Kentauran date: Auriga 20, 76

Drinking beer in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, Earth.  Due to political realities, the United States of America was off limits to most off-worlders, and Kentaurans specifically.  A conservative backlash had swept across the entire nation, and it was an uncomfortable place for those of the wrong political persuasion.  I traveled over four light years to see the country of my birth, and Canada was as close as I could get.  We were in a month the Terrans call October, approaching some harvest holiday they call Halloween, and I was in a pub called The Bull and Mouth, located just off the spaceport, surrounded by several mates, enjoying a dark porter beer, loudly talking about not much at all.

A tall woman with black hair walked in alone, and stood in the doorway, obviously looking for somebody.  She sported the uniform of the Kentauran Space Defense and the pip and a half of an Leǔtenanto Sub-Ranga.  It was, coincidentally, the same uniform and rank that I wore.  She intrigued me.  I hoped she was looking for us, but she looked in our direction then away again. She took off her jacket and walked to the bar. 

Two men who looked like civilians came through the door a few minutes later.  They also looked around, as if expecting to see somebody they knew, then headed towards the bar, gravitating towards the dark haired ensign who came in earlier.

My curiosity got the best of me, and I excused myself from the table.  I thought perhaps I could invite the woman to join us.  I made my way to the bar and stood a couple feet away from the woman.  She ordered a drink.

"How old are you?" the bartender asked.

"Eighteen," the woman said, not really thinking what she was saying.  The bartender paused, looking at her face and the uniform. 

"She's twenty-four earth standard years," I offered.  "She's eighteen Kentauran years old."  The woman turned and looked at me, then back to the bartender.

"That's right. I wasn't thinking.  Twenty-four."

"May I see some ID?" the bartender asked. The woman pulled out her military ID.  I tried to read it, but the angle was wrong.  "Thank you, ma'am," the bartender said and poured her a draught.

The two men who followed the woman in started in conversation.  "So, you're from Kentaurus?"  Couldn't they think of a better opening line?

"Yes, from Clarksville. So, you're natives?"

They conversed lightly and inanely for a few minutes while I got a refill on my porter.  One of the men asked the woman if she had ever been in a space battle.

"What most civilians don't realize about space battles is that the distances involved are so great, and the differential velocities so high that the combatants spend a lot of time waiting, and then it's over in a microsecond," she lectured. "Space battles are 99% mind numbing boredom and 1% pure, unadulterated panic in hell."

She was quoting from the best cited sources on the theory of space battle, not from experience.  I had read the same citations.  Blessedly, there has been little testing of this theory.

"Outsystem space is first line of defense," she continued.  "Insystem, particularly low planetary orbit and atmospheric, is the critical line of defense.  Nobody ever held a planetary system without holding the planets.  That's where the resources are."

The young men actually looked interested.  Whether this was in response to the topic or her exotic good looks was yet to be determined.

"Robots fight outsystem battles.  Insystem battles are so intense and unpredictable that the combatants have to make it up as they go along. Robots are not adaptable enough."

I knew several pieces of information about her from this.  First, she was an Academy graduate.  Second, she'd never seen a space battle. Third, she probably wasn't from Clarksville proper, but from one of the well-to-do estates surrounding it.  Her parents had money and influence.  She spoke with the accent of the upper crust society.  She probably spoke Cherokee from birth.

"The most vital weapon in any space fighter is delta-V," I interjected.  "Without it, you are out of options and out of life."

All three of them looked at me.  I could see annoyance in the eyes of the young men.  They were interested in the dark haired woman, not me.  The woman gave me a smile.  "I'm sorry, we haven't met." She extended her hand. "Ravenhair Enrika."

Aha!  An Enrika.  The name was known to anybody who is familiar with Kentauran history.  The name told me that I was socially outranked. "MoonShadow McDonnell," I replied meekly, shaking her hand.  Undaunted by the putdown, I continued for her benefit only, "Estas pluraj da ni ĉe tablo en la malantaǔo. Ni havas interkonan kunventon.  Ĉu plaĉus vin kuniĝi nin?"

"Thanks, but I'm waiting for somebody," she said in English.

There was no mistaking that I had been dismissed, and the two young men took this as their cue to continue their shameless flirting.  I took my beer back to the table and my friends.  When we left a couple hours later, I could see Leǔtenanto Enrika playing darts with one of the young men.