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respect for
respect, and arbitrary cruelty had no place on board a CosGuard
vessel. Else, he thought, they were little better than the
pirates.
    The control room door was open; the station
was maintaining condition green today. Jeremy passed the redshirted
security guard on duty, who snapped to attention as soon as the
commander rounded the bend in the hallway. Moments later, Jeremy
stood looking over Huslander’s shoulder, reading the aliens’
short, routine transmission.
    “ An inspection transit?” groaned
Huslander. “That’s the second one this month.”
    “ That’s their right under the
Agreement, Chief,” Jeremy rejoined. He logged the request in the
main computer and relayed the message to Starbase 117.
    When CosGuard and the Consortium space fleet
agreed on the dimensions and location of the Neutral Zone, each
thought it prudent to insist upon verification, to make sure that
the other lived up to its promises. So the Agreement allowed each
side a limited number of crossovers—or “Inspection Transits,” in
the language of Command Order 142-00437—to the end of the extended
buffer zone, so that both sides could assure themselves of the
other’s compliance. The Consortium made many more requests than
CosGuard, mostly because all the violations seemed to occur on
Terra’s side of the border.
    Soon, a reply came from the starbase.
Everyone knew what it would be: the Crutchtans were still below
their monthly limit of three. But protocol was protocol.
    “ REQUEST
APPROVED, ” read the message on the computer
screen.
    “ Shit,” Huslander muttered in
disgust.
    Jeremy laughed as he broadcast the approval
across the Zone. Everyone on the border would bitch now, because
all stations had to monitor the alien ship as long as it remained
in sensor range, plotting its position and reporting hourly to the
starbase. This turn of events would break up the monotony, but it
meant more work for everybody. And it seemed that the one thing
worse than having nothing to do was being forced to stop doing
it.

 
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 4

    SHE GLISTENED IN THE BLACKNESS, her outer
hull shining brilliantly in the sunlight, the dock supports chafing
at her sides.
    Dwarfed by the creation that had cost
four years of their lives and more than one trillion credits, the
workmen who had given her life hovered around her arching curves.
Agleam to the edge of glowing, the heat shields still needed
polishing; tested to the twelfth level of redundancy, the hatches
and outlets required more rechecking and the power systems awaited
reconfirmation; and even though her massive computers and internal
relays had been cleared once a week for as long as anyone could
remember, the engineers insisted on one last glitch run before
approving her systems as starworthy. Large black figures started to
appear on her face; before the giant vessel could leave the dock,
her registry markings would need time to set. Now known as Challenger Prototype Number 3 , when
she left at last for Ishtar she would be “ CGS 2001 .” Sometime after the dock crew began to
work on the next formless mass, someone else would name
her.
    All around, the stars burned like
many-colored embers in the heavens. Below, the quiet blue planet
turned silently, as it had for billions of years before its newest
masters dreamed of its existence. There was only the blackness, and
the stars, and the ship; and beneath it all, the tranquil world
spun timelessly, as if tomorrow and yesterday were all the
same.
     
    * * *
    “This is Demeter Command
Traffic Control, do you copy?”
    “ Roger, Demeter Command, this is
Transport Ten Sixty-seven, repeat, CGT One-Zero-Six-Seven,
requesting departure clearance to Ishtar Command. Manifest is
DCIC-321J16-CGSF-1017/T1067, Code Blue; will you
confirm?”
    “ Affirmative, Ten-Sixty-seven. You are
cleared from Loading Dock Twelve on venture route D-17, vector two
to flight path I-3 en route to Ishtar Command, cc: 142-7919.7. Do
you