with them. When the vessel was well out of sight, Bill removed his suit and stood for a minute to let the dry wind cool his bare body. Finally, he put on some clothes from the bag in his fighter. Afterward, he drew the landscape on his pad and waited for the sunset. A verse came to his mind.

By chance, a meeting occurred,

In the colors of the sunset.

Nice thoughts, their words beget.

While the heart remembers the touch,

In memory, the moment is blurred.

Chapter 3

The Game

Bill tightened the last strap on his padded leather armor. He snatched his helmet and elbow pads from the shelf and slammed the locker shut. In a rage, he doubled his fist and punched the door, denting it.

Hey, partner, save that stuff for the pit. You can get the guy then. That’s where it counts, and the crowd loves the action, Robert said.

And so does the referee, Paul said.

Don’t let him see you, Luke said.

I know how to do that, Skid Plate, Bill said. I just don’t like playing dirty. It makes a victory hollow. Besides, if Victoria sees me taking a cheap shot at him, it would ruin my chances for a date. She already has a thing or two against starfighters anyway.

What will you do if he throws the first punch? John asked.

Hold it. You know what the captain told Bill. One more guy in the infirmary and he was barred from the pits, Luke said.

Look at it this way. You are entitled to self-defense. So, defend yourself. This guy thinks he is such a hotshot pilot, just because he flies his captain’s shuttle. We’re going to show him the facts of life tonight, John said.

John leaned over to Paul and whispered, Bill’s name is on the promotion list from fleet command too. If we lose, I’ll bet the admiral or the captain will scratch it off.

Hey, all of us are on it. It’s our turn, time in service, you know. Bill is under scrutiny because he is team captain, among other reasons.

Okay, guys, the coach said, sticking his head in the doorway, enough jaw jacking. Get dressed and head for the pit.

On the way, coach. All five men answered in unison.

The coach paused a moment. How do you always do that together? He shook his head. Get in the pit.

Let’s do it, guys, Bill said.

Hu ya, They all shouted and headed out the door.

As the team captain, Bill led the way out. From the noise in the gym, the spectators were already working up to a fever pitch. Bill spotted their coach and the admiral talking in the hallway. Admiral Bacon would sometimes come down to the locker room to wish a team good luck. It made the men feel the admiral knew them all. He turned, smiling, as they approached. Returning the smile, Bill took the offered handshake and pat on the shoulder. He took a step aside to allow the rest of the team to get a handshake from the admiral, but he was pulled back in by the man.

Ensign DeGeorge, Bacon had to shout in his ear over the din of the crowd, I want to wish you good luck out there. Are you and your team up to a good game?

Bill nodded.

Need I remind you that the reputation of our flagship is at stake here tonight, along with the reputation of all the starfighters in the fleet? Those guys have quite a reputation themselves. I want you to go out there and teach those flirtatious, fancy pants shuttle pilots how to really play the game so that they know what real men are made of.

You can count on us, Admiral, sir, Bill shouted back. The admiral gave him a don’t-you-dare-disappoint-me-look and walked off. The other guys came up with questioning looks on their faces. The crowd roared as the opposing team entered the pit.

He wishes us good luck, Bill shouted, taking the admiral’s message as personal even if the man didn’t remember his true rank.

He jammed on his helmet and