The Last Starfighter by Alan Dean Foster

“Still, one ship . . .”

The deadly needle of disturbed air appeared in the air above the knobbed end of Xur’s scepter. “None must escape. None! None will escape. It is not a matter of concern, but our victory must be total, absolute. There must not be a suggestion of resistance left for the people to rally around!”

Kril turned to Detection and Surveillance. “Suspect escaping craft recently cleared destroyed Rylan base. Examine all potential flight tracks at atmospheric point of departure and initiate a search of the surrounding spatial vicinities.”

“Yes, Commander,” replied the Scanner in charge. “What are we to do if we locate evidence of passage?”

“Track it,” Xur snapped. “If it goes to supralight, take an energy reading and approximate place of re-emergence into real space. Report to me.” He turned to Kril, smiling. “I will handle this in my own way. With your concurrence, of course.”

“Of course,” murmured Kril, smoothly maintaining the sham of Xur’s dominance. As for dealing with the possible escapee, that did not concern the Ko-Dan Commander. He was content to let Xur amuse himself with its disposition.

After all, as he’d already stated, what could one ship do against the armada?

7

It was dark at the crossroads. They had reentered the Earth’s atmosphere over the Southwestern United States after midnight, local time. They set down safely on an unused dirt road, rumbled out onto the highway heading toward the trailer park, and promptly broke down. Centauri’s hybrid vehicle had carried them halfway across the galaxy, only to fail a mile or so from Alex’s home.

Alex stood and watched as Centauri puttered around under the hood, wondering if the alien was fooling with a dummy internal combustion engine designed to fool curious mechanics. Either that or he was actually fixing a device capable of interstellar flight with the aid of a few hand tools. The old man’s spindly legs (was that flesh-colored makeup on those ankles a mate to the mask that covered the alien face?) and gartered socks were the only portions of him that were visible beneath the edge of the car.

Alex listened longingly to the crickets and frogs chirping in the nearby wash. He stared out into the familiar night, hands jammed deep in his pockets.

“Sure I can’t give you a hand?” He turned back to the stalled vehicle. The rear license plate said RYLOS; Centaurian humor at its most basic.

The old man spoke from beneath the car. “Ever done any work on a missealed sisendian toroid?”

“Uh, is that anything like a transmission?”

“Not really.”

“Then I’m afraid I wouldn’t be of much help.”

“I didn’t think so.” Centauri’s tone was rich with indifference. “You’ve done quite enough already, thank you. As for this blasted toroid, even your Einstein couldn’t figure it out. On the other hand, I can … ”

Something bright flared beneath the vehicle and the odor of ozone filled the air. A bright spark jumped from the car to the road sign across the intersection, melting it like candle wax.

“Yeah, I see that you’ve got everything under control. Suit yourself.” Alex turned to gaze down the highway. “It’s only a couple of miles from here. I’ll walk it. So long, Centauri. Nice knowing you.”

“Wait a minute, boy, wait!” The old man struggled out from beneath the vehicle, wiped sand from his false face and fumbled in a pocket until he produced what appeared to be a slimline digital watch. The time on the watch, a quarter to two, was correct. Centauri might be a liar and a conman, Alex mused, but he certainly was a finicky one.

“Here.” He held out the watch.

Alex shook his head. “Gee, I can’t take a present from you.”

Centauri shook his head, spoke sadly. “Humans . . . they’re so perceptive. He reduces me to poverty and thinks I’m giving him a present. What a world this is.”

“Then what is it?” Alex asked, a mite belligerently. “It looks like a watch. If that isn’t a gift I don’t know what it is.”

“If you’ll shut up a minute, I’ll tell you. It functions as a watch, sure, but that’s only concealment. It’s very subtle, this little toy. The real components aren’t in the body, they’re in the facing, the cover.”

Intrigued, Alex accepted the “watch,” inspected it closely. “It’s transparent. There’s nothing inside the crystal.”

“It’s your thoughts that are transparent, boy, which leads me to believe there’s nothing inside your head. What makes you think a simple little short-range communicator can’t be built out of transparent materials? Anyway, the crystal really isn’t transparent. It just bends light waves around it. So it looks transparent.”

He moved his fingers over the crystal, careful not to touch it.

“Then what’s it for?”

“I told you. It’s a short-range narrow-line communicator. One way only, simple signal generation. If you prefer, think of it as your second chance, my boy. Should you change your mind regarding the employment I so diligently secured for you, just tap the crystal in this brief sequence.” He demonstrated twice, until Alex nodded. “It will reach me so long as I remain suborbital.”

Alex started to hand it back. “Then keep it. I won’t be needing it.”

“Just think it over, my boy,” Centauri pleaded with him. “If nothing else, it is a perfectly serviceable watch. You don’t own a watch, do you?”

“Sure I do. It’s back in my room. Only . . . the batteries burnt out.”

“This one doesn’t need a battery. It runs off the electrical impulses running through the muscles in your wrist. It’ll keep running as long as you do.”

“All right, I’ll hold onto it, if you insist.” More than anything else Alex was tired of arguing. “But I’m not changing my mind.”

Centauri moved to the gaping gullwing on the driver’s side of t he car and put one foot inside. “You’re walking away from history. History! Did Chris Columbus say he wanted to stay home? No! And what if the Wright Brothers had thought only birds could fly? And did Geloca say that the Yulus were too ugly to save?”

“Who’s Geloca?”

“Never mind. That’s not the point. The point is that history is made up of critical decisions executed by extraordinary beings at just the right moment.”

“Listen, Centauri, I’m not any of those guys. I’m not a Hannibal or Akbar. I’m not extraordinary. I’m just a kid who lives in a trailer park and wants to go away to college. I’m not special.”

“You are special, my boy. You were tested, tested rigorously, and you passed. With, as you say, flying colors, though I fail to see anything aerodynamic about color. I do so love your quaint human expressions. My boy, you are extraordinary.”

“Bull. I know how to make a quarter last, that’s all. I’m just your average kid.”

“And if that’s all you think you are, then that’s all you’ll ever be!” Centauri snapped angrily, unable to contain his frustration any longer.

He slid behind the controls and revved the false engine. The mock V-8 sputtered, came to life above the noise of the real engine. Centauri quickly dampened the sound. Then he turned the car around and headed back out onto the highway, muttering to himself loudly enough to be heard above the engine’s whine.

Alex watched him slip away into the night, unable to push the old man’s last words from his mind. Oh, he was clever, Centauri was! Appeal to Alex’s vanity and ego when all else fails. His final words had been delivered with as much careful calculation as the first. All that talk about “honors.” Just a chance to get himself killed in a fight that had nothing to do with him or his world. Hadn’t Grig as much as said the same?

He wondered what Grig was doing now. A somber type, so different from the ebullient Centauri. Alex wondered if all Grig’s people were like that, precise and dry and courteous to a fault, or if it was just characteristic of Grig himself.

He’d never know, never have the chance to find out. Not now. A chance to explore the whole galaxy and he’d turned it down.

No, that wasn’t fair. Maybe he wouldn’t have, if he could have gone exploring without being shot at. Asking him to participate in a war so far removed from his own experience, his own concerns, was downright unfair. And no matter what the game claimed, he wasn’t the militaristic type. He’d never even considered joining ROTC at the high school.

Could Earth remain apart from the fighting? So many worlds involved. From what he’d learned during his brief visit to Rylos most of the civilized galaxy was in danger of being overrun by the Ko-Dan. There’d been talk of admitting Earth to the League some day. After its inhabitants had matured.

Was he acting maturely in refusing Centauri’s offer? Or was he behaving in a manner Grig and the Rylans and the rest would regard as adolescent? As no better than “human”?

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