Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

to you, their position after—and if—you’ve gained Federation admission.”

      “Why should anything change? What the hell difference does it make?”

      Couldn’t she take a step without mashing his toes in some manner? She regretted it. But it was her job. “Mechanization. industrialization, technology, all these invariably and drastically change a planet. And the Federation is concerned with intelligent life—for we have yet to discover another space-faring race.”

      “The Webbines are not space-faring. They should not enter into the question,” the King said adamantly.

      Was the King trying to hide something? “We’ll see when we get to that point. Your Majesty.” Appease ’em, avoid confrontations. Cost her nothing. Just do her job. She was trained as a xenobiologist, and thus chosen for this mission. Fortunately for her, the others in that department at Federation Central were not available for the time span of this mission, and the task fell to her almost by default. Yet...that sounded almost too easy. Was she a political pawn? A sacrifice? Suppose she denied Bear Ridge admission to the Federation? Fine, the Council would back her up, no sweat. But if she said yes to TJ Shepherd, and that was not what the Council really wanted, couldn’t they simply overrule her, point out her inexperience and youth? Was that how her appointment to this important mission had occurred? And she had been so confident that circumstances and her outstanding job performance had provided her this opportunity.

      As a xenobiologist, she’d jumped at the chance. In fact, she was itching to meet one of the mysterious inhabitants of Bear Ridge, to study one, to communicate with one.

      “I hope you aren’t going to want to visit them?” the King asked in counterpoint to her thoughts.

      “Yes.”

      “Impossible.”

      “Why?”

      “Seldom are they seen. No one can speak to them if they are seen. They’re just there, mysterious and unaffected, going about their business, whatever that is.”

      Now she knew he was hiding something. “Nevertheless, I shall attempt it.”

      “Lady, your ship is gone. Did you perchance observe this continent from above on the way down?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Then you saw the two great ridges splitting the continent?”

      “Teddy Bear Ridge and Big Bear Ridge? Yes, I saw them.”

      “Well, you can’t get there from here. Unless you still have access to a ship.”

      “No, I don’t.”

      “That settles that. You see, they stay on the far side of the two ridges and we’re stuck over here. Hell, a damn monkeybird couldn’t climb Teddy Bear Ridge and live, much less the bigger one after that, Big Bear Ridge itself.”

      Everyone in the room looked at the King and the jester snorted.

      He shrugged. “Well, it is done, but perhaps only once in a generation.”

      “By whom?” Sharon demanded, thinking she was the recipient of the old “dazzle ’em with fancy footwork and baffle ’em with bullshit” routine. Animosity rose in her voice and reflected in her posture. Damn, she couldn’t help it.

      “You’re talking to him,” said Thomas Jefferson (Shepherd) Rex, “and sure as hell, I’m not going to do it again.”

      Sharon regarded TJ. Her initial briefing had been scattered, some hard intelligence, some good background, but with notable holes in the “PERSONAL INFO” seg. Why hadn’t she known this fact about the King? A data clerk filtering items which seemed unbelievable or myth? What else was missing? TJ Shepherd had surmounted the two ridges and crossed the bottomless chasm between? Impossible...yet no one here had taken issue with his claim. The shuttle pilot had shown her the ridges from above. Both ridges circled the globe from pole to pole, even emerging higher than the ocean surface in places, and neatly divided this continent in half. At the time she’d thought the ridges and the immense canyon between them so forbidding that not even a professional hillary from the Planet of Mountains could surmount either. The shuttle pilot had told her: “You could shave yourself on some of that lava.” Still not satisfied, she asked, “The ocean?”

      “Sure,” the King responded, grinning. “If somehow you could make your way almost to the pole, then fight a continuing blizzard in stormy seas and then cross the Cut. The Cut is where two oceans meet. From stories handed down, it is not a Sunday school picnic. That’s to the north. Legend has it that the south is the same; however, no one has been that way to confirm it in generations. Otherwise, to get over the ridges, you need your airship. Or else climb them,” he added, a slight challenge in his voice.

      No thanks, she thought. “We’ll see,” she said.

      Again, he seemed to read her mind. “Should you desire to try—as many others have—I’ll point the right way, and then you simply follow the bones until they run out. Then you’re on your own.”

      Sharon tried to suppress a shiver, but knew what he had said so bluntly was true. The man was just stating fact, solid fact, and had no real need to drag the old male-dominance business out. No, he was definitely protecting or hiding something.

      The Queen said, “Thomas, I think we should get on with this.”

      “That we shall. In fact, I’m canceling the rest of this meeting.” He looked a challenge at Sharon but she held her expression in check. “Miz Gold can brief each department chief separately when she interviews them,” he continued. “And, Miz Gold, all the ministers and department chiefs have been instructed to cooperate fully and provide any information you request. Nothing is to be withheld.” He reinforced this statement with a royal glare around the room.

      Sure, TJ, thought Sharon. I might be young but I ain’t dumb. As he continued instructing his ministers, Sharon couldn’t help but wonder about him. Were the rumors about the King’s affairs—liaisons?—true? If so, it didn’t jibe with his background nor the social and Roman Catholic background of the planet. Bear Ridge had been settled, mostly, by dissatisfied United Statesers, French Canadians, Amerind, Mexish, and Mexind. If there were any discontinuity in the society of Bear Ridge, it was her job to ferret it out for investigation. Many planets had changed during the Rollback. Like most of the rest, Bear Ridge, not being self-supporting at the time, was stuck on its own. Machinery wore out and humanity reverted to basics. An old story. And Bear Ridge had had a more difficult time reclimbing the ladder of human advancement: the weather on the planet was unfathomable. Only in certain areas, such as the alluvial valley around Crimson Sapphire, could the weather be counted on. And then, at times, it was disastrous. Sharon was amazed by the progress of humanity on the planet of Bear Ridge.

      The King was still talking, giving her a short history of the planet. Why? His ministers already knew it and her briefing was at least well prepared in that area. He was now talking about the recent separation of Church and state and Sharon detected a sour grimace from the Chief Padre. But it reminded her of the changes TJ Shepherd had made since he had united the planet with his governance. He’d changed the face of the monarchy. Oh, it was still a one-man rule, dependent on his whims; yet it appeared to be more streamlined, more efficient, and most important, breaking free of rule by petty nobility.

      “...after the Consolidation Wars, we divided the planet into provinces run by governors, or Ethnarchs. This leaves the governing to professionals and the nobles go about their business as farmers, industrialists, land owners, whatever.” And, Sharon knew, it was a well-policed planet. This King had an answer for every problem: the dreaded taxman. She remembered well the fate of the ecological group this morning. The Revenue Service Extension consisted of quiet, businesslike men and women who enforced the King’s laws and directives, not by force, but by fear. It saved a lot of money on standing armies, though there was one of the latter. The King was beginning to speak to the individual functions of each department, and he’d passed right by the Revenue Service (once known as Ancillary Revenue Service Extension, she recalled, until the King had