Chapter Two

The People of the Stars

Tankar blinked and woke up to find himself staring at a brilliant white ceiling. Turning his head, he saw stark, unadorned white walls and a small metal table, all of which looked exactly like those found in an officers’ infirmary on board any of the Empire’s starcruisers. But he wasn’t on board a cruiser. The bed he lay on was softer than any he had ever known, and the thin blanket that covered him was too luxurious for a lieutenant in the Emperor’s Stellar Guard.

He found an alarm behind him on the head of the bed and rang it: the solid wall across from him slid open and a man of average height, with dark skin and curly black hair, entered the room.

“Oh, good. You’re awake. The Teknor will see you now.”

Brusquely the man pulled off the opulent cover without another word and pointed to a set of clothes resembling his own draped across the only chair in the room. Tankar got up, changed into the short tunic and harem pants, and joined the man waiting outside on a vast gangway that extended to the left and to the right as far as Tankar could see. He and his guide walked quickly for a long while. Tankar didn’t get tired, realizing that it was because the gravitational pull within the spaceship was far weaker than that on Earth. The two men slid down an anti-grav shaft, which impressed Tankar – a device like that on Earth could only be found in the Emperor’s palace.

They landed on a much wider moving walkway which allowed them to proceed even more swiftly and effortlessly. “Just how big is this spaceship?” Tankar asked.

“About five kilometers,” his guide said, slowing and turning to him.

Tankar stopped in his tracks, but the moving walkway kept moving him forward. Five kilometers? he thought. Impossible! How many millions of tons did it weigh? The largest imperial cruiser measured only four hundred meters. He calculated that he and his guide walked the first gangway for about 10 minutes and now the moving walkway was speeding them along faster in the same direction. Tankar silently thanked the powers of the Supreme Being that this monstrous vessel was controlled by humans.

They passed many other people along the way: some tall, others short; some blond, others dark-haired. All were well-built, young and healthy. The personal style of each individual varied widely from elegantly complex to starkly simple. Some wore very little, including one young woman who was dressed in nothing but a loincloth. Tankar stared quickly then looked away. In the Empire, only a slave would expose herself like that, and a lieutenant in the Emperor’s Stellar Guard would never ogle a slave.

Finally, after going across three walkways, the two men reached their destination, and Tankar crossed the threshold of an open door into an enormous room as his nameless guard vanished. Bitterly, Tankar remembered the tiny, cluttered space of his own command post aboard his destroyer. He surveyed the vast interior and saw that three of the walls were lined with shelves crammed with audio and bound books. On the fourth wall was a split screen displaying six panels. A large table carved from precious wood and covered in gilt sat in the center of the room. The floor was spread with rugs and furs. The Supreme Admiral’s post was a dump compared to this space, Tankar thought with a grimace.

A man no more than 40 years old sat across from Tankar, staring at him, elbows on the polished table. Tankar stared back. The man was very tall, at least as tall as himself, with brown crew-cut hair, thick eyebrows shadowing piercing black eyes, an aquiline nose and thin lips set in a bemused smile. His tan sleeveless tunic revealed powerful sunburned shoulders. Instinctively, Tankar stood at attention and saluted the man.

“At ease!” he barked. Tankar relaxed.

“So you’re an emissary from Earth.” The man spoke fluent interspatial. “Being in such a remote part of the galaxy, we haven’t seen one of you guys in a long time. You’re lucky, young man, that I tune in to planetary transmissions for the fun of it. I heard your SOS and alerted the people on watch who saw your rockets and retrieved you.”

Tankar watched as the man perused some papers on the desk in front of him and realized they were the contents of his portfolio that contained the sealed envelope with the directive to the 7th Fleet. A flash of anger crossed his face, followed by a blush of humiliation. His failure was now complete. Not only would the orders not reach their intended readers, but they’d likely fallen into enemy hands. Only a ritual public suicide could erase such a failure of duty. Unless….

The man rifled through the portfolio, pulled out an ID and read the information aloud: “Holroy, Tankar. Born May 12th in Empire year 1800 in Nyark, Earth. Rank: Lieutenant in the Stellar Guard. 3rd Destroy Corp.” The man looked up. “How old are you?”

“It’s easy to figure out….” Tankar began.

“Do you really think we count in imperial years? If I wanted to, I could check a history book, but if you expect me to know all of the planetary eras off the top of my head you have another think coming….” His face wrinkled in contempt.

“I’m 24,” Tankar answered.

“Twenty-four Earth years. You’re a very young man. What were you doing in space? Where did you come from and where were you going?”

“My starship was sabotaged. Hypertron convergence. I left from Earth, but I’m not allowed to state my destination.”

“War?”

“No. Rebellion.”

“And your mission was to deliver this message?”

The Teknor shoved the envelope toward Tankar. “Take it back. This doesn’t interest us. I haven’t looked at it. Planetary problems don’t concern us unless there’s a risk to us of hostilities.”

“Planetaries?” Tankar did not understand the term.

“Anyone who lives on a planet surface, human or not.”

“Don’t you live on a planet?”

“We are the people of the stars,” the Teknor explained. “Nomads. We trade with planetaries, sometimes we land on their worlds to hunt, to replenish supplies, or for fun. But space is our domain. We were all born here, or most of us in any event. But you’ll have plenty of time to discover all of this since you’ll be with us for a time – maybe even forever.”

“But my mission….”

“Forget about it,” the Teknor interrupted. “As I said, planetary matters don’t interest us. One day you may be allowed to set foot on a planet on which we land and stay there. Unlike most of my compatriots, I’m keen to know more about humanity. Call it sociological, cultural, or historical interest.” He paused to study Tankar further. “So tell me, what’s the current political situation in this sector? As a Tilsin Teknor it’s important for me to know.”

Tankar remained silent.

“You’re at war,” the Teknor continued, “and so long as we have nothing to fear from your forces, I have no desire to get caught up in any fighting. Speak freely. Whoever your enemies might be, we have nothing in common with them.”

Tankar hesitated.

The Teknor sighed. “If, out of some misguided loyalty, you don’t wish to answer our questions, we have ways to force your hand. Our means are not cruel or harmful. A few minutes under the psychoscope and we’ll find out everything we want to know.”

Tankar swallowed hard. Among the Stellar Guards rumors abounded of a political-police device that could read a man’s thoughts without his knowledge or permission. “So be it,” he relented. “You’re on the outskirts of the Empire. When I left, rebellion had spread throughout the Solar System and, aside from Alpha Centauri, we’ve had no news from outside planets.”

“You don’t have hyperspatial com devices?” the Teknor asked quickly. “Hmm, just as I suspected. A pity. So, it would seem Earth is the center of an empire, as it was in the past? How is it structured?”

“The Emperor is at the top,” Tankar explained, “followed by his prime minister, then the Great Council. The noble class, then the knights, merchants, technicians and, lastly, the commoners.”

“Hereditary nobility?”

“Is there any other kind?” Tankar asked with surprise.

“It’s better for the state when there are other kinds. Where did you rank within the system?”

“Knight class. Lieutenant in the Stellar Guard.”

“All right. Thank you.” The Teknor stood up. “Now I must attend to several highly pressing matters. In return for our saving you, I’m asking you to draft a report on the makeup of the Empire. Please include details on military infrastructure, and please be thorough.” After seeing the look on Tankar’s face, he continued, “This is not treasonous. Your empire isn’t threatening us, and, to be honest, we’re not that interested. Remember: whatever happens, we have ways of finding out what we need to know.”

“What will my status be on board?”

“The same as any other planetary who’s crossed our path. You may not go through any doors with a barred red circle, but, apart from that, you’re free to go where you will. We’ll provide you with lodging and sufficient funds for clothing and food. My advice? Get yourself as soon as possible to the university library and read Mokor’s History of Interstellar Civilization. Like most of our books, it’s in interspatial. This should help you adapt and avoid any faux pas.” With a final thin-lipped smile, the Teknor concluded, “Our society is far different from your own.”

“What should I call you?” Tankar asked.

“I am Tan Ekator, a Tilsin Teknor.”

“And if I refuse to comply?”

“As I said, we have our ways, which we only use as a last resort. We loathe the whole idea of intruding on a human conscience. Go to Compartment 63, 19th Street, Bridge 7 in Sector 1. Someone there will look after you. Goodbye, Holroy.”

Tankar reverted to military protocol and saluted the Teknor before turning on his heel. In a mirror he caught a reflection of the smiling Teknor. Mildly hurt that he appeared to be a source of amusement to the man in charge, Tankar left the room to find his guide waiting on the gangway.

“Follow me,” the man directed.

The next room was reassuring because it reminded Tankar of the supervisor’s office at the barracks. Twenty-odd men and one woman worked away behind low tables. Secretaries, he thought. Obviously a starship as big as this one would require volumes of administrative personnel.

One of the bureaucrats called him over. “Holroy, Tankar? Here’s your card with all the information you might need. You were an officer? We might be able to find a job for you. Meanwhile, you have no definitive position or responsibility. I remind you that you may not enter any compartment with a barred red circle on the door. The consequence for that action leads to one punishment: space!”

“Where can I find the university library?” Tankar asked.

The scribe looked at Tankar in a combination of amazement and dismay. “What are you planning to do there?” he demanded.

“Your commander advised me to read the history of this place.”

“Ummm, just a minute.” The scribe picked up a phone, spoke a few words, then listened to an answer that seemed to surprise and displease him. “Odd, that…this is the first time…hey, Killian! Find another card, a Model-A for this guy.”

“Model-A? For a planetary?”

“Tan Ekator’s order. I checked.”

A few minutes later, Tankar was handed a new pass. “Here’s your Model-A card and a map of the Tilsin,” the scribe explained. “The ban against entering doors with red barred circles remains in effect, but you may go anywhere else.” In an undertone he muttered, “A Model-A card for a planetary? What’s next?”

Tankar left the office and returned to the gangway, but his guide had disappeared. He was on his own, left to his own devices, so he took a seat on a bench and looked over his card and checked out the map. On one side, the writing was in a foreign language; on the other, the lettering was in interspatial. The document assigned him an apartment: Cell 189, 21st Street, Bridge 10, Sector 3, and a ‘nonmandatory’ cafeteria: Room 19, 17th Street, Bridge 8, Sector 3. He also was given funds amounting to 152 stellars per month, however much that might be, however much that might buy.

The map was intricate and complex, not surprising on a starship five kilometers in length! The vessel boasted 50 bridges divided into four sectors numbered one to four clockwise with one in front on the left. In some areas, there were places described as gardens or parks. In the areas between the bridges, there were concentric gangways, and, between them, a system of either radial or parallel streets that cut through the blocks.

Tankar pinpointed his location without much difficulty. He had memorized the numbers the Teknor had rattled off. He had no idea of the time, but he was famished, so, map in hand, he set off to find the cafeteria. He got lost almost immediately.

He used the anti-grav shaft but missed Bridge 8 and landed on Bridge 11 at an intersection. Annoyed with himself, he went upstairs, failed to get his bearings, and knew he really was lost. All the doors around him were closed, and he saw no passersby until, finally, he saw a young woman, a tall and slender brunette with dark skin. Tankar approached her.

“Excuse me. Can you tell me where to go? I’m lost.” He spoke in interspatial.

She gave him a strange look. “Are you a planetary?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I was picked up a short time ago.”

“Where do you need to go?”

“To the cafeteria I was assigned, if it’s open for service.”

“Service?” the young woman asked in surprise. “You mean, on your planet you can only eat at specific times?”

“Indeed,” Tankar replied. When he saw her furrow her brow, he added, “They aren’t absolutes. There’s some wiggle room, at least for civilians.”

“I see.” Clearly, she did not. “Do you have money?”

“My card tells me my stipend is 152 stellars per month. Is that a lot? How long are your months?”

“It seems nobody’s told you anything,” the young woman sighed. “A planetary! Well, one month corresponds to 30 days of 24 hours duration. 152 stellars is a respectable sum, about what I get. So you have a Model-A card?”

“Yes.”

“Strange for a planetary. Usually, you only get a B-card and 92 stellars.” The young woman looked Tankar up and down. “You’re one lucky fellow. First order of business: go to the bank and get your money. Do you know anything about our currency?” She did not wait for a response. “No, of course not. A stellar represents 10 planars and those are 10 satellars each. A meal usually costs 30 satellars to about one stellar.”

“And where will I find a bank?” Tankar asked.

“Hall 5, along this street. Come with me.”

In the bank, Tankar could tell that the tellers were taken aback by his Model-A card, but at least they did not comment. A few moments later, he was on the street with a wallet full of strange bills. He followed the young woman, who led him to a large dining room with almost no diners. “Here you go,” she announced.

Tankar reached out to take her arm. “Please stay!”

“Why would I do that?” she asked.

“I have so many things to ask you. Would you please join me for lunch?”

The young woman stepped away with a look of revulsion on her face. “Kindness has its limits!” Pride wounded, Tankar watched in silence as she walked away.