Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

knock came to the closed door. Instantly, Camp drained his glass, tossed it under the couch, plucked three rubber balls from his pocket, scurried to a corner, crouched, and began to juggle.

      TJ picked up a quill and said, “Enter.”

      General Manuel Vero, commandant of the Gyrenes, came in and saluted. “Sire, the prisoner has been interrogated.” He stood stiffly at attention, almost muscle bound. His accoutrements glittered, his sword swung loosely at his side. The only decoration he wore was the insignia of the Muster.

      “At ease, Manny. Nobody here but us chickens,” said the King.

      Camp rose and retrieved his glass from under the couch. “Want one, Manny?”

      “No thanks, Camp. I’m on duty.” To the King, he said, “My resignation. Sire. At your convenience.”

      “Your men cannot be everywhere within the crowd. Nor,” TJ held up his hand to stop Vero’s protest, “can we strip search everyone who attends an open court session. What did you find out?”

      “The blade was poisoned, Sire.”

      “And?”

      “The assassin said he was hired at night by someone in thick robes using an obviously disguised voice. Also, the man had no real future: he was free on bail awaiting a hearing for murder. Conviction was certain. So he traded his life for enough money to support his family for many years.”

      “Could be a plot.” observed Camp.

      “On your way out, Manny,” TJ said, “tell the herald to find out what idiot judge allowed bail for a murder suspect, have him fire her, and the usual—slap her in prison for five years and award her property and possessions to the victim relief fund of whatever ethnarchy that is. I’ll sign the papers when he has them prepared—which will be immediately. What happened to the prisoner?”

      Vero shrugged. “There was only one quick way to determine if the dagger actually had poison on it.”

      “Good. That is all.”

      After the general had left, TJ said, “If I’m now a target, how about my possible successor? How is the Prince’s training coming along?”

      “TJ, I’m tired and my diplomacy is gone. Want it straight?”

      “Yes,” the King said, already knowing the answer.

      “Academics, fine. He will never be a quality swordsman of our class. But he does have an eye. A bowman he might make. Part of the reason he can’t refine his swordsmanship may be his balance. His toes have grown that skin between them again. Do either your or Gwen’s families have a history of attached toes?” TJ shook his head. Summer shrugged. “Strange. Maybe we can have your surgeon cut the skin one more time.” TJ looked sour and Summer shrugged again, obviously not wanting to pursue that line of thought. He continued, “Yet I do not know whether Michale will kill or not, for that is the final test. I’ll tell you right now, he doesn’t have the thirst for blood that some have.” He glanced at TJ.

      “Some of us do have that problem, do we not?”

      Camp grinned. “At any rate, he hasn’t had to come up the hard way.”

      “I couldn’t very well make a slave of him, Summer. My mother and Gwen had a great deal to do with his upbringing. Too much.”

      “You could spend more time with him, TJ.”

      “He’d rather compose poetry and read and study than attend me at my duties. I cannot let him ignore his education.”

      “Hell, boss. I would rather read and study than attend you, but I don’t. And there are more ways to receive an education than from instructors and books.” Summer paused. “And Mike will have to make the Trek one of these days.”

      TJ bowed his head. “I know,” he whispered.

      “If he’s not prepared and killing tough, the Trek will kill him.” Summer said.

      “Yes.”

      “Unless he chooses to challenge the system and not take the Trek.” Summer’s voice was soft.

      TJ whipped his head up, shaking off the possible shame. “No!” he shouted, slamming his fist onto the desk and scattering papers. “He shall take the Trek when it is time. He would not shame the family.”

      TJ knew Summer had accomplished his purpose: he’d gotten the King’s attention focused onto the matter.

      Damn, TJ thought. What happened to the child I raised so carefully? The child who almost died before life was realized? The child whom I nursed in the broadest sense, sending the governesses and maids off when Gwen was still ill and colic and sickness raged within him? The child who used to lie in his wrap and smile up at my beard? The child whom I treated with a proper amount of discipline as he grew, binding him to Gwen first and myself second; but more importantly, instilling in him the welfare of the kingdom, the welfare of Bear Ridge. Whatever happened to that child? Where did he go wrong? Or was it just me who went wrong? Had not other influences warped his character? Aye, did I not raise him to be a warrior prince? What happened to the bond to me? Certainly, he thinks for himself and does not have to echo me.

      But. But why is he the way he is?

      5: A:ALPHA

      Face up, they lay staring through perfectly round eyes; occasionally, membranes flicked. Two body lengths of ocean flowed above them. A human-introduced dolphin swam leisurely past and A:alpha caressed her gently. O:chacka smiled and spoke to the dolphin. They exchanged thoughts and good wishes and the dolphin lazily spun away. A pup tagged along behind her, echoing her every movement.

      A:alpha’s fin-foot flipped randomly to keep him abreast of O:chacka as they encountered far off-shore currents.

      /Would it please you if I roiled the surface with a T’storm? The practice would aid me,/ said A:alpha.

      /No. Sunlight filtered is fine for the moment,/ replied O:chacka.

      They communicated as they had with the dolphin: an inborn ability to interpret sounds, movements, body position, aura waves, and intent—a conglomeration of all the senses, save taste underwater. Scent was important both in the water and out. On land, long distance communication was accomplished by a complex series of auras and whistles.

      /Dolphins please me,/ said A:alpha.

      /’Tis a fact, young one, ’tis a fact. A noble human experiment to bring such here. Yet there is regret within me that dolphins are not as we, for they are primarily carnivores./

      /Some are changing.../, replied A:alpha.

      /Affirm. But ’tis a long process. Yet, time we possess. Though: is it proper?/

      /It is not natural to them, no, I think,/ said A:alpha. /However, it is not natural for them to reside in these oceans, alien to them./

      /Well thought, my young friend,/ O:chacka said. /Twas the humans who introduced them here. From that point natural forces had their ways. Who knows what shall come of it all?/

      /I do not understand these humans,/ A:alpha said.

      /’Tis not simple, that is granted,/ replied O:chacka. /As you are a revered young one, ’tis my duty to aid in your instructions, your inhalation of life and knowledge; yet at times, there come things and situations not easily grasped. I still study the matter myself./

      A:alpha snatched a string of kelp and sucked it in through his intake organ. /That humans are here—does this fact not presuppose a technology or lifestyle that should grow, much as our growth has been along different paths?/

      /Affirm./

      /Then why is it not so?/ asked A:alpha. /Especially considering their life-basis is similar to ours, else this planet would not support them./

      /Thinkers attribute it,/ said O:chacka slowly as if considering a deep philosophical question, /to some inborn racial trait. The human species is a