Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

the mountains and chilling ridges to those strange peoples whom I read about in these pages. Odds are against any returning. But the eldest. Thomas, shows promise. Stonewall Jackson has a slim chance. But the youngest, Theodore Roosevelt, though the most agile of the three, is not sufficiently cunning, I fear, to complete the Trek. What will I do should none live through it? Am I up to handling the crown? But my money is on Thomas. The rogue. Many young ladies about Crimson Sapphire will miss his presence, even though he was most of the time with the troops and fighting. Even as a child, he was a fighter. Tossed off pneumonia and other illness. Frankly, he was a hardheaded little rascal whom I called Rowdy. The other two? Fine sons, aye, that they were. (Were? A mother knows.) I sent them off with nary a tear. They took my heart with them; for you see, I knew I’d never see them again. Is this a job for a mother? To bear sons to die? But go they did, for the kingdom my husband was trying to save, and for our heritage. I had no choice. The more I write, the more confident I become that Thomas shall return. I shall have one son left to me. (Should The Good Lord be Willing and Give Blessings.) Thomas is a natural leader of men and an expert swordsman. Expert with almost any weapon. Though he does not seem to be growing into a philosopher-king like the other Shepherds, he is worth reckoning. Our land needs men, leaders and fighters and builders like Thomas. It can do without a philosopher-king for a generation or two.

      I find I ramble. There are matters of the realm to attend to.

      Respectfully signed and submitted,

      Felicia Shepherd, Queen Regent.

      Addendum: The men from the stars have arrived. Thank God they landed on our countryside, and not that of some others. Oh, I do so wish Thomas would return from the Trek. FS.

      Mike knew that after his father had finished the Trek, he had conquered the planet of Bear Ridge. That simple—ignoring the twenty or so years it took. Possibly the richest entry was not here in the log: that of Thomas Jefferson Shepherd. He was irritated and relieved at the same time. Relieved so that he would not have to read how tough things had been for his father and thus have to empathize some with the old bastard. And irritated because he wanted to know what the King had gone through. How did his father complete the Trek? Did he go only to the top of the first ridge? Or did he continue and cross the gorge and climb the second ridge and reach the home of those mysterious inhabitants? Mike felt somehow cheated.

      “Michale?”

      Visions of ridges, volcanic remains, monstrous jigsaws of ruined terrain, snarves, ice, burning gas, bleeding fingers, dead Trekkers, and mysterious inhabitants faded. He looked up sharply. “Mother. Hello.”

      Gwen had come into the sitting room. “Your grandmother’s entries always fascinate me,” she said, “more from what she doesn’t write in them than what she logs.”

      “After all, she is a Shepherd,” Michale said and immediately regretted his caustic tongue. He saw that his mother understood. “Where is father’s book? His pages?”

      Gwen shrugged. “He is still working on them.”

      “Naaah,” Mike stretched the sound out. “It’s been many years, mother. And one as fond of administrative matters as he is would not fail to accomplish so sacred a duty.”

      “Michale, sometimes I think you are part volv the way your tongue flickers and hisses.”

      “Mmm sorree,” he mimicked himself when he was a child.

      She smiled at the memory. “I’ll tell you about the Trek—what little I know.”

      He looked questioningly at her.

      “Yes, he does not confide totally in me.”

      Mike snorted.

      She ignored. “Your father was the first one, the first Trekmaster—they were called Trekkers while doing it—to reach the Webbines’ Home Ground. Except perhaps the first Bearpaw, and nobody will likely ever know what happened to him. TJ actually spent some time there at their Home Ground, communicating, talking, or whatever they do. He doesn’t feel right in putting his thoughts about the episode and all the data he learned on paper yet.”

      “God, wouldn’t Sharon Gold just rape him for that information...oops, sorry, mother but you know what I mean.” He felt a compulsion to cross the ridges himself and meet with the mysterious inhabitants, the Webbines. But he wasn’t ready to make the Trek. “Perhaps it is a foolish custom, mother. Grown men dying for the sake of a throne? A throne which may be much diminished in importance soon should we gain entry into the Federation.”

      Her voice took on a strained tone. “The Federation will leave us alone. Planetary matters are internal, and there will be no interference. At least that’s the way I understand it. Sharon Gold said that’s why they still use the archaic term ‘Federation.’ “

      “And if Sharon Gold doesn’t recommend us for the Council seat, then what?”

      “It is all academic then,” she answered.

      “Mother, I don’t think I like the idea of a high percentage chance of dying in order to become King.”

      “I’ve told you,” she almost shouted at him, “the Trek is custom. It will be honored.”

      Mike saw the strained look on her face and understood for the first time. She didn’t want him to go on the Trek either. But she had no choice. She was more bound than he was by custom and tradition.

      She slumped to a stool and her shoulders dropped. “What do you want me to say?” she demanded.

      Michale’s resentment grew. He could not stop himself. “So, one day, TJ Shepherd is going to turn me loose with a bunch of his illegitimate children he calls ‘kinglets’ to make some insane trek and probably get killed?” Instantly, he wished he could have said it differently. He knew he’d hurt her. “Mother.” He shook his head. “That wasn’t fair of me. Forgive me, formally, mother. I didn’t intend to hurt you. It was foolish of me to say.” The subject was an unspoken taboo. Mike knew his father would do anything to insure the continuity of the Shepherd rule and prevent the re-emergence of the nobility as a ruling class.

      “Don’t you see he had to do it?”

      “No,” Mike said flatly, still understanding only partly. But he knew it was one of the many crosses she had to carry. After his own birth, she had been unable to have other children. A price she had to pay. One taken from her heart every time her husband fathered another child to insure Shepherd succession to the throne of Crimson Sapphire. A self-sacrificing concept TJ had come up with. Or so he said. Mike knew these things instinctively, and felt closer to his mother than a few minutes before when he was faulting her for his father’s shortcomings. At least, he thought ruefully, the crusty old bastard hadn’t dumped her like he could have. Could TJ really love her? She must love him, for why else would she put up with him, and his foibles? His profanity, his “official” affairs, his boorishness. Mike felt a pang of jealousy. Always had he fought for his mother’s affections. Always had both he and his father put her in the middle of their fighting, their arguing, always relying on her and her wisdom to arbitrate, to keep them together as a family—to maintain the uneasy peace.

      “A time of trial, nothing will remain the same.”

      “What, mother?”

      “This Federation business. We’ve enough problems as it is.”

      “Have you told father what you think about it?”

      “What I think is unimportant. Except about you.”

      “I know,” he grinned suddenly. “What I need to do is find some nice young girl and settle down, right?”

      Gwen smiled and nodded—too enthusiastically, Mike thought, but that was understandable.

      10. THE GIRL

      Rebecca Sing patted her burro on the rump and urged it forward. The beefaloe herd parted at her entry and she began singing, singing to soothe the unruly beasts. She pulled the lutar off her back and began caressing the strings. She liked the six-stringed