Hobson's Planet

By John Paulits

This thought provoking sci-fi novel demonstrates how someone with natural leadership skills will usually rise to the top in most any scenario. Culp Robinson wins the US presidential election; however, his victory is stolen from him. When he protests, he finds himself thrown into prison. Three years later he is offered an alternative to prison; an 18 month trip to Hobson's Planet. Once on Hobson's Planet, he wants only to find his ex-wife and daughter  who have preceded him; however, he is headed for a loftier position as the reluctant head of a revolution against an alien race. 

      This book has everything: frontier life and culture, politics, alien wars and revolutions, sex with an exotic alien female, super ray gun weapons, and people fighting for their political and economic freedom. The story's pace will yank you through it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597057233

Book preview

Part One

THE EYES OF GOD

One

Fifteen months. That’s how long it took to reach Hobson’s Planet. Fifteen months of bulleting through space. Bulleting didn’t convey the speed. Not nearly. Ion-reversion drive—the newest miracle of technology. It was making so many things possible. Fulton’s steamboat three hundred years earlier had opened up America to humanity. America had prospered, and the Earth had fallen. Perhaps collapsed was the better term. Earth still functioned, but at a level that made escape an intelligent option. That was what Culp Robinson was doing. Compliments of ion-reversion drive. He’d almost made a difference. But three years in techno-incarceration took the starch out of him. Let other people try. He’d get away. To Hobson’s Planet.

Not everyone was eager to leave the planet. In fact, very few were despite the conditions. But if you had enough credits, lacked a healthy fear of the unknown, and possessed a willingness to allow suspended animation to be injected into your veins, why then the trip was possible. Earth authorities were only too happy to bid farewell to Culp Robinson. In fact, the trip was suggested to him. Answering yes had shortened his incarceration considerably. That meant he might see his wife—former wife, in truth—and daughter again. But, of course, those who made the suggestion knew that, depended on that. His daughter would be eight and a half when he got to Hobson’s. If he found her right away. He was afraid he might never find her at all. When he’d gone into incarceration, the first thing Lydia did was to divorce him, take every Earthcredit, turn every possession into Earthcredits, and sail off for Hobson’s Planet. With Cindy. He was certain that was the last he would ever see of his daughter. A cruel punishment, indeed.

Scientists claimed that life slowed down to the point that aging was minimal during the suspended time. Culp hoped the scientists were wrong, but were they ever in this day and age? Hell of a thing to do to a kid. Cindy had left the planet at age four. How old was she after fifteen months of S. A.? Four? Five? How much of her life would he have missed?

Culp reined in his wandering thoughts and checked the dials on his twenty-five S.A.s. All normal. As usual. Technology had reputedly made the system foolproof, but with so much money involved, one accident would end the lucrative interplanetary transport business. So anyone without means who was lucky enough—or unlucky enough—to make the trip was forced to baby sit the S.A.s and be certain nothing went wrong. Culp had resigned himself to fifteen months of boredom catering to twenty-five of the one hundred S.A.s aboard by making sure they were well fed and oxygenated steadily. If it weren’t for the few compudiscs he bought with the little money he had—

Sir.

Culp looked wearily behind him. A boy maybe sixteen, thin but muscular. Athletic looking, Culp decided. He’d seen but given scant notice to him before. They’d not even spoken in the three months they’d been ion-reversion-driving through space.

What is it?

The boy nervously swept some strands of hair from his forehead and said, I know who you are.

"I don’t know who you are. Who are you?"

My name?

Good start.

Josh.

Hello, Josh.

You’re Culp Robinson. I have compudiscs right up ’til the time we left. You’re on some of them. There’s nothing to do but work or disc on a trip like this. You know that.

I surely know that. What discs do you have?

History. A lot of history. Wars, battles, generals. I like history. I have discs right up ’til when we left. You’re in some. Like I said.

I don’t like history. History almost killed me.

You’re joking.

If you’ve done your reading—

And viewing. You’re on the telediscs, too.

Then you know history almost killed me.

Josh nodded. When I said you were joking, I thought you were. I know what you mean, though.

Culp adjusted the dial on S.A. number sixty-seven. He was responsible for S.A.s fifty-one through seventy-five.

Why aren’t you... The boy pointed left where the S.A.s rested peacefully.

Culp rubbed the fingers of one hand together. Couldn’t afford it. Anyway, I’m kind of a guest of the government. You?

For the first time the boy smiled. He rubbed the fingers of one hand together and said, Me either.

So what do you do? They don’t let you take care of the S.A.s, do they?

Josh shook his head. I tend to the crew. They keep me busy. I’m on my way to get Spencer a sandwich.

Spencer?

The drive technologist.

Oh. Big deal.

Me? The boy looked hurt.

No. Culp saw the boy’s expression and decided to be a shade less self-indulgent. I meant the technologist. We wouldn’t get far without him.

No, guess not. Well, I got to go.

Nice talking to you. The hurt look on the boy’s face a moment before plagued Culp. I’m in Section 9, Room 7. You get tired of discing, stop by.

Will you tell me...? The boy looked embarrassed, as if he’d transgressed into a private area.

My story? If you tell me yours.

The boy smiled for the second time.

Culp watched him go, pleased he had been able to bring about that second smile after he had thoughtlessly wiped away the first. Oh, well. Not the only person he’d ever made feel bad. But one of the few he’d left feeling better. He turned back to his twenty-five S.A.s and studied their dials, wondering what he’d tell the kid if he ever did show up.

Culp and Josh saw each other twice in passing over the next three months. They waved but didn’t speak. One day, shortly after entering his room at the end of a shift, Culp heard a tentative rap on his door.

When Culp opened his door, Josh stood in the corridor. He could see the awe-inspired timidity in the boy’s eyes.

If I’m disturbing you, I can go. Come another time, I mean. I know you have to sleep. The eight-hour on/eight-hour off schedule made sleep a precious commodity.

Culp smiled. He was used to over-considerate treatment from others, not in the last three and a half years, of course, but it seemed comical coming from this boy in this place. He shook his head slowly. I just finished my eight hours on.

I knew that.

I thought you might. Come in.

The boy followed him inside the room, which contained a bunk, a table and two chairs, lavatory facilities and a closet. Everything was done in three shades of brown and a solid gray. Or, if you believed the flight company’s brochure, ecru and silver. And, of course, compuports and viewscreens, handheld and wall, for every kind of disc imaginable. As Culp moved things around in deference to his visitor, he could feel Josh studying him.

You look just like you do on my discs.

Just what do you know about me?

You’re forty-five years old, five feet and eleven inches. You’ve been a senator and a representative. You ran for president and lost. Then you kind of disappeared from things. You were really famous.

And yet, here he was, dressed in the same tan work clothes as Josh, clothes provided by the ship’s company and worn all the time since there was no reason to dress any other way. Two peas in a speeding metal pod.

Sit. Culp pointed to one of the chairs.

Josh sat.

I can order up some juice. The usual chemical concoction. And I can order up something to eat.

No, I ate. I go back on in two hours.

You don’t do eight and eight?

I do what they tell me.

Culp smiled again. He sensed Josh beginning to relax. Good policy. Would you mind if I had something to drink?

No.

Culp went into his closet and brought a bottle back to the table.

Liquor?

Culp nodded. I used my final Earthcredits to buy three discs and fifteen bottles of Scotch. So on a fifteen-month trip, if I can keep track of time with this impossible schedule, I can have an ounce a day. I bought quarts.

You must enjoy February very much.

Culp laughed. You’re quick. And we have two Februarys on this trip.

One down and one to go.

Sure you don’t want something?

The boy shrugged. Okay. Grape juice.

Culp rose and went to his compuport. He punched in food. The menu appeared, and he touched what he needed to get a quart of grape juice. It arrived with a whir of the elevator. Culp lifted the door, took the bottle and placed it, along with a glass, in front of Josh.

I usually drink my ounce and then go to bed. The alternate eight, I settle for a nap, some exercise, my discs. This is my sleep eight.

I can go.

No, no. I usually linger an hour. He poured some Scotch into his glass and lifted it. To Hobson’s Planet.

Josh quickly poured some juice into his glass and lifted it. The ship shuddered.

I hate when it does that, the boy said. Scares me.

What else do you know about me?

I’ve sort of studied you. I’ve watched some of your speeches. The one right before the election is my favorite.

Culp nodded and remembered.

This world, this once glorious gift of nature, is dying. We are killing her. You are killing her. Where is the alarm? Are we the only ones to raise it? Where is the shame? Are we the only ones to feel it? Who but we hear the call to arms? By all means go to the polls tomorrow. By all means choose. You know the candidate to choose.

Interruptions of, You. You. Thousands of voices crying for him. He waved the intrusion gently away.

With a nod of his head, he continued. "I will not be enough. Even now viruses released by the destruction of the rain forest have destroyed seventy, seventy percent of the populations of South America and Africa. Fully fifteen percent of taxes goes to pay for the purification of drinking water in North America and Europe. And in Asia population growth far exceeds the ability of their society to house, feed, and clothe the new births. No less than a total reworking of our planet’s culture is called for. Top to bottom. Population control. Pollution control. The equal distribution of resources and food. Grown food, not manufactured food. I am calling for a rededication of all peoples on the planet to a new version of sustainable growth. Not the false god of sustainable growth which expands and effaces and destroys. Not the false god that this past century and a half has knelt before and worshipped generation after generation.

"We must sustain the growth of crops to feed ourselves. We must sustain the growth of trees to give us clean air. We must sustain the oceans, the rivers, the mountains and the fields by cleaning them, nurturing them, caring for them. That and that alone will allow our planet to grow. Grow healthy again. Grow beautiful again.

And we must begin now. If chosen, I will lead the way. A thunderous roar shocked him with its intensity. With another nod of his head, he concluded. But I don’t need followers. We’ve all been followers too long. I need leaders. Join me in leading our planet, our home, back to the beauty it once knew. And in so doing, change ourselves into the better people we once were. Thank you.

Fourteen minutes. Sustained applause for fourteen minutes.

With speeches like that I don’t know how you lost the election. And now they’ve cancelled future elections. I study history. I know what that means.

The brilliant minds of the Technology Board of the Americas will now choose the president of America. The world has changed. Culp closed his eyes and sipped from his glass. He looked back at Josh and said, So tell me, what do you know about Hobson’s?

I know what the disc says, Josh answered.

I didn’t get a disc with anything about Hobson’s on it. All I read were the brochures. Not that I had much of a choice anyway whether to go or not, but I hope it’s worth the trip.

Supposed to be, Josh said, smiling.

So what do you know?

About Hobson’s?

Culp nodded.

Josh’s unease was apparent. Culp guessed the boy had come to hear him talk, to learn history from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

The boy shifted in his seat and began. Discovered by Ion Drive Telescope in two thousand sixty-seven. In two thousand seventy-three it was found to be inhabited, the first inhabited planet ever discovered. Two months later Catonia was discovered, six hundred thousand miles from Hobson’s Planet. Also inhabited and effectively in control of Hobson’s. The people of Hobson’s are primitive. The people of Catonia, technological. They traveled to Hobson’s and made the natives sign a treaty giving them about sixty percent of the planet. But you must know all this.

Culp waved away Josh’s objection.

Why did the natives do that, you think?

Not much choice, I guess. Big weapons against small weapons. I can give you a disc with a lot more on it. Stuff you probably don’t know.

Don’t want to be my teacher? Culp smiled.

I feel silly telling you things. Josh looked at the floor a moment.

You came to be told things.

Josh shrugged.

What would you like to know? Culp asked.

Why you’re here.

Off to a new start. Why are you here, Josh?

My dad was killed trying to get food. He only had a few Americredits on his card. They were taking Earthcredits. He couldn’t get anyone to convert them, so he stole some food. Him and another man. The other man got away. I never knew my mom.

Culp poured himself tomorrow’s ounce. Anger began roiling in him. But there was no use getting angry now. He’d already fought that fight. Fought it and lost it. He was beginning to feel sorry he’d let the kid in.

I couldn’t stand Earth any more. I don’t want to go back. I may just stay on Hobson’s when we get there.

Culp had no trouble believing the boy’s story. I couldn’t stand it, either. Seems great minds think alike. Culp gave the boy a smile.

This juice isn’t bad. My food port doesn’t work right half the time.

Come eat here anytime you want.

Thanks.

They sat in silence for a moment or two, Culp thinking about the boy’s story. He drained his second ounce and set his glass down a little louder than necessary.

I guess I’ll go now, said Josh.

I didn’t hold up my end of the conversation very will, did I?

Josh shrugged.

Come again, Culp said, smiling again. Please. My schedule’s posted. Come as you did tonight. Just when my tour ends.

Thanks. Josh stood up. Can I take this?

Let me punch you up another one. Culp managed a second bottle of grape juice and bid Josh goodbye.

He took off his clothes and set his clock. The boy’s father killed for food. He pushed both the useless anger and thoughts of the boy away. He glanced at the hologram portrait of his daughter at age four. Lydia had sent it to him in prison. He’d seen Josh glance at it but was glad he hadn’t mentioned it. That hologram was the last he’d heard of them, other than the news they’d emigrated to Hobson’s Planet. And now he was nine months away. From his daughter. From Lydia. From food enough for everyone. Maybe Hobson’s Planet really would be the paradise everyone said it was.

With that comforting thought and the gentle buzz of the Scotch he’d drunk, Culp lay down in his bunk and closed his eyes. In seven hours he would be back on duty.

Two

Josh was as good as his word. The next day he passed a disc to Culp as Culp sat monitoring his S.A.s.

Hobson’s, was all Josh said, and he continued on.

Culp had to wait almost twenty-four hours to play it since his upcoming eight hours were dedicated to sleep. But on the following eight off, he poured himself an ounce of Scotch and lay back before the bed viewscreen and read:

The official date of the discovery of Hobson’s Planet is May 23, 2067. Contact with life forms was established on July 2. At first it was thought that contact had been made with the inhabitants of Hobson’s, but contact was in actuality established with the more advanced race that lives on Catonia, a small, neighboring planet (623,472 miles distant and approximately seventy-five per cent the size of Earth’s moon). Catonia is a technologically advanced society, which had just managed to reach Hobson’s fifteen years earlier. The inhabitants of Hobson’s (called Walbers—the closest phonetic approximation of their word—which means primitives in the Catonian language) were a tribal society living peacefully amid the hundreds of lakes and rivers of Hobson’s. The planet has no oceans. The largest lake, Lake Willert, stretches for twenty-two miles north and south and eight miles east and west. No other lake is even half this size. The Catonians managed to construct a treaty that ceded them sixty percent of the planet. The Walbers moved into the jungles and forests that cover almost thirty percent of the planet. Subsequently, there was little contact between the two races.

Catonians are distinguished by their cream-colored skin, high foreheads, long silvery-white hair, and tiny ears, being human-like in all other features. The Walbers are distinguished by their tan color, small, button-like noses, short dark hair, and by their height being, on average, a full six to eight inches shorter than the average Catonian. They, too, are human-like in all other features. There do not appear to be any racial subgroupings among Catonians or among Walbers.

The discovery and implementation of Ion-reversion drive coincided with the discovery of the planet, and five years later the first voyage left Earth. Earth inhabitants and Catonians met for the first time on Hobson’s Planet (the Catonians would not permit travel to their home planet) August 26, 2074. The meeting was peaceful and productive. Business arrangements sprang up with some immediacy. The Catonians had been trying to colonize Hobson’s with little success for nearly fifteen years. Their people, it seems, were unwilling, for undisclosed religious reasons, to leave their home planet and make the nine-day trip through space to reach Hobson’s and a new life. Earth, however, responded to the invitation to colonize. Since March, 2084, one vessel per month carrying one hundred immigrants has arrived from Earth, peopling Hobson’s with some 25,000 Earthlings—ca. 19,000 men and 6,000 women—by the end of 2104. Land is inexpensive. The myriad of lakes and rivers offers ample fertile ground for settling either in towns or on self-contained farming residences although as of yet, the number of rivers and lakes overwhelm the ability of the immigrants to settle them, Hobson’s being approximately eighty percent the size of Earth with fully sixty percent of the planet available for settlement. Up until 2104, only the two rivers leaving Lake Willert, the Tioga and the Cayuga, along with one town on Lake Elkins have been settled.

A knock at Culp’s door interrupted his reading. He noted the index number on the disc and shut down his viewer.

When he opened the door, he saw Lenny Rolen. Lenny was another of the eight S.A. attendants traveling on the cheap just as Culp was. He was a small man, no more than five foot-seven, one hundred thirty-five pounds. When, during their conversations, Culp heard Lenny say he was only thirty-three years old, he found it hard to believe. He looked older, more worn out. But Earth could do that to people. When he spoke, Lenny was a symphony of facial twitches and tics. He frequently ran his hand through his scraggly brown/gray hair, trying in vain to keep a constantly plummeting shock off his forehead. His large ears and pointed nose did not improve his appearance. The S.A. attendants all knew each other by name, having gone through a brief training session together, but aboard ship, living what were, effectively, sixteen-hour days, drained most of the camaraderie from the eight men, and they had little contact with one another. The only one of the eight Culp had had a conversation with was Ted McDonald, the man who alternated duty with him.

Hello, Lenny. Come in.

Thanks.

Culp saw him eye the bottle of Scotch, but there was no way Culp was going to initiate him as a drinking buddy. Not with an ounce-a-day ration, whatever a day was on this trip.

Sit. Some food, juice? Culp asked.

No, no. I just... this your sleep eight?

No. I was just discing. I’ll catch a nap later before I go on again.

I just... I just wanted to talk to someone, sir. Ted McDonald, your other half, so to speak, said you were worth having a conversation with. I want to talk about this trip, about Hobson’s and this emigration. I left my family behind, you see. But they’re coming... well, they’ve left by now. Six months behind me, but it’s so hard. I miss them. I don’t know who else to go to, and like I said, McDonald told me—

Culp held up his hand and nodded at Lenny. No problem. So what’s worrying you? He settled back. This was the second of the eight S.A. attendants to need some reassurance. McDonald had kept him at his post nearly an hour over once looking for reassurance. Fifteen months was a long time to be alone. Culp nodded, ignoring as best he could Lenny’s assortment of facial grimaces as he began to talk. He was used to people confiding in him. It used to be something he looked on as a trust. He wanted their burden to become his. And old habits die hard.

IT WAS NEARLY TWO WEEKS Earthtime before Culp went back to the disc containing the information about Hobson’s. He’d seen Josh once in that time, but only to wave. And no one had come to him for advice or consolation.

The major city of Hobson’s Planet is Hobson City, which sits at the foot of Lake Willert. Here, the immigrants land, are processed and choose their future. Earthcredits have become the accepted currency, replacing the Catonian currency, which was used during the first two years.

There is little year-round variation in the climate of Hobson’s due to the planet’s steady, uniform progress around its sun. (It takes thirteen months, three weeks, four days and seven hours, for Hobson’s to make one orbit around its sun, and twenty-five hours, seventeen minutes and forty-five seconds—all Earthtime— for the planet to make one revolution on its axis.)

Earth dates are kept track of on Hobson’s Planet, but generally planet time is used in daily living. Temperatures rise into the eighties during the day, occasionally reaching the low nineties. Nighttime temperatures range from fifty-five to seventy degrees. Rainfall is occasional but heavy, usually lasting anywhere from one hour to four hours. The longest continuous rain ever noted on Hobson’s since the Catonian arrival was a steady rain of nine hours recorded in Hobson City.

Animal life on Hobson’s consists mainly of fish, birds of all description, and insects. There are reports of a small, deer-like creature living in the forests of Hobson’s, but none has yet been seen by a Catonian. The birds thrive both because of the insects and because of the lack of predators, except for sentient life. Edible fowl, fish, and crops make up the staple diet of all who live on the planet. There are at present count seventeen indigenous food crops on Hobson’s, many mirroring Earth counterparts. Most Earth seeds also grow well in the moist, fertile soil of Hobson’s. Farming is a dependable source of self-contained existence on Hobson’s, and many immigrants forego the towns and city and take to the land.

For additional information click on any bold term.

Culp looked over the bold terms. He had a little over eight Earth months to go through it all, that is if Josh didn’t want his disc back until landing. After a glance at his clock, Culp decided he’d give the disc another thirty minutes before going through his fifteen minutes of running in place and his twenty-five push-ups and seventy-five sit-ups. After that... after that. He sighed. Another eight months.

From being morally opposed to S.A. from the beginning of its utilization, he was wondering whether the cure, being awake and conscious aboard this vessel for fifteen months, was not worse than the disease. The first fistfight had already occurred, sparked by Lenny Rolen’s replacement, Trevor Maddox, a large, hulking man, showing up twenty minutes late for his shift. Culp had been worrying about Lenny ever since their conversation two weeks ago. Lenny’d been flaking off in their talk. Eighty per cent sense and twenty per cent... what? Stress, venting, craziness? It would be impossible to give Lenny a break by taking over one of his shifts since they had matching schedules. So Lenny was on his own. And they were only approaching the halfway point.

Well, Culp thought, that little burst of introspection used up five minutes. He activated his port and asked for teleview. Might as well finally take a look at the world that would be his home for the rest of his life.

AND THERE IT WAS SPREAD before him on the wall viewscreen. He looked long-range at the two hemispheres, northern and southern. From a distance the two halves were mostly brown with large patches of green. Scattered across the images were a few clouds and many very small indications of a darker color. At first Hobson’s looked to be a planet devoid of water, but Culp knew what those small, darker colors were. He chose the northern hemisphere and started slowly zooming in. As if by magic those darker colors began to turn into tiny snakes and eyes, the planet’s rivers and lakes. A lot of them.

He continued in, moving to maximum magnification. On the screen was clearly a lake. At about where three and ten would be on an Earth clock he noticed two streams, which small arrows indicated flowed out of the lake. He decided to follow one. On and on it went getting larger and larger. He checked the index. It traveled seven miles before it disappeared into a deep green area, a Hobsonian forest.

He pulled back and saw that the forest was not part of the mass of forest/jungle that covered thirty-percent of the planet that the native inhabitants had reverted to. Culp guessed that somehow the river disappeared below ground and fanned out, and it was this planet-wide expanse of underground water that made for the reputed fertility of the land. He zoomed in and followed the river back toward the lake. Checking the index carefully, he judged that three to four miles on each side of the river was faintly tinged with green and a different shade of brown. Grass and trees and flowers, he knew from his infodisc, which supported the insects, which supported the fowl, which in some fashion or other was going to support him. He’d dealt with a lot of insects during his political life on Earth, but usually the six-foot-tall, two-legged kind. Exchanging them for the little buzzers was something he was looking forward to.

Culp gave the same examination to the southern hemisphere of the planet and found it similar. Hobson’s was an amazingly uniform planet. Hobson City was the faintest of dots at the base of Lake Willert, which was easiest of all landmarks to pick out. It also was the source of two rivers at approximately five and seven on the clock. Even at maximum magnification, though, the city remained only a mysterious dot on the map and in his future.

Once again a knock on his door interrupted his viewing. He answered and found Josh outside.

Is it a bad time? the boy asked.

Not at all. Come in. Culp closed the door and indicated the gray, plastic chair he’d been sitting in. He pulled the room’s other chair over next to it, both facing the viewscreen.

I’ve been studying our future home. Culp pointed to the viewscreen.

Oh.

Culp turned to the boy. Just, ‘oh?’

You didn’t tell anybody about... I mean... anything I said? About my saying I was going to stay on Hobson’s?

Culp shook his head. The boy wanted to talk. He would help him.

Can I ask you something? Culp began.

Josh looked at him.

If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll understand, said Culp. But I’ve been trying to figure out just why you’re aboard this ship. I don’t think sixteen-year-olds generally travel alone to Hobson’s Planet.

Josh turned away, then looked back. The technologist, Spencer?

Yes?

He’s my uncle. I had to go live with him after my father died. My last name’s Spencer.

He’s your dad’s brother?

Josh nodded.

So he brought me along. He’s not married, and there was no place to leave me, so he said I could earn my keep on the trip.

Couldn’t he have helped you and your father get to Hobson’s? I mean if things were so bad with you.

Josh gave a wan smile and rubbed his first two fingers and thumb together, the gesture he’d laughed at on his first visit to Culp.

The company doesn’t give charity, and we didn’t even have enough credits for food. Sorry I didn’t tell you everything right off.

Culp waved off the apology, feeling again that snake of anger crawl up his back. Not at Josh but at the conditions he’d left on Earth. Don’t worry about it.

So, I’m not going back to Earth. I’m going to stay on Hobson’s. Earth is crazy.

Culp smiled. That’s one way of putting it.

I’m not telling my uncle. I’m just doing it.

Josh looked at him for approval, but Culp merely nodded noncommittally.

But how will you get by?

Josh rubbed his fingers together again and said, How will you?

Culp nodded. "Touché."

They sat silently for a time staring at the southern hemisphere of Hobson’s, where they would land at the foot of Lake Willert. Finally, Josh said, You said you had three discs. What’d you bring?

Culp was thinking of Josh’s daring and had to pull himself back to the conversation. Yeah, I brought McPherson’s Symphonies. You know him?

I’ve heard of him.

Good stuff. Just a little bit before I was born, but I’ve come to appreciate them. Maybe not all seventeen, but most of them.

What else?

Some books.

Josh’s eyes widened. Paper?

"No, no. Discbooks. Anthony Trollope. I doubt you’ve ever heard of him."

Josh shook his head no.

Nineteenth century. I got a cheap disc with twelve of his books on it. All long and wonderful.

Josh nodded again. And?

Movies. Peter Conlan’s. He’s a director.

I know him. He’s now. He’s funny.

Culp chuckled. Yes, he’s still on Earth making people laugh.

You won’t tell anyone I’m staying behind, will you?

Culp shook his head, fazed a moment by the abrupt non sequitor. No.

I know it’s crazy, but...

No, it’s not crazy. I can assure you it’s no crazier that what has happened to me, and we’re both going to have to go through much the same thing. Being sixteen may give you a distinct advantage over me.

I’m going to hang around and do what I’m told during the two weeks they refuel the ion drive and load materials for food and stuff on board and then... gone! My uncle’ll have no time to look for me. He’ll have to leave with the ship.

Good plan.

Maybe we can kind of help each other at the start.

If it’s possible. But I’m going to try to find my family as soon as I get acclimated. They left Earth when I was imprisoned.

Josh turned to the hologram. Is that your daughter? The hologram showed Cindy laughing, her arms thrown back, yellow curls flying. A slight tilt of the viewer’s head made her head come forward and look straight out. A smile formed and she mouthed, Hi, Daddy.

She’s cute.

Culp nodded his thanks.

Another knock sounded on Culp’s door, and he was surprised to see Josh jump.

Josh whispered, I don’t know whether I’m supposed to be in here.

Culp nodded and opened the door saying, "And when you get to Central Control please tell them again that every bottle of juice I get through this thing tastes the same. Grape, orange, apple."

Yes, sir. I will. Anything else?

Culp shook his head no and Josh walked out. Lieutenant Belmar, a young, black officer who had given Culp his initial tour of the ship and explained his assignment, stepped aside for the boy. Belmar was dressed in the standard tan uniform of the crew, complete with the requisite finery commensurate with his title and position. Culp had enjoyed the training time with the man and spent much of it wishing his own voice were nearer the musicality of the lieutenant’s deep, rich, baritone. It certainly would have livened up the thousands of speeches he’d given in his life.

Lieutenant.

Was he bothering you? I don’t guess he’s been this close to a celebrity before. There was no sarcasm in Belmar’s voice. For these eight months, at least, Belmar had been civilized and polite to Culp.

No, I asked him to stop in. The juice.

I heard. I don’t want to take your time. But there’s a problem brewing, and I thought that you might be able to help.

So a lot of people once thought, Culp told himself.

Sit. Culp turned the chairs to face each other.

You’ve been studying the planet, I see.

"It doesn’t