Kentauran Date: Grus 19, 93

It's been quite a week in the Principality of Krønberg.

Upon returning from a diplomatic visit to the planet Kverkvojo, settled by a group of disenfranchised Druids who claim to be on the verge of discovering the ancient secrets of cold fusion, I learned during the morning briefing that my Deputy Chief of Staff was caught cavorting with a call girl at a popular downtown pub in Clarksville, the capital of Kentaurus.  Combined with a statement made by the Director of Communications during a press conference that was taken completely out of context, the Office has received numerous angry communications from Fundamentalist Christian groups who claim that Princino Mariah is running a corrupt and immoral government, and are demanding reforms which would set our society back to the 21st Century.  There is also the reaction from the Kentauran government to deal with.

Also learned that we are just three votes shy in Parliament for passing a critical law restricting the sale of high energy plasma weapons.  These tend to be a favorite weapon of terrorists in several systems, and some feel that restricting the sale would hamper their efforts.  Others argue that the terrorists can get weapons from anywhere, so why punish law abiding citizens?  Another argument is that nobody needs high energy plasma weapons for hunting wildlife.  An extreme faction wants to outlaw them completely, but the Office feels that doing so would remove any ability we have for regulating them.  

There is also a growing sentiment among Krønbergers that we should change the name of our nation.  Although Princino Moriah, the great-granddaughter of Mr. Krønberg, the founder of our nation, will never hear of it, the argument that Krønberg is an awkward and inappropriate name is gaining sway.
----
These Druids have been on "the verge" of discovering the ancient secrets of cold fusion for a century. We aren't holding our breath.

The issue of the Deputy Chief of Staff cavorting with a call girl is a sticky wicket, indeed. There are no laws in either Krønberg or Kentaurus against prostitution. It is a highly regulated and heavily taxed profession. However, there are the unspoken and unwritten laws of propriety to take into account. On the other hand, the Freedom of Association Clause of the Krønberg Constitution is highly valued and hotly protected. Do we have one set of rules for the citizenry, and another for the Reĝa Cabinet Office? And just because prostitution is legal doesn't mean that it's okay to commit adultery.

=================
Kentauran date: Grus 27, 93.

The Krønberger interstellar transport, the Vosta Vento (the Tailwind), filled with business people and tourists from several planets was destroyed by L'Dereau,  a militant faction of the Hassurah.  The Joint Chiefs have advised "a proportional retaliation" by bombing military-industrial targets on an outlying moon, and this Office concurred.  Princino Mariah, however, took this as a personal attack, and demanded retaliation against population centers which would surely result in the deaths of thousands, including civilians.  We spent three days talking Princino Mariah out of this line of action, explaining how it could easily lead to an all out war, and possibly shift interstellar sympathy to the Hassurah.

In a sting operation, Federal Investigators caught two members of Parliament, (Krønbergers call them DP's for Dramatis Personae.  The DP's have often lobbied for some other phrase, but I maintain that if I have to put up with Supercilious Plenipotentiary, they can damn well deal with Dramatis Personae) selling their influence.  Firearms manufacturers face bribery charges.

A Kentauran Christian group known as Fokusigi Sur la Familio (English: Family Focus), continues to demand the resignation of Okul-Lupo (English: Eyes of the Wolf), the Deputy Chief of Staff who was caught with his pants down in a popular pub in Clarksville.  Okul-Lupo has issued a public apology, with his wife standing firmly at his side.  "I have sinned in my heart," Sinjoro Lupo was quoted as saying.  His wife, StelaKorvo (English: Star Raven) sported a five carat diamond on her hand during the press conference.

----
Error: I previously mis-identified Princino Mariah as the granddaughter of Herr Krønberg.  She is actually the great-granddaughter.  Mea Kulpa. (English: My bad.) Mariah's mother, Reĝino Sofia is the granddaughter, and Reĝino Blanche, mother to Sophia, is the daughter of Herr Krønberg.
=================
Grus 35, 93

The crew of the Kronberga Stelŝipo Sonĝo de Fotono (English: Krønberger Starship Photon's Dream) reported an encounter with a warship crewed by dwarves and registered to a rogue country in the south of Briton.  An ambassadorial delegation has been requested.

There has been much ado in the virtual halls of Parliament regarding the disposition of Admiralo Akciptiro Neĝa (English: Admiral Snow Hawk).  A little history in in order here:

A few years ago, we allied with several major powers, including Earth, Kentaurus, and the Druids on Kverkvojo (English: "The Way of the Oak") in a war against the Supermen.  These Supermen claimed to be generically superior to normal human stock, and engaged in a nasty war of aggression, conquering about a half dozen worlds before the alliance put a stop to that nonsense.  It was during this war that Admiralo Neĝa gained stars on his epaulettes and his reputation as a war hero.  His exploits in battle captured the admiration and imagination of the citizenry on three worlds.  He accepted the surrender of the Supermen and signed the armistice on behave of the Alliance.  

Against the advice of wiser heads, (I didn't have the job of Supercilious Plenipotentiary yet.)  Admiralo Neĝa was put in charge of the efforts to help rebuild the devastated Superman world.  He virtually dictated their new constitution.  While this was a good thing in that it gave citizenship to women and minorities, it is generally agreed that constitutions should be consented to by more than one person.

Admiralo Neĝo's ego has been getting the better of his judgment lately.  He has publicly criticized both the Reĝa Princino and this Oficejo for our foreign policies regarding the Supermen.  It is the opinion of this Oficejo and of Parliament that it is not the job of military leaders to dictate foreign policy.  But how do we terminate his commission without creating massive public ill-will?  He is still an immensely popular war hero.  Princino Mariah is worried that if he is not put in his place soon, he may set his sights on her throne.  My inclination is to fire Neĝa and let the mud fly.

A special interest group called Kavaliroj de Ĉarlimajn (English: Knights of Charlemagne) has joined the group Fokusigi Sur la Familio in demanding Deputy Chief Lupo's head on a platter.  The Kavaliroj de Ĉarlimajn and Fokusigi Sur la Familio are very similar, except that the Familio group, being composed mostly of academicians and civic leaders, can be reasonable if one treats them with a little deference.  The Kavaliroj, composed mostly of blue collar types, believe that everyone and everybody should be Christian, and advocate legislation enforcing that belief.  Some people have made historical parallels between the Kavaliroj and the KKK of an earlier century.

Further, the Kavaliroj have gone as far as to claim that there are dozens (or hundreds or a few or ... they can't seem to make up their minds) Hassurah spies in both the Kentauran and Krønberger governments.

Do you remember the event that I wrote about last month about how I was briefly reunited during the Balo de la Princino with an old lover who turned out to be Ambasadoro Enrika?  The tabloids have taken this and run with the rumor that our affair is still hot.  They whisper of collusion and conflict of interest. Do I waste my breath denying these rumors? Or ignore them and take the chance that my silence will give credence to the whispers? It goes without saying that the Opposition Party is making a great deal of political hay out of this.

Click here for a recount for the Balo de la Princino
=================
Komunikado el Karnyort:
We can confirm that the Carnyorth starship CSS Hardy made this contact whilst on shakedown trials late on Monday. Hardy has returned to Earth to pick up an official delegation and an experienced crew. It will depart shortly.
We take this opportunity to say how much we are looking forward to establishing full diplomatic relations and look forward to continuing the exchange of cultural knowledge.
Occasionally vhf radio signals from Kentaurus have been seen coming in over the top of a well know DIY/shopping channel during periods of unusual sunspot activity! So we are doubly eager to experience first hand this intriging civilisation!
=================
Kentauran date: Phoenix 1, 93
    MoonShadow is multi-tasking.  She is eating breakfast of fruit, toast and coffee, reading official Oficejo briefs and memos on her laptop, scratching her pet snark behind her ears, and notes an historical reference of how the 20th Century entertainer, Cat Stevens, later Yusuf Islam, neé Stephen Georgiou, was denied entry into the United States of America on National Security grounds.
    "Damo," the voice of the cyborg bodyguard/butler/secretary interrupts her reading. "Sinjorino Bella Nokto from the diplomatic Office approaches your outer door.  Shall I admit her?"
    "Jes, bonvole," MoonShadow pushes her work away, gently removes the snark from her lap, and stands, adjusting her clothes and making sure there aren't any toast crumbs on her.  Bella Nokto is admitted.
    "Damo MoonShadow, thank you for letting me see you so early in the morning!"
    "Damo Nokto, no problem at all.  To what do I owe the pleasure of our meeting?"
    "Do you remember the briefing of two days ago, wherein the Oficejo was advised of a dwarven starship encountered by the KSS Sonĝo de Fotono?"
    "Jes! Absolutely.  A previously unknown race, though obviously a sub-genome of humans.  I believe the captain reported that they spoke with British accents and spelt the English word "civilization" with an S.  Very exciting!"
    "Exactly.  We invited them to send a diplomatic envoy, and they are en-route, even as we speak."
    "Tre bona. What is their ETA?"
    "We are uncertain, since we are unaware of their FTL technology.  Soon, though."
    MoonShadow considers this information.  How does one prepare for a state visit without an ETA?  "Post a picket at the far outer reaches of our system in a line from Sol.  Have them report as soon as they detect the inbound dwarven ship."
    "Jes, Damo."
    "Jakobo," she addresses the cyborg. "Get catering on the line.  Have them research what it is that dwarves like to eat.  Perhaps Tolkien would be a good resource."
    "Jes, Damo."
    MoonShadow returns her attention to Bella Nokto. "Now, what else is there?"
    "Ĉu Damo?"
    "You could have sent a communique about the dwarven ship.  You came here personally because you had something else to say."
    Nokto looks embarrassed, but manages a grin.  "That's why you're the SP, ĉu ne? Jes." She takes a deep breath and says, " I thought you should know that the tabloids are breaking the news this morning about an unnamed informant who claims to be an aide to Ambasadoro Enrika, who says that the two of you have slept together repeatedly since the Balo de la Princino Ball last year."
    "And that this has compromised our relations with both the Kentauranoj and the Vladnoŝianoj."  MoonShadow anticipates the headlines while closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.  "Fi! I should never have danced with her."
    Nokto grins more widely and starts to whistle a Broadway tune from a bygone era, I Could Have Danced All Night.
    "Okej, mi devas fari tromultan. Out with you and your damn songs."  MoonShadow almost turns away. "Kaj Damo Nokto..."
     "Jes?"
    "Tre dankon por la informo."
    "Ne dankinda." Nokto nods her head and takes her leave.
=================
El Karnyort:
Diary entry...

Sitting on my bunk listnening to Bob Dylans 'Visions of Joanna' the news comes in that I as head of the ambassadorial attache of the Carnyorth ruling committee am to be sent into space to serve as first emissary to the newly contacted People of kronberg. It is our understanding that this civili(s)ation is to be found in the nearby Alpha Centauri system, which is fortunate indeed because I am unacustomed to lengthy space
voyages.

We will be taking a new ship the Hardy, which has had only one short shakedown trial, so goodness only knows whats going to go wrong with it. We are fortunate indeed however to have the famous captain Krasis, who was himself the first Dwarf in space, to command the ship.. i have shared many a night in the Dolphin Tavern with Krasis and find him to be a remarkable, if overly (more than even is normal) self assured dwarf
...
We will be taking a range of gifts of items of cultural interest from Carnyorth as well as our permanent ambassador to Kronberg Albert Jones, son of our esteem foreign minister. He is a good lad, but is prone to occasional lapse in judgement, for example the incident with the cucumber at the Styrland embassy party last week that I will not repeat here for fear that one day these diarys may be published by accident....

The ship is due to leave tommorow afternoon, so i must finnish my preperations, Krasis informs me that at warp 6 the journey to Alpha Centauri will take 4 days.
=================
Kentauran Date: Phoenix 2, 93

Lunumbrulino walks into the briefing room of the Oficejo of the Supercilious Plenipotentiary of Krønberg located at the government compound in the Nesaru region of the Occoneechee mountains on the planet Kentaurus.  

"Komencu," she says.

The Direktisto de Ŝtataferoj took his cue.  "The most pressing order of business is the arrival of the Carnyorth starship from Earth.  We set up a reception on the orbital facility at Sedna.  This will reduce the scope of the security issues, and will remove the Kentauranoj from the loop."

"Why do we want the Kentauranoj out of the loop?" the Direktisto de Komunikado asks.

"Because the Karniortanoj is a previously unknown race from Earth." La Direktisto de Sekureco responds.  "These people don't even appear in any of our databases.  We don't know their intentions or their history.  Keep the variables to a minimum.  Once we know that the Karniortanoj can be trusted, we'll bring in more parties.  The last thing we want to do is start an interstellar incident, although you have to admit it would liven up the party."

"Daǔru," MoonShadow commands flatly.

"There will be several DP's there.  The final number hasn't been counted yet.  The Princino, however, will not be in attendance.  She is offworld, about twenty light years distant, between here and Goshtyán.  No way to get back in time.  The Reĝa Yacht is not a speed boat."

MoonShadow takes a deep breath and sighs to herself.  "Daǔru.  Ĉu Teroristoj?"

"We have set up the standard precautions against external attacks and internal threats."  The Security Director takes over.  "The ground based defenses on Sedna will be at full alert, and heavy gunships at the Lagrange points.  Sensors will monitor for toxic chemicals and known biologicals.  The Ceremonial Guards will be Reĝa Marines, and their weapons locked and loaded.  The food servers will all be from the Reĝa Secret Service."

MoonShadow nodds.  "Bona.  Sekvantu."

"There is the matter of Admiralo Neĝa," The Affairs Director says, and then indicates a man wearing the uniform of the Admiral of the Navy, Rufus DiMaggio, who continues.

"Admiralo Neĝa has been recalled, but he refuses to leave Krypton."

MoonShadow's eyebrow lifts. "Daǔru."

"We sent a carrier convoy.  Communications with fleet stationed at the Superman world have been terse of late.  We are concerned."

"I am more than concerned, Admiralo DiMaggio." MoonShadow startles everybody with her statement.  "I am downright worried.  What is going on there?"

"We hope it's a misunderstanding, but we are preparing for worse."

"Let me be blunt, Admiralo.  If Neĝa decides to be nasty about it, how much trouble can he be?"

"His best tactic would be to dig in at Krypton, limiting our available responses."

MoonShadow's irises narrow to pinpoints.  "And wage a war of public relations."

"Precize."

"Get me a communication link with Neĝa.  I don't care how it's accomplished.  I want that man off of the Reĝa payroll by sunset.  Is that understood?  And I want the name of his senior officers on my desk by the end of this meeting."

"Komprendata."

"Sekvantu."

"On a lighter note," The Affairs Director goes on, "Deputy Chief Lupo has been Born Again.  He was baptized in an oddly public ceremony last night at a cathedral in Clarksville.  Fokusigu Sur la Familio sponsored the event.  He appeared to be very repentant.  Contrite even."

One edge of MoonShadow's mouth curls into a worrisome expression.  "That could be the end of that debacle.  What do our operatives in Fokusigu have to say?"

"They believe that it's legitimate."

MoonShadow taps the eraser of a pencil on her note pad.  "Reactions from the Kavaliroj de Ĉarlimajn?"

"None yet."

"I want a statement from Lupo ASAP."

"Komprendata.

"Okej.  Sekvantu."

...

Later that day, MoonShadow is washing her hands in the Virina Necesejo when a polite chime sounds in her ear from the implant there.  It's a private communication from her cyborg.

"Pardonu, Damo. I have just received an encrypted and urgent communication from Ambasadoro Enrika.  Shall I relay it to you."

"Jes." MoonShadow's heart skips a beat, and she feels her palms get moist.

"My darling Luna," Enrika's well remembered voice fills MoonShadow's consciousness, using a pet name that only she ever used.  "I have received orders from the Kentauran Diplomatic Office that I am to attend some sort of First Contact event between Krønberg and some newly discovered nation from Earth.  I am well aware of the public relations snafu that our brief encounter at the Ball last year generated.  I thought you should be warned.  Regardless of the political fall out, I am overjoyed at the prospect of seeing you again."

The playback ends, and MoonShadow stares into the mirror, not really seeing anything.

==============
El Karnyort:

Finally the large hidden doors to docking port 8 slide open and the Hardy emerges from Castle mountain, a quick turn and it dissapears into the cloud cover.

'Delays, always it is delays' grunts Captain Krasis, tugging on his immense beard.
'We had to complete a very full roster of safety checks given the nature of our'... Lieutenant Ironforge the head engineer is cut short by Krasis
'Hmph'
'We have left the earth's atmosphere, sir firing impulse engines'
'1/2 impulse, head for the Martian waypoint, then set course for Alpha Centauri warp 6'.

The massive YoungWorld forum Space Station lumbers into and then out of view...
'Always an impressive sight' i thought to myself. 'We have the asteroid belt to negociate before we can safely go to FTL speed.... i hate the asteroid belt, it makes me feel space sick'.... sigh.

==============
Kentauran Date: Phoenix 3, 93.

"I thought you said that the Kentauranoj were out of the loop." MoonShadow demands of her Affairs Director as they walk together down a hall lined with officess filled with busy people.

"They were.  Up until a few days ago, they were more than happy to let us deal with the situation.  In fact, we found it difficult to convince them that another race from Earth would be important enough to make a fuss about.  Then suddenly we start getting messages demanding that we let a Kentauran representative attend the event."

"And I don't suppose it's just a coincidence that they are sending the one person in their entire government who could do the most damage to my administration in terms of PR at this moment."

"Ne, Damo. There are no coincidences in government."

"I need to know who's behind this request, and I need to know before reception."

"Jes, Damo."

As the Affairs Director turns to go, Deputy Chief Okul-Lupo approaches.  "We have a situation," he says.

"We always have a situation, Lupo.  And I need to talk to you about getting religion."

"And nothing would please me more than to talk to you it, Damo, but we have something more urgent."

MoonShadow suspects a diversionary tactic, but is willing to hear him out.  "Daǔru."

"We just received reports of a public health emergency on Goshtyán.  Some sort of bacterial meningitis that's resistant to our current antibiotics.   The planet is under quarantine. The disease may already have spread to as much as three percent of the population.  Local health services are overwhelmed.  Universal precautions are already in effect, but they don't even know how the contagion is spread.  This is serious."

MoonShadow considers the desperate plight of people stuck in an epidemic without enough resources, and then remembers. "Princino Mariah . . ."

". . . is on Goshtyán," Lupo nods.  "We probably could have gotten her off planet, but two of her crew became sick."

"Fi!" MoonShadow curses.  "Kaj la Princino?"

"Currently asymptomatic, but under close scrutiny by her physician.  And you know what a pleasant patient Mariah can be."

MoonShadow takes a deep breath and reminds herself of her responsibilities and political realities.  "I have to ask, Chief -- The source of the outbreak.  Could it be manufactured?"

"The human universe being what it is, we always suspect human intervention when a resistant epidemic hits the population.  And we just aren't sure.  But I will let you know as soon as we know."  Lupo's phone rings, and he holds up a finger.  "This might be it.  I'll take this call."  Lupo turns and places his hand to his ear.  "Parolu."

While Deputy Chief Lupo spoke to his contact, MoonShadow accepted a call on her phone.  "You asked me to contact you as soon as we had confirmation that the Karniortanoj had launched.  Contacts in the Terra-Luna system just confirmed their departure."

"Dankon." She said, then addressed the telephone's AI.  "Get me the Secretario de Puplika Sano Kaj Sekureco."

It took an inordinately long time to get a response from the Health and Safety Secretary to respond.  MoonShadow imagined assistants in the department going into panic mode upon seeing the SP's name on the caller ID.

"Bonan Matenon, Damo.  It's good to hear from you!" came the Secretary's falsely cheerful voice.

"Bull.  You're entire staff knows that I only call when there's a crisis.  What can you tell me about the situation on Goshtyán?  What are we doing about it?"

"We are working closely with the Goshtyán health officials in treating the affected citizens and tracking down the source of infection."

"The source of the infection?  So you do suspect human activity?"

"Ne necese.  Even with entirely natural epidemics, we always try to find patient zero.  But in this case, the physicians on site have not yet ruled out bio-terrorism."

"Kompenda.  I don't have to tell you to keep me informed."

"Ne, Damo.  You'll receive regular updates."

As MoonShadow terminates the call with the Secretary, Chief Lupo returns his attention to her.  "That was not an update on the Goshtyán, but it was other very urgent business.  With your permission, Damo?"

MoonShadow waves her hand in a shoo-ing motion and turns down the hall towards her own suite of officess.
==============
The CSS Hardy has arrived in the Alpha Centauri system, it is holding position and awaiting instructions and escorts...
==============
Kentauran Date: Phoenix 5, 93
Krønberg government compound, Occoneechee Mountains, Kentaurus
02:33 hours

MoonShadow's audio implant chimes politely, but it still wakes her out of a sound sleep.  She struggles with consciousness and finally finds it.

"Jes. Parolu."

"Damo MoonShadow, we have word that the Carnyorth ship is approaching the system.  They are currently sub-warp, and are decelerating at 10 gees.  We have radioed instructions for them to rendezvous at Sedna.  ETA, about 20 hours."

"Tre bona.  When's the next window for a launch to Senda?

"In about six hours."

"Alert the staff that we lift for Sedna in six hours."

"Komprena. Ses horoj, Damo."

MoonShadow throws the covers off and pulls herself out of bed.  Her pet snark complains at being disturbed.

"Kafon. Mi bezonas kafon," she tells her cyborg through the same audio hook-up.  She knows that by the time she gets out of the shower, the hot brown liquid will be waiting for her.  She also wishes that something more powerful than caffeine would be waiting for her.
 
Occoneechee Spaceport
08:12 hours

"Okej, that's it," MoonShadow tells the flight crew of the moon jumper. She sits in the observer's seat in the flight deck and locks the seatbelt.  "Everybody's on board and everything's strapped down."

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the passenger deck?" the pilot asks.

"Are you kidding?  Do you have any idea of the memories this brings to me?  If I had a type rating on this craft, we'd be trading places."

The pilot and copilot smile at each other.

Krønberger Sedna orbital facility
18:56 hours

MoonShadow has spent most of the transit time in communication with everybody associated with the Carnyorth greeting.  In spite of everything, there is still a government to run.  As she boards a shuttle which will carry her to the presidential suite, and aid hands her a pair of glasses.  

"Incoming message from the Reĝa Yacht on Goshtyán." he says.  "This was recorded about fifteen minutes ago."  MoonShadow dons the glasses and gives the KOMENCU command.  

The image of Princino Mariah fills MoonShadow's field of vision and starts to speak.  "MoonShadow, you nekapebla putino!  Get me off of this garbage heap of a planet before I have you arrested for treason!  Did you think I wouldn't find out the real reason for abondoning me here?  You'll never get the throne, you fiulino!"

The image goes dark and MoonShadow calmly removes the glasses and turns to her aide.  "Any progress on Goshtyán?"

"Ne, Damo. The entire planet is still  under quarantine.   Short of ignoring directorates from the WHO, there's no way to get the Princino off planet."

"And if we did manage to get her off planet, we could end up exposing the population of some other planet to the epidemic."

"Jes, Damo."

MoonShadow nods. "Komprendata.  What does the press know?"

"Only that the planet is under quarantine, and that the Princino is holding up bravely," the aide says with a smirk, and turns to leave.

"One more question," MoonShadow interrupts the aide's exit.

"The Ambasadoro Enrika?"

"Remind me to give you a raise."

"She's been here for two hours.  Locked herself in her quarters and refuses to communicate.  Her aide assures us that she'll be ready for the reception."

Reception Hall
Sedna Orbital Facility
22:30 hours.

"Gesinjoroj, it is my pleasure to present Captain Krasis of the Carnyorth Starship Hardy, Ambassador Albert Jones, and their associates."

All eyes turn towards the entrance to the reception hall.

=============
Captain krasis bows low and in his finest and deepest stately voice addresses his hosts. 'Our thanks to you for this magnificent and munificent reception, if i may present my crew and passengers to you'. My first officer, as you can see is a human, Commander Emily Treneer (Emily bows politely). My weapons and security officer lieftenant Gelon son of Gamon (bows extremely low). My communications officer sub lieftenant Pisander son of Lysander, my cheif engineer sub commander Grimwade son of Grimwade (bows with a regal and well bearded grunt) and my chief of the medical staff Dr Timoleon son of who knows!(who bows his head and shakes his hosts hands).
Krasis laughs heartily, 'my good friend the doctor as you will see is more *progressive* than most of us humble dwarves. Finally may i present our ambassador Albert jones (bows) and our vip passenger an Archon* of the ruling committee no less'!
'damo, saluto de la popolo Karniortanoj, mia espiri long.... um,... longa de^e....um....dam! I knew I should have paid more attention in language classes at school! Anyway! It is a great pleasure to be here mam, our cordial thanks for this invitation, i trust our arrival finds you well?'

As guests and hosts alike walk towards the awaiting festivities...
'I cant apologise enough for my apalling Kentauran, I tried to learn some en route, but language skills were never my strong suit!'...

*Archon, is the Dwarven title for a councellor. More will be revealed shortly as to the nature of contemporary Carnyorth politics. Presently an Archon is one of the 12 members of the Carnyorth ruling committee (formally the Neighbourhood Watch committee). The membership is entirely human, the dwarven populace being under the various subjection of 5 kings in 5 subterranean kingdoms.

=============
"Ne gravas, Archon," MoonShadow bows and smiles with warm assurance. "Your language efforts are appreciated and noted.  I was born in California and am a native speaker of American English.  You'll find that most people here speak one flavor of English or another."  

MoonShadow proceeds to introduce the men and women about them, all of whom either bow or shake hands, depending on who is introduced to whom.

MoonShadow's attention is briefly sidetracked by the sight of an elegantly tall middle-aged woman dressed traditionally in a white Cherokee Tear Dress.  

MoonShadow catches her breath and says, "May I also introduce the Kentaruan representative, Ambasadoro Ravenhair Enrika."

"Unalihelitseti, ulisgedv anisiyvwiha," Enrika bows as she greets the Carnyorth ensemble, then turns to MoonShadow. "And to you, gvlvquodi svnoyi ehi nvdo."

MoonShadow visibly blushes, and somebody is heard stiffling a chuckle in the background. Enrika continues.  "On behave of the Kentaruan Federation and planetary government, it is my pleasure to welcome the representatives of Carnyorth to our little corner of the universe.  May your visit be prosperous, and our association peaceful."  MoonShadow is amazed that Enrika manages to speak English with a London accent.  A true diplomat if ever there was one.  She wonders if Enrika spent the night practicing The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.

Enrika stands at one meter eighty-six, and MoonShadow wonders if the open mouths of the dwarves is a result of Enrika's beauty or an artifact of having to look up at her.

=============
Eased somewhat by the earnest smile of his host The Archon replies. 'ne gravas' that means not important right? Well you are most diplomatic Damo Moonshadow'. And I am fascinated to hear you are from Earth, I would love  to hear how it was that a Californian came to be Supercilious Plenipotentiary of Kronberg!'

'And ambassador Enrika, this is an honour an a pleasure, we are greatly pleased to make aquantance with you and hope that we may extend the hand of friendship to Kentaurus as well as Kronberg. You speak english like a native if I may say so, you're not from England are you?' the archon adds with a smile.

A trained diplomat his mind probed around him as he spoke, noting amoungst other things a palpable tension between the lady Moonshadow and the lady Enrika and also the way in which one or two of the Kentauran enterage payed a keen and occasionally poorly concealed interest in the two.

'Cadzooks, are those mushrooms!' captain Krasis exclaims as he beholds the feast awaiting them all'.
=============
Sedna Reception Hall
23:30 hours

The chefs have outdone themselves.  Most in attendance are amazed that 'shrooms can be prepared in such a variety of ways, and the dwarves describe 'shroom recipes to the amazement of those within earshot.

"You have an amazing beard, Captain Krasis," Enrika says.  "It reminds me of one sported by a Druid named . . ." she pauses.  "Oh dear. I'm afraid this one slips the mind.  Luna, what is the name of that Druid who claims to be the reincarnation of King Arthur?"

"Asterix," MoonShadow replies.  "And he is becoming quite the political centerpiece on Kverkvojo.  Seems he appeared in the streets one day, reported just returned from Avalon."

"That's it. Asterix." Enrika goes on.  "For the most part, Druid politics escape me, and my impression of Asterix is that he is somewhere between Josef Stalin and Huey Long.  And yes, he has impressive facial hair, though not quite in the same class as Captain Krasis or any of his male crew.  What kind of mushroom is this called again?"

For MoonShadow, the conversation is drowned out by an emergency chime in her audio implant.  "Emergency level 4," says an urgent male voice.  "Explosive device located on Level Two.  Repeart: Explosive device on Level Two.  Seal all environmental hatches. Code Red."

MoonShadow stops chewing and reaches for her glasses.  This action causes a look of consternation to cross Enrika's face.  MoonShadow smiles at Captain Krasis, Albert Jones, and the Archon. "If you'll excuse me for just a moment, gentle sirs, somebody is requesting my audience."  MoonShadow dons the glasses, puts a hand to her ear and opens a channel to Enrika.  "Stay here and keep everybody smiling and eating," she whispers.  "I will keep you informed as I learn what is going on."  Enrika gives a barely perceptible nod.

As soon as MoonShadow is out of earshot, she addresses the net computer.  "Security, show me the location of the explosive device."  Her view of the reception hall is overlaid by a schematic of the orbital facility, and a red dot over a room on Level Two.  "Security, assessment?"

"Seems to be a biological bomb," a nameless voice informs. "The squad is working on disarming it now."

The phrase biological bomb sends shivers down her spine and causes her to think of Goshtyån. "Suspects?"

"None yet.  But considering that this is the most closely guarded facility in Krønberger space right now, an inside jobs seems most likely."

She looks back at the table where her guests are still enjoying the fungal delights.  The Communications Director is saying, "Would you look at the press corp?  It would seem that your arrival, Ambassador Jones, has brought out journalists from every news outlet in the system.  There's even a reporter from the Duibhlinn Daily."

"Attention security," comes a new voice over the security channel.  "By now you have found the bomb on Level 2.  We made that one easy to find so that you would know that we're serious.  There are two more bombs located on the orbital facility.  They will explode unless our demands are met, and everybody on the facility will suffer the same fate as the barbarians on Goshtyån.  We are the voice of the L'Dereau."

Such a silence follows this announcement that MoonShadow is certain that she has lost contact with the net.  Then, "I guess we have a suspect now."

In her field of view MoonShadow saw a stylized question mark sent from Enrika.  MoonShadow composed a brief text message and sent it back.  "Three bio bombs.  L'Dereau."

"Shall we evacuate the facility?" someone asked over the net."

"Negative.  That would probably elicit a premature explosion of the devices," another voice said.

Perhaps it is just a coincidence that a reporter from the news corp choses that particular moment to approach MoonShadow and ask, "Damo, can you comment on the claims by the Kavaliroj de Ĉarlimajn that there are Hassurah spies in the employ of the Krønberger government?"

=============
Captain Krasis laughs heartily 'Well lady Enrika, you flatter all male dwarves with your words, our beards are indeed our most treasured possetions, in fact we have to have special doors on our starships to ensure they remain thusly so, but that is a story for another time. These mushrooms are beautifully prepared, our hosts have done their homework well to know that the mushroom is the national dish of the Dwarven kingdoms!'

Meanwhile ambassador Jones is locked in conversation with the communications director of Kronberg and is making a strenuous effort to avoid drinking some of the fine wines that are on display before him. His eyes flash to a rather fine looking crystal glass that sits before him, but he wills himself to wait till later, then have some fun, this is buisness!
'Indeed, we are all taken aback by the media interest in our trip, the Duibhlinn daily is the bestselling paper back in Carnyorth, beating even our local paper the Carnishman in circulation'..

A call comes in for Captain Krasis, his communicator issues a subtle bleep. 'If you will excuse me my good ladys and gentleman i have a message from my ship'. krasis s off a little, 'go ahead lieutenant'..
'Its probably nothing sir but we've picked up a substantial increase in encrypted comms chatter from the station over the last 5 minutes'

'Hmph, any idea what it says?' krasis growls
'negative sir, the encryption is too sophisticated for our computers, additionally the hull of the staion is composed of an uknown composite which makes it difficult for our sensors to penetrate'..
'Very well lieutenant, keep me informed of developments, its probably nothing, press control or something' krasis adds, mindful however that it was 5 minutes ago that the Damo Moonshadow left the table so far not to return.
'Hmph'.

===========
Sedna Reception Hall
23:50 hours

"Ni trovis ĝin," exclaims the voice of one of the security personnel.

"Klarigu," MoonShadow demands, somewhat tersely.

"The Sec Ops com unit from which the terrorist statement was recorded.  Somebody had to have access to the security channels, and every broadcast is encoded with the unit's serial number.  According to the logs, the unit was being used by Special Agent Swensen."

"And where is Special Agent Swensen?"

"Unfortunately, she's dead.  She didn't surrender her com unit peaceably, and I'm willing to bet that some of this blood isn't hers.  Forensics are on their way."

MoonShadow fights her impulses to exit the reception hall and run down to Level 2 to personally supervise the operation.  She closes her eyes and reminds herself to let her people do their jobs.  MoonShadow's job is to attend to her guests, and she forces herself to turn back to the dining area.  

"Where is Captain Krasis?" MoonShadow inquires.

"I think he went to the little dwarves' room," the Communications Director says and immediately regrets.  The entire table goes silent and everybody is looking at the Director. "Ah, that didn't come out like I meant it."

MoonShadow bites the inside of her cheek to avoid laughing out loud.  "I'm sure it didn't, Director."

"Ambassador Jones," Enrika interjects without missing a beat, "Where do you plan to set up your offices on Kentaurus?  Clarksville, aside from being the planetary capital, is also the center of culture for an entire continent.  The Krønberger compound in the Occoneechee Mountains is very pleasant if one prefers a rural environment far from the noise of the city."

MoonShadow knows a dig when she hears it, and sends a text message; "I didn't leave you.  You never called.  You never wrote."

"You became a Krønberger," comes the text reply in accusatory undertones.

"It's a job! They give me a paycheck and everything!"

"Yes, I'm sure the benefits are wonderful, too.  If you didn't turn your back on me, you turned it on Kentaurus."

"Mi Kentarano estas ankoraǔ."

"Ĉu vere? Kiel vi estas Kaliforniano ankoraǔ?"

The argument is interrupted by the security channel.  "Forensics confirms that some of this blood isn't Swensen's.  In fact, they believe that the attacker is probably bleeding to death even as we speak."

That won't do at all, MoonShadow thinks, but refrains from telling the Security people what they already know.

"We're following a blood trail now," confirms the Security guy.

"What about the sample of biologicals in the bomb?" MoonShadow asks.

"On it's way to the labs."

MoonShadow's attention returns to the table to find the diplomats deep in the process of convincing each other that open trade and exchange of information is vital to the other nation's very existence but of little importance to anybody else.

==========
Ambassador Jones puts on a steely face which immediately begins to tremble, twitch and warp in the corners of his mouth.. the effort becomes too much for him and after briefly choking on a mouthfull of wine he roars with laughter.... then chokes some more...
'gasp, little dwarves room, thats hilarious, gasp...' he mops his brow with a knapkin.

Krasis is standing behind him at this point and the ambassador senses that the gazes of the people opposite him at the table are now over his shoulder and he becomes suddenly tense, you know the kind of tense you get when you suspect that a massive bear has just reared up behind you and is preparing with murderous intent to use your head for a ping pong ball....

'Hmph' growled Krasis. 'Find that *ammusing* do you boy'?

'Er, well no, I mean that is to say, well, yes....' he trailed off and prepared himself for instant death.

Instant death did not come for Ambassador Jones, nor even a slow prolonged death or 'fairly short but definately longer and more painful than instant death could ever dream to be death.... instead the dwarf himself roared with laughter and whacked the young ambassador so hard on the back that he nearly swallowed his tongue.

Recovering perhaps 37 percent of his composure and stature, the ambassador answers the Lady Enrika's question, 'Regarding our embassy, we are uncertain as yet, but we are a simple country people, and the dwarves do love the mountains so these Occonneechee mountains sound perfect... With the agreement of all partys of course!'

If there was any implied dig at Krønberg from the Kentaurans the young Ambassador Jones did not notice it, but followed up with another glass of wine.
====
Kentauran Date: Phoenix 6, 93
Sedna Orbital Facilty, Kentauran System
00:15 hours

Though the man who assaulted, killed and stole a security communications unit from Special Agent Swensen did a pretty good job of avoiding leaving a blood trail that mere humans could detect, hound-bots pick up the scent immediately.  The man knows he is doomed and has only a little time to set the other two bombs. The original plan had called for setting the bombs and then sending the announcement, but he doubted he would live long enough to stick to the original plan. A tactical mistake, he realizes.  He should have planted the bombs before attacking Swensen.  His haste had caused him to err, but his dedication to the Cause drives him on-ward.  He would not die in vain.  All Krønbergers, the industrial puppets of Kentaurus, would pay for their crimes against God and Humanity, and especially against the Hassurah.

One last bomb to plant, and he could die with honor.

MoonShadow, sitting and smiling at the dining table in the Reception Hall, listens to reports from the security detail.  "The hound-bots are following the trail through the mechanical chase."

Hound-bots.  Mostly machine and part biological, they have the olfactory skills of a bloodhound and the agility of squirrels.  MoonShadow recalls that they also have the personality of a rock.

MoonShadow desperately wants to know how the terrorist obtained the codes to use a security comm unit and to gain access to the mechanical chase.  And she knows if she made that request to the security chief, she'd sound like she was micro-managing. Let your people do their jobs, she tells herself. They''ll get you the information.

"Archon," MoonShadow addresses the oddly quiet man who, like herself, was born in one country and became a secular leader of another.  "I must shamefully admit that I know little of your country.  We were unable to find much mention of it in our histories.  What does an Archon do?  What responsibilities to your people do you have?"

This is a test that MoonShadow is fond of giving visiting dignitaries.  Instead of talking about political position in terms of privilege and power, she talks about responsibility to the electorate. 

"Allow me to refill your wine glass," Ravenhair Enrika offers to Albert Jones.  "This is a wonderful cabernet from the south continent.  Krønberg is known throughout several systems for its beer, but Kentaurus prides itself on a wide selection of fine wines."

"Oh my god! What's wrong with him!" a shrill voice sounds from the other end of the table.  All eyes turn to see a red-spotched and swollen faced Deputy Chief Okul-Lupo gasping for breath.  A well meaning Secret Service Agent cum waiter attempts the Heimlich maneuver before another stops him.  "He isn't choking on food.  Get him to the infirmary.  Call emergency health services, and tell them we have a possible infection on the way."

Okul-Lupo is efficiently and expertly moved onto a stretcher that someone reflexively retrieved.  A medico is prepping her tools of the trade to perform a tracheostomy.

"Perhaps if we all sit back down, we can regain some control over the situation," MoonShadow suggests.  "Deputy Chief Lupo is being cared for by some of the finest people in our system.  I'm sure he'll be fine," MoonShadow hopes she isn't lying.

=====
The Archon has been talking with his neighbours, small talk mostly, letting the young ambassador do the hard work, as this will be his hour. He watches heartened at one moment as the ambassador reveals a natural talent for the work, deftly answering complex questions and dealing with pressure like a professional of many years. However, then he starts on the wine and is soon humiliating himself with Captain Krasis.

'Nevermind, at least people are laughing' thought the Archon.

He turns to hear the Damo Moonshadow who poses a tricky question about his office.

'Mmm this will be an interesting one', he thinks well aware that the Carnyorth political system is a mystery to most members of the government itself let alone otherworlders.

'The term archon is from the dwarven for counciller, and in our case means a member of the ruling human committee in Carnyorth, there are 12 of us at present. We maintain that the dwarves stole the name, and actually pretty much all of their names from the ancient greeks, but that is another matter! Originally when Carnyorth declared independance from its tyrannical overlords the British, we were governed by the local anti crime 'neighbourhood watch commitee', of which i was a member. We are still essentially the neighbourhood watch committee, and we are unpaid volunteers and any citizen can *in theory* become a member of the committee.

'Carnyorth is a nation rich in natural mineral wealth and the mines were expanded to build our new nation's economy and consequentially imigration to Carnyorth occurred on a substantial scale... perhaps spurred on by some rather misleading stories of a goldrush!. However as they dug deeper into the mountains they burst through into the previously unconfirmed dwarven cities underneath. I say *unconfirmed* as throughout the centuries the Cornish have whispered legends of the 'little folk' they encounter in their mines, and well, now we know!

'The dwarves themselves were and are still for all intents and purposes divided into 5 kingdoms, Himera, Laurium, Artemesium, Olynthus and Lydia. Each ruled by a king with clans and such like, krasis will be able to tell you more about that. Suffice to say when we made official contact with the dwarves they were at war with each other, in what we now call the 1000 years war. We mananged to help them negotiate an end to this war (a very very long story) and in return the dwarves have pledged their undying allegiance to the humans of Carnyorth.

'Essentially we have an as yet unwritten confederation, I suppose for want of a better term, and when I return from this meeting my responcibilty to the Carnyorth people will be to try and tie together our unorthodox committee based government with 5 dwarven kings and make it work for a population now recconned to be around 700 million, (dwarves outnumber humans 20 to 1) please wish me luck!

Meanwhile Ambassador Jones gratiously accepts the cabernet, amoungst his favourite 'tipples' and suddenly hits on the similarity between the names 'Kronberg' and 'Kronenberg' in the beer world, and asks whether this terran beer is in fact a liscened version of the famous Kronberg beers?

The dinner pleasantries are interupted by a very sick man stumbling into the room. Dr Timoleous gets up to help the man... Captain Krasis asks to speak to MoonShadow in private...

'Lady MoonShadow, is everything ok here, perhaps I am wrong but since you left the table a while ago to answer a message, things have become a little, well... tense???'

====
Kentauran Date: Phoenix 6, 93
Sedna Orbital Facilty, Kentauran System
00:30 hours

"Captain, we have a crisis," MoonShadow admits.  "In retrospect, we probably should have evacuated everybody off of the orbital facility, but if Deputy Chief Lupo is infected, it is too late.  It might become necessary to quarantine everybody here.

"My sincerest apologies for this incident, Captain.  But one or several L'Dereau terrorists have managed to plant biological bombs in the facility.  The biological agent is capable of dealing a horrible death to its victims by infecting the meninges of the central nervous system.  To put it less than politely, Captain, we may be Reĝaly screwed."
====
krasis raised an unfeasibly bushy eyebrow and was silent for a moment.

'I understand, if theres anything we and our ship can do. Our good Dr Timoleon will be eager to find out more about the pathogen, with your permission I would like to involve him in this conversation. Are all the devices accounted for yet?'
====
Interlude

Kentaurus date: Perseus 14, 70

I woke up in a foul mood this morning.  I am frustrated with trying to do a job with inadequate tools and parts, and trying desperately to make something of my life besides that which seems to be pre-ordained for me.   I rode my bike out to the airport, opened the hanger, and just stood there looking at the cropduster.  How is it that there are warpships flying between the stars, and my contribution to humanity is to keep this winged artifact flying?

Unfortunately, it isn’t flying.  There is a bearing in a bellcrank that operates the right flaperon that’s worn far beyond limits.  I told Nils Arvidson, the owner and pilot, that he had to either get the smithy to make one according to specs, or order one from Earth.  Ordering one from Earth is expensive, and contracting locals to reproduce it can be chancy.  The tooling often doesn’t exist.

“MoonShadow,” the familiar and particularly irksome voice of Michael Dushaine called to me. “Got a phone call from the university.  They want you to fix their recon ultralights again.”

I was, at least briefly, interested in life again.  The Universitato de Kentaurus ĉe Daltonville conducted a lot of geophysical and resource surveys over the planet, and had a fleet of six ultralight aircraft, but couldn’t get anybody to fix them.  The university actually did not have many students.  They existed on some grant from the Fundamento de Geologikaj Sciencoj, and everybody who worked there is a PhD or better.  They enjoyed flying their toys, but nobody wanted to repair them.  And they kept a large stock of spare parts.

“Facila mono,” I smiled at Michael.

There are rules for fixing airplanes.  An airplane isn’t a car.  If something breaks, the driver can’t just pull over to the nearest cloud.  That’s why the first rule of flying is, “Never fly higher than you’re willing to fall.”  This is especially true for ultralights.

I had to take two years of courses and on-the-job training.  And then they gave me a written test that took three hours to finish, and a practical exam that was actually pretty easy.  Then the government sent me a card saying that I was certified to fix airplanes and probably wouldn't kill anybody or break anything in the process.

But it isn’t a popular profession.  People on Kentaurus tend to be farmers.  And if they go into a technical trade, it’s usually computers, which pays more and technicians don’t even have to get their hands dirty.

But I like airplanes.  As a mechanic, I have no interest in fixing anything that doesn’t have wings.

And there are a large number of airplanes on Kentaurus, mostly due to lack of good roads and great distances between centers of civilization.  On Earth, they use very high tech, fly-by-wire, fusion powered flying things that rely on repulsars and momentum thrusters.  But on Kentaurus, we use wings and propellers and small reaction engines.  Often, we even use old internal combustion engines, as in the case of the crop duster.

The university kept their small fleet of ultralights at a disused farm about ten klicks from the airport, and only a klick and a half from campus.  I packed my road tools into a trailer designed to be pulled by a bicycle, strapped on a company communicator, and took off down the dusty road in the direction of the farmhouse airport.

I spent a happy five hours making minor repairs on the aircraft.  Mostly it was a matter of checking wear limits and making sure everything was still firmly attached.  Due to the fragile nature of ultralights, the university kept a wise policy of performing inspections on a very routine basis.

Only three of the aircraft were present.  The rest were out over the landscape somewhere.  After putting my tools away, I told Ean, the manager of the airfarm, that I had to take out #5 for a test flight.

Ean smiled, and considered protesting.  It was a matter of liability.  The university’s underwriter didn’t cover me as a pilot.  As the hesitation dragged into awkwardness, I insisted.  “Look, I’m not signing this aircraft for return to service unless I perform a test flight.”

“What could you have possibly done to that airplane that requires a test flight?” Ean asked.

“You’re kidding, right?” I said, hands akimbo.  “There isn’t anything I can’t do to it that affects its flight characteristics.”

Ean sighed.

“Look,” I continued. “It’s my name that goes into the maintenance log book.  It’s my arse that gets fried in case of an accident.  Do you know what’s so nice about being a pilot?”

“What?”

“It’s that your responsibility to the machine ends as soon as you tie it down and walk away from it.  When I turn a wrench on an aircraft and sign my name to the logbook, I’m married to that machine.  Something could go wrong ten years from now, and they’d still come to me asking questions.”

I could see him relenting.  He finally tossed me the keys.  “Have it back before sunset this time.”

Number Five was my favorite.  Three axis controls, a powerful prop engine and a ten-meter wingspan giving it a glide ratio to die for.  If I lost the engine at only 150 meters altitude, I could glide nearly 15 klicks before touching down.  And with a good thermal, I could stretch that near indefinitely.

I performed a thorough walkaround, climbed in and started the engine.  I listened to it carefully, then released the brakes and taxied to the short runway.

Setting the radio to Unicom, I announced, “Tango five Uniform Tango, commencing takeoff runway one-eight.”

At full throttle, the little airplane used only thirty meters of the 100-meter runway, and I could have used less if I was in a hurry.

But there were no hurry now.  I set the rate of climb to a steep angle and flew the runway heading until the farmhouse and the university were well behind me.

In a human settlement that relies heavily on winged transport, there are specific fly-ways that people use for traveling any real distances.  I wanted to avoid these, so I banked and headed for the shore, figuring to check out the barrier islands.  The wind and sun kissed my cheeks, and I was ecstatic.

Centauri A, our main sun, was just touching the watery horizon when I turned final approach.  Centauri B was still high in the sky, but I knew better than to quibble semantics about the term “sunset” on Kentaurus.

“This aircraft is returned to service with my full blessings,” I told Ean as I wrote in the maintenance log.

Ean had an odd look on his face.

“What?” I asked.

“There are a couple of people here to talk to you.”

I was suspecious.

“That’s the woman I told you about,” Ean said to someone out of sight.  I truly expected to see the sheriff or a deputy walk through the door.

Instead, it was a different uniform that came through the door.  A man and a woman, both dressed in the dull colors of the Kentauri SpacDefendo each with two broken silver stripes on their sleeves.

“Ms McDonnel?” the woman asked.

I gave Ean a look that said he’d pay for this dearly.  There was no point in denying who I was.  But why was the SpacDefendo out here?

“I go by the name MoonShadow now.  But yes?”

“I’m Chief Petty Officer Nancy McGreggor.  This is Chief Petty Officer Drew McMahan. “ She offered her hand.

“I know you,” I said, shaking their hands. “You were a couple of years ahead of me at the public school.”

“That’s right,” CPO McGreggor said. “Since this is my homeworld, they thought I would be good at finding new recruits here.”

“Huh?”

It suddenly made sense.  Nancy McGreggor was a recruiter.  According to the news articles, the SpacDefendo was having trouble finding recruits and the Tutmonda Asembleo was trying to find ways to avoid instituting a draft.

“I’m curious,” CPO McMahan said. “Is James Smith McDonnell an ancestor of yours?”

McMahan’s question refocused my attention. “I don’t know,” I replied.  “It would be a nice thought to be the descendent of a great aircraft manufacturer.”

“Have you ever thought about going off-planet?” McGreggor asked.  “Back to Earth, perhaps?  Then you could check out your ancestors.”

I had thought about it.  I thought about it a lot.  I just never seriously considered joining the military to accomplish it.  I was born on earth just eighteen standard years ago and immigrated to Kentaurus with my family when I was three.

“We’ve been recruiting at the university,” McGreggor continued.  “But it’s slim pickings.  I told the Admiralitato that this planet’s best assets are out on the farms and in the fishing villages, not here in the city.”

“I’m not sure I’m SpacDefendo material,” I admitted.  “My education is pretty spotty.  I’m just an airplane mechanic.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘just an airplane mechanic,’” McMahan said.

“It is, of course, your choice,” McGreggor continued. “You could stay on Kentaurus, work on ultralights and crop dusters and become a farmer’s wife.  Or you could join the SpacDefendo and work on star ships.”

Well, when you put it that way . . .

“Can I think about this?”

“Absolutely!” McGreggor smiled broadly.  “Here’s my card.  I’ll be planetside for three more days.”

I rode home in the half-light of Centauri B, imagining what it would be like to live and work on a starship.

“Cramped, I’ll bet,” was my conclusion.

====

I lied to the recruiters.  I didn't have to think about it.  What I had to do was to convince the other people in my family that joining the military was a good idea, and my mother is no push-over.  My father will be sad to see me go, but will remind me that it's my life, and wish me luck.  My mother will remind me of my responsibilities to clan and family, and infer that I am an ungrateful child who is abandoning her people.

This will take some shrewd diplomacy, I told myself.

In the 21st century of the Current Era, the blood lines of the old clans, tribes and races of Earth had become pretty mixed.  Though they certainly existed, finding somebody who was full blooded anything was becoming increasingly difficult.  Our family physician told me once that a examination of my genetic makeup shows ancestors from nearly every race of humanity.  But upon moving to Kentaurus, a planet settled primarily by American First Nations peoples, my parents chose to move into a community full of Celts and Danes, each setting up their own settlement on opposite sides of the Abhainn Speur River, which is as wide as the Missouri River on Earth.  I suspect that the only full blooded Scots and Danes are still back in Scotland and Denmark on Earth, but this did not stop my family and neighbors from turning our part of the continent into a reproduction of some Highlands village and calling it Speur Cala.  The rugged terrain of green hills and glacial lochs also contributed to the illusion.  So every Spring during the entire month of Phoenix we had a festival where women baked short bread and pot roast, and strong men threw telephone poles and hammers, bagpipes were played with more enthusiasm than skill, and people got into such a lather about the whole affair that they dressed in authentic Celtic garb and did their best to speak with authentic accents, and a few even went to the trouble of learning the authentic Gaelic language.  I never could bring myself to eat authentic haggis, though.

One day around Yule Holiday, I idly asked a group of grownups, "Why can't we be Californians?  At least it's warmer there."  After a pregnant pause, several men broke out in laughter.  My mother, who was born in Los Angeles, said, "California is not a clan or tribe or race or a true culture, honey."

"Put some meat on her skinny bones," a gruff and impolite man said.  "That'll keep her warm."

At the age of 11 Kentauran years, I learned to fly and became a rebellious teenager.  Deciding to adopt the culture of the dominant clan on our continent, the Cherokee, I spent as much time as I could visiting the local tribe.  Though I was willing to take on any initiation rites, the Cherokee elders smiled patiently and told me that unless I could show that my name was on some list somewhere, or that I had some certain percentage of Cherokee ancestors, that I could not join their tribe.  I was certainly welcome to hang around and learn, but they would rather I learned my own culture first.  The teenaged Cherokee girls I met and befriended decided to give me some invented contest for intitiation, and then because trouble tended to follow me where ever I went, mostly in the form of my maternal parent, they named me MoonShadow.  I couldn't pronounce the Cherokee language to save my soul, so they used the Esperanto word, Lunumbrulino.
====
Damo Moonshadow...' Captain krasis adds, as for a moment the Kronberg leader seemed utterly lost in thought.
'You seemed a million miles away then'
====
Kentauran Date: Phoenix 6, 93
Sedna Orbital Facilty, Kentauran System
00:25 hours

"The contents of the first bio bomb have been sent to our lab."  MoonShadow makes a gesture towards one of the agents standing nearby, who literally trots to her side.  "Captain Krasis has offered the services of Dr. Timoleon in finding anything we can about the pathogen found in that bio bomb," she tells the agent. "Escort the good doctor to our labs.  Oversee and facilitate his participation." She swallows and her throat hurts.

"Damo," the agent nods and takes off to find Dr. Timoleon.

"In the meantime, Captain, let's keep everybody calm.  I'm suspicious of Lupo's sudden illness.  Why is he the only one sick so far?"

"Indeed, something is wrong," Ambasadoro Enrika interjects. "Please excuse the interruption, Captain Krasis. MoonShadow. None of the bombs has exploded.  Why should anybody be sick at all?"

MoonShadow looks at Enrika incomprehensibly.  "What are you saying?"

"None of the bombs has exploded, am I right?" Enrika repeats, but notices a look in MoonShadow's face that gives her concern.

MoonShadow''s thoughts feel thick, heavy and fuzzy.  "Jes, vi pravas."

Enrika touches MoonShadow's face and gives a start. "Luna, you are burning up!"

Those are the last words MoonShadow hears.  Captain Krasis catches her before she hits the floor.  Before Enrika can take another breath, they are surrounded by a crew of Agents.

"The SP is down.  Repeat, the SP is down," one says into a communicator.  "Breathing is shallow, pulse is erratic, no bleeding.  High fever.  Possible infection."

Enrika can imagine the conversation over the comm links and knows what the next words will be.

"That's it," the Agent says.  "This place is under quarantine.  Nobody leaves, nobody arrives.  We are in shut down."

The Agent listens to his comm unit again and eventually says, "The terrorist has been found in the mechanical chase. He bled to death before the hound-bots could find him.  He still had one unexploded bomb in his fist."

"That leaves one more device unaccounted for, and we don't know it's status," Enrika says. "It could have exploded.  We don't know."

"That's right," the Agent says.  "We don't know.  And speculation is worthless until we know more."

"Deputy Chief Lupo and the SP are both sick," Enrika says.  "This is not a good sign."

"No, Damo."

"Who's in charge of the government when the SP is ..." Enrika pauses, not wanting to use the word. " Indisposed?"

"The President of the Parliament.  We've already sent word.  He's on Tierranova."

====

Dr Timoleon looked up from the fallen Deputy Chief Lupo to the surrounding officials.
'From what I am told the bioweapons are supposed to be based around a bacterial meningitus type infection... I do not believe this man is infected with anything such.'
observing the mans swollen tissue, respitory distress and splotchy skin..
'He seems to be in shock, probably a severe allergic reaction? or maybe some kind of poison'.
Adrenaline (Epinephrine) is administered and Lupo appears to respond favourably.

Meanwhile Moonshadow herself collapses. Timoleon assists the Kronberger medics.
Someone points out that the SP has been awake 24 hours and dealing with a number of highly stressful situations....
'We need to get her to this stations medical facilities'...

'I am unfamiliar with your technical capabilities' krasis interjects 'but we can order my ship to have the Lady Moonshadow teleported from here straight to an isolated medical ward'. He offers trying with his best dwarvish stoicism not to be flustered by the deteriorating situation..
'Additionaly if you can find that last bioweapon we can beam it straight into space, my ships sensors cannot penetrate this staions hull so we cant locate it, but if someone were to place a transponder on it...'

====

The Agent looks confused, wondering to whom Captain Krasis is speaking.  He looks around and sees nobody standing or present who is his senior in security, and decides that Krasis must be speaking to him.  "Regrettably, Captain, I must veto the idea of transporting the Damo to your ship.  Quarantine protocols are explicit about that.  Nobody leaves."

"Kio via nomo estas, Agento?" Enrika asks.

"Nubo Argenta, Damo."

"Agent Nubo, can you give us any information on the search for the missing device?"

"The hound-bots are back tracking the intruder's movements.  It shouldn't take too long."

"Bona.  What about Captain Krasis' second suggestion of transporting the device into space?"

"That is beyond my expertise, Damo.  I don't know what kind of environmental threat that might cause.  But wouldn't it be safer to simply delete the datastream?  That way it simply no longer exists."

They both turn to Krasis.

====

krasis replies. 'Its all a question of time, if youve got time... defuse the device, if you havent we'll send it into space and see how the bugs like a radiation infused vaccume'....

====
Kentauran Date: Phoenix 6, 93
Sedna Orbital Facilty, Kentauran System
01:01 hours

Agent Nubo, dressed in an environmental suit, climbs into a disused part of the mechanical chase. It becomes obvious that the way is far too narrow for him to continue dressed as he is.

"Fi!" he swears. "Control, where is that hound-bot?"

"Still three meters below you," comes the voice over his comm unit.

"Is there any way we can program the hound-bot to place the transponder on the device?"

"Does the phrase Opposable Thumbs mean anything to you, Agent?"

"Fi!" An obvious design flaw. "Remind me to talk to the engineers about that."

"Rimarkata."

Agent Numo removes the helmet from his environmental suit, and starts on the rest of it. "Nubo," the comm voice says, "We detect that the seals on your suit have been compromised. What is your status?"

"I'm taking it off, Control. Can't get any closer to the device dressed like this."

There is a long awkward silence on the comm while Nubo finishes doffing his suit. He can imagine the arguments going on between personnel in Security Control. Finally the response, "Komprendata, Nubo. We feel that we must advise you that if the device executes, you'll have no protection from environmental toxins or biologicals."

""Ne ekskremento." Nubo continues his progress down the chase. "Any activity from the environmental sensors?"

"Ne ankoraǔ."

The passage continues to narrow. Looking down, Nubo can just barely see the hound-bot. It looks more like a mechanical spider than anything else, except that the legs don't have joints. They move more like octapoid tentacles. The 'bot is staring at the device.

Nubo suddenly realizes that even if he stands on the device, he won't be able to reach it. The passage is far too narrow for him to turn. Now what?

"Order that 'bot to climb back up and meet me," Nubo commands, and starts climbing back to his suit.

"Confirmed. What is your plan?"

"Hold on a sec." Nubo reaches into his equipment pouch and pulls out a roll of duct tape. The 'bot is suddenly in front of him. Using the duct tape, Nubo attaches the transponder to the 'bot.

"Okej, order the 'bot to go back to the device and wrap it's tentacles around it." Nubo watches as the 'bot climbs back down into the narrow passage.

"Okej, the 'bot has stopped moving," the voice of Control comes over the comm. "Can you confirm that it has attached itself to the device."

"Negativa. I can't see past the thing. Give me a sec."

Nubo considers his options. He still has a spare transponder in case the first one fails. He stkcks that one in his belt, then lowers himself back into the passage head first and climbs awkwardly down the three meters and gets as close to the 'bot and the device as he can. But he still can't see past the 'bot.

"Okey," Nubo strains to say. "Initiate the transporter."

====

'Acknowledged, we have a signal from the transponder..transporter activated'. Ensign Carina daughter of Saracon activates the transporter.

'We have 2 items in the pattern buffer, retransporting now- 5000 km bearings 274 mk 020.. The area is clear of any instillations, satalites or spacecraft'.

5000 km away a houndbot suddenly finds itself floating in space and quickly (one might almsot suspect it of some minor panic were it capable of such an emotion) extricated itself from the bio-explosive device which is counting down 7, 6, 5, 4, 3 , 2, 1...... ( ) (It would say "bang" but hey its a vacuume).

'Station, The device has detonated, we managed to rescue your cute robot before the detonation.. its in the pattern buffer...shall we send it back?'

'Sensors report no detectable microbes in the blast zone'.

====

Kentauran Date: Phoenix 7, 93
Emergency Medical Department Infirmery,
Sedna Orbital Facilty, 
Kentauran System, 07:40 hours

MoonShadow opens her eyes painfully, and the first thing she recognizes is the image of her cyborg bodyguard standing against the wall across from her bed.

"It's been standing there all night," the sound of Enrika Ravenhair's voice resonates sweetly in MoonShadow's ear.  "Even when we tried to use command over-ride protocols, it insists on standing exactly like that, watching over you."  MoonShadow turns her head towards the sound of Enrika's voice and finds a face that has been crying.

"Vi aspektas kiel ekskremento," MoonShadow opines.  "Kio okazis?"

"You don't look so good yourself, Luna. You gave us all a nasty fright when you passed out at the reception with damn near a 40° fever.  We all thought you came down with the terrorist's disease, but it turns out you just have the flu, and it was exacerbated by exhaustion.  Once we got some fluids in you and brought your fever down, you recovered."

"What about Lupo?  He also got sick."

Enrika chortles.  "A hitherto undiagnosed allergy to mushrooms.  Seems that Dr. Timoleon is familiar with it."

MoonShadow tries to laugh.

"And that wonderful Agent Nubo distinguished himself well beyond the call in disposing of the last bio device.  He deserves a medal.  I understand his CO put him in for a commendation.

"Speaking of which," Enrika continues. "The physicians on Goshtyán finally found a combination of anti-bioitics and steroids that is effective on the L'Dereau disease.  Princino Moriah should be back home in a couple of weeks."

A thought occurs to MoonShadow, and a panicked look comes over her face.  "The President of the Parliament!"

"Oh yes. Him.  He seems to be handling things well in your absence."

"Perhaps.  But he's a political steam roller.  If I don't get out of this bed soon, his wife will be choosing curtains for my office!"

"Trankviliĝu, Luna," Enrika insists. "Do you want to get sick again?  He can't do that much damage in one more day."

"He's the Opozicia Partio!"

"He's a lame duck SP pro tem!  He hasn't invaded anybody or scandalized the Oficejo yet.  Trankviliĝu.  That's an order."

MoonShadow tries to comply.  "What about the Karniortanoj?"

"Mr. Jones has embarked upon an extended wine tasting tour of the southern continent.  The crew of the Hardy have been putting in social appearances all over the planet and have become overnight celebrities.  The Archon seems only to want to get home."

Enrika sees that MoonShadow has closed her eyes and is breathing shallowly.  She bends over and kisses MoonShadow on the forehead and then takes her leave of the room.

====
Kentauran Date: Phoenix 8, 93
Report submitted by Kentaura Ambasadoro Enrika Ravenhair while MoonShadow continues her recovery.

It's been a quiet week in Krønberg.  A ship full of dwarves and one human arrived from Carnyorth for a diplomatic tour.  We had a fine dinner of mushrooms and wine at the Sedna Orbital Facility.  MoonShadow caught the flu and had to leave the party early. 

The health officials on Goshtyán found a cure for the epidemic there, and seems to have a good efficacy.  Princino Mariah will be returning soon.
====

With the exitement over and a welcome extended leave on Kentaurus the crew of the CSS Hardy returned to the ship preparing for the 4 day voyage back to Carnyorth. They left behind Albert Jones as official ambassador to both Kronberg and Kentaurus, who was already becoming a respected expert on the local wines. Staff for his embassy will be dispatched and brought in a return visit by the CSS Hardy shortly.

The Archon, was keen to return to Carnyorth where he had urgent business with the ruling Committee. Captain Krasis and his crew have been selected by the Carnyorth SpaceForce to begin deep space exploration, they will depart shortly after their return from Alpha Centauri.

CSS Hardy eta Castle Mountain Starport Carnyorth Earth 11.00 hrs 10th November.
===

Interlude

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 Lieutenant Junior Grade.  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.

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

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

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

"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. "Enrika Ravenhair."

Aha!  A Ravenhair.  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 Ensign Ravenhair playing darts with one of the young men.