“We do?” Centauri’s look of innocence was wondrous to behold. “I don’t see any problem.” While he spoke he carefully avoided meeting Alex’s eyes.
“Did it ever occur to you,” Grig said quietly, “that it’s against the law to recruit from worlds outside the League? Not to mention doing that recruiting on immature worlds whose inhabitants haven’t even learned to stop fighting among their own species?”
“But those are just the kind of backward, jerkwater planets where . . .” Alex’s expression darkened further and Centa uri coughed and tried to cover himself. “The kind of unspoiled, uncorrupted civilizations where individual abilities required for Starfighter modes are to be found. D’you think I should’ve gone hunting for potential recruits on a world like Biss’andra, where everybody’s either a painter or a poet? It’s going to take more than clever couplets to rid us of the Ko-Dan’s menace.”
“That’s no excuse. The fact remains that this isn’t Earth’s fight.”
“It ought to be. They’re real close to being offered membership in the League. And isn’t Earth in danger too? Or do you think the Ko-Dan will stop with taking control of the League? They’re unsatisfied conquerors. Once they’ve taken control of the League they’ll start moving out into the unorganized systems like Quarlia and Sol.”
“I am not qualified to analyze Ko-Dan politics and motives,” Grig responded.
“You bet you’re not,” Centauri shot back, going on the offensive. “And to answer your question, no, I didn’t use the Excalibur test this time. Swords have gone out of fashion on Earth. The new testing mode involves entertainment displays called videogames.
“I don’t understand all the fuss.” He nodded toward Alex. “Say what you want about my motives or methods, but there’s no denying one thing they work. Because this one has the gift.”
He put-his arm around Alex while the subject of his sudden affection eyed him warily.
“It doesn’t matter whether he does or not,” said Grig.
Centauri frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“This may come as a shock to you, Centauri, but he doesn’t choose to be a Starfighter.”
It was a line of thought Centauri clearly was not prepared for. His shock as he removed his arm from Alex’s shoulder was clear.
“Doesn’t ‘choose’ to be . . . but he has the gift!”
“Maybe he has the gift, but he doesn’t have the inclination. It’s still a matter of free choice. No one can be forced to serve as a Starfighter,” Grig reminded him.
Centauri sputtered a reply. “Naturally, of course. But to have the talent and not want to use it . . . it doesn’t fit any of the psychological profiles!”
“Remember what you yourself said about these Earthfolk.”
“I know, but this is so far outside my experience that I …” He turned on Alex. “What’s wrong with you, son? Are you a coward? Are you crazy? Don’t you have any idea of the seriousness of the situation we face and of the singular tribute that’s being paid to you?”
“You know what you can do with your singular tribute!” Alex discovered that he was shouting. Maybe Centauri was right. Maybe he was crazy. He was also mad. “You didn’t tell me about any of this! You said I was going to receive an ‘honor.’ I thought you meant a prize for making high score on the game. I thought you meant a real prize, like money or something. You never said a thing about my being chosen or selected or singled out or whatever you want to call it to fight in some crazy interstellar war.”
Grig’s tone had turned solemn. “So you didn’t even tell him what this was all about before bringing him in here and attaching him officially to League forces. Irregular, highly irregular.”
“I was late!” Centauri looked from navigator to officer, pleading his case. “There wasn’t time. You know how near the Ko-Dan fleet is rumored to be. Besides, I didn’t think it would matter. I thought he’d love it. I thought in that respect he was a normal human being. They love to fight! You should read some of their history. Exquisite aberrations!”
“Nonetheless, this one chooses not to serve,” Grig pointed out. “The final decision, of course, is not mine to make.” He turned to face the Rylan senior officer who’d been standing quietly nearby.
Now the officer stepped forward and stuck out a hand. “Return the payment, Centauri. Return the payment, I’ll see it’s sent back to disbursing, and we’ll consider not prosecuting.” He glanced over to Alex. “You have victimized the ignorant representative of an immature alien race.”
“Hey, now wait a minute . . . ,” Alex began, but he got no further. Centauri was giving a superb imitation of having a severe stroke, staggering backward and holding the side of his head with one hand while the other waved helpless in the air.
“Return the payment? You must be delirious! I understand, though. It’s the pressure of preparing for the forthcoming battle, of having to relearn ancient tactics. Must be a terrible strain.”
“Not as bad a strain as you’ll be under if you don’t make instant recompense for your misdeed.”
Centauri struggled to recover some of his fast-fading aplomb. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to invent those testing games, working undercover on a primitive world, hiding licensing arrangements through dummy corporations while trying to conceal advanced technology from curious native engineers? Do you know how hard it was to merchandise the result and get the games properly distributed? Only a distribution foul-up enabled me to stumble on this remarkably talented if dense young adult here. . . . Do you know what went into seeing to it that the machine’s advanced aspects were not tampered with? Not to mention getting them put in the arcades before Christmas?”
“Christmas?”
“A local holiday corresponding roughly to All-Ether Day on Rylos.”
“Yes, it must be terribly upsetting for you,” Grig put in, succumbing slightly to Centauri’s tale of struggle in spite of knowing better, “and I do sympathize. Yet it remains that you lied to this nice young man, and that he prefers not to pursue the path you have so deceptively chosen for him.”
“I told him he was to receive a special honor, and so he has,” Centauri pointed out. “So I was a little conservative with some of the details, so what? I saw him fight, using the simplified gunstar fire controls on the simulators I designed. All he needs is a good navigator/ operator like yourself to take him into combat. He can be the greatest Starfighter ever!”
“Centauri,” Alex protested, “that was just a game.”
“A game? Maybe you thought it was just a game, but it was a carefully thought-out, heavily researched test. A test which you took along with hundreds of representatives of other young, combative races. And the test worked exactly as it was designed to. It selected you, my boy, and here you are.”
“Right. Here I am, about to get killed.”
The Rylan officer shifted impatiently from one foot to the other and gestured with his extended hand. “Return the payment, Centauri. Or do I have to call Security?”
“No need to rush things. Why so insistent? This is a secured installation. Where could I run to?”
“You always manage to find someplace.”
Centauri chose to turn from the officer and ignore that. Instead, he tried to convince the crux of his current difficulties of the rightness of the course his good friend Centauri had chosen for him.
“Now why talk of being killed? You don’t seriously think being a Starfighter is dangerous? You’re being foolish, my boy. What could be dangerous?”
“Yeah, what,” Alex snapped. “It’s nothing, really. A simple little interstellar war involving a few billion combatants. What could be dangerous?”
“Exactly my point.” Centauri sounded pleased, managing to ignore Alex’s sarcasm with marvelous ease. “All you have to do is . . .”
There was a disturbance in the hangar. In minutes everyone was aware of its presence among them. Hands put tools aside while armed troops scurried to battle stations in case the chance presented itself for them to shoot at more than an uncomfortable feeling.
The light began to change, darkening at first near the center of the largest open area, then brightening as a flat white glow built into a solid globe of illumination. The light intensified, solidifying.
Alex whispered to Grig. “What is it?”
“Image projection. Somehow the Ko-Dan have learned the location of our command center.”
Alex thought a moment. “The traitors Enduran mentioned. It has to be.”
“Yes, the traitors.”
“Are there many of them?”
“No, but there are enough to make a difference, and they are led by one whose philosophy, while abhorrent to all civilized peoples, possesses a certain malignant attractiveness. They are not to be underestimated, nor is their leader.”
“Xur.” Alex stared fascinated at the rotating sphere of dense light and remembered details of the videogame.