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course.”
    The first contact story was old
news for all citizens of Galaxy Prime above the age of three. If we didn’t get
through this portion of the tour soon, Chamblin was going to have a starship
full of mutinous Phantasms on his hands, bored senseless into rampant
destruction.
    “And now,” he said, with a dramatic
gesture at odds with his monotone delivery, “brace yourselves for the ride of a
lifetime.”
    He thumbed the button on the end of
the pilot chair’s red lever.
    For a moment, nothing happened.
Children tittered. Lem might have too, or maybe Lon. Geiger tapped my seat with
his toe, no doubt thinking I wouldn’t notice. Chamblin’s face pinked up again,
which looked inflamed against the khaki of his uniform cap and black hair, but
then the wide holoscreen behind him crackled to life, displaying Earth as it
appeared from orbit.
    The screen, to my dismay, remained
flat.
    Really? No projective capabilities?
They’d had projective capabilities last year. Not a wise redesign choice. A
flat screen would definitely not soothe my small, savage beasts, nor any
others. I’d say at least eighty percent had been in orbit for real at some
point. That screen had to be nearly as antique as the shuttle.
    “Pure caca,” I heard Geiger
whisper.
    “The teacher said be quiet,”
Clarice hissed. Perhaps he was grating on her nerves too. Unicom knew the
singlet would test the patience of a Human saint, much less a nine year old
Human girl.
    The pod shuddered and jolted. The
holoscreen fuzzed white, emitted a piercing whine and clicked itself off.
    Chamblin frowned. The kids groaned.
Their complaints began as whispers and rose like an ocean wave.
    At least until the screen burst
outward in a shower of red, fiery shrapnel.
     
    ~  *  ~
     
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