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Retiring Ambassador Gibbons looked out over the graduating class of 3043 at the League of Seeded World’s Space Academy. He ran a hand through his thin, gray hair.
In his monotonous, slightly nasal voice, he began, “If you are planning a trip to Bengar, don’t. If you are fortunate enough to be assigned to Bengar, there are a few things that will help you. They produce great wine.” He paused. Laughter rippled throughout the room.
“It’s a third-tier planet in a distant quadrant of League space, far from Earth and League headquarters. Its only importance is that it is near the fringe of League territory and would provide an excellent base to monitor far space. So every year, Bengar is invited to join the League, and the answer is always the same: no. That won’t change.
“To understand the people, you must understand their World War that happened two hundred years ago. To say it was bad is an understatement. The Empire and a couple of the southern kingdoms fought against the rest of the planet. Bombs, invading armies, and chemical warfare almost annihilated them all. The planet was devastated before they came to their senses. Peace was finally settled by enacting the Writ of Neutrality. In the simplest terms, they agreed to leave each other alone. By that time, barrenness and genetic abnormalities were catastrophic, not to mention that a quarter of the population sustained some kind of physical injuries during the war.
“From necessity, major medical and technological advancements followed. They developed one of the top medical treatment programs in the galaxy for trauma, reconstructive surgery, and in gynecology and fertility issues. We used some of their ideas to develop the technology to transport frozen embryo across space and propagate Earth flora and fauna on other planets.
“Despite these advancements it’s a hard place to be poor, even in the Imperial City. Work crews pay little, provide no benefits to workers, and access to education and medical treatment is limited.”
Gibbons droned on, oblivious to the apparent boredom of his audience. At the back of the auditorium, Cadet Benjamin Houston jumped slightly at a sharp jab from his roommate’s elbow.
“For God’s sake, Houston, wake up.”
“Why, who the hell gets sent to Bengar?” Houston leaned forward and stretched his muscular, six-foot frame. “I’m a soldier, not a diplomat. I’m going Fleet.”