Title  : We Are Not Alone
Date   : 8 Dec 1997
Series : Upgrade #05
Summary: The discovery of a true alien artifact leads to an
explosive situation.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters nor do I make a
claim on them.  These characters are the property of Pet Fly
Productions and UPN.  Original characters are the sole
property of the author.

                          Upgrade # 5
                        We Are Not Alone
                          By YS McCool


Blair rolled over onto the body beside him and snuggled in
tightly.  Strong fingers buried themselves in his hair and
massaged his scalp.  "Morning," he whispered.

"Morning, Blair," his companion answered softly.

Blair tilted his chin up and received a deep kiss.  "Sleep
well?"

"Like a baby.  At first, I thought it was the bed, but then
I realized that it was the company."

Blair smiled.  "I like the way you say that."

"I speak only the truth."

Blair rolled on top of Jet.  "How long can you stay?"

"Long enough for breakfast," she responded before nibbling
his earlobe.

Blair kissed the hollow of her throat.  "Stay a little
longer.  You'll enjoy it."

"I *know* I will," Jet agreed, "but today is our first
briefing on Far Space 1.  It's going to be a security
nightmare, and guess who'll be right in the thick of
things?"

"Would it help if I pouted?" Blair asked, knowing his eyes
were dancing with mischief.

"No," Jet said firmly.  Blair pouted.   "Stop that," she
demanded.  Blair threw in a hint of chin quiver.  "Stop it. 
I mean it."  Blair batted his large expressive eyes, knowing
they were one of his best features.  Jet groaned, then
pulled the covers over the two of them.  "I should have
known you would be nothing but trouble the moment I nearly
had a heart attack watching you dance naked on that table."

"I'm a dangerous man, Jet," Blair confessed.  "I need a big
bad Retrieval Officer to bring me in to protect the public."

Jet laughed.

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====


Jim was almost to his chair when Brown caught up with him. 
"Jim, I need to talk to you."

"What's up, Henry?" Ellison asked, hoping this wasn't
another thing to pile on his already overloaded plate. 
Simon had already taken his six lieutenants aside and made
it plain that he expected them to share the load during the
upcoming events.

"The housing list is up," Brown announced, "and I didn't get
married quarters."

"That's a shame, Henry, but what does that have to do with
me?" Jim asked, relieved it wasn't something to worry over.

"You, however, did get your Lieutenant's upgrade to a two-
bedroom, two-bath, with kitchenette."

Jim dashed past Henry to get within line of sight of the
old-fashioned posting board.  Housing, like promotions, was
listed on this device because of tradition.  It would have
been much more efficient to have posted it in the system so
that all officers could have the information instantly, but
then it wouldn't have had the same impact of seeing the
letters formed from tiny lights declaring that you had been
promoted or had a new home.

His new apartment was in the Cascade Heights area within
walking distance of two excellent parks and had a great view
of the mountains.  He thought about calling Steven and
bragging, but realized that his brother owned homes all over
the planet and six that were off world.  He wouldn't be
impressed.  Steven would make the appropriate noises but
that was all.

Blair, however, would throw him a party, agonize over the
appropriate house-warming gift, and help Jim furnish his
kitchen.  "A kitchen is the heart of a home," he would say. 
Blair would also be Jim's first overnight guest.  A thank
you for all the times Jim had stayed at Blair's home.

"Jim?" Henry called.

Ellison pulled himself back to the present.  "Yes?"

"Look, Leslie and I want to start our family, and we can't
do that in a one bedroom.  You don't need the extra room,
but we do.  They promised that we would have the married
quarters."  Henry gave Jim his version of the puppy dog eyes
and they were working.  "Jim, don't make me go home and tell
Leslie we didn't get the apartment.  If you'd let us have
the new apartment, I'll be forever in your debt."

Jim thought about it.  Other than showing off, he really
didn't need the extra room.  Brown should have gotten the
married quarters.  "Okay, Henry.  I'll tell Simon that you
can have my new quarters."  Henry gave him a big hug before
calling his wife.

Jet bounced past him smelling distinctly of Blair.  Jim
didn't know how he felt about that.  Jet wasn't his trainee
anymore, but he still felt protective of her.  She was a
grown woman, and Blair, despite his flirtatious nature, was
a gentleman.  

He watched his former trainee take her chair and open a
warmpack.  Inside were Belgian waffles, poached eggs, a
shredded potato cake, and two large steaming blueberry
muffins.  Jim almost sniffed with longing--Blair had made
her breakfast and he hadn't sent him a single crumb.

"Hi, Jet," Jim called casually.

Jet turned back and looked into Jim's eyes.  She handed over
a muffin without a single word of protest.  "Here.  Oh,
Blair said to tell you that the tartan arrived, and he'll
have his highland outfit ready in plenty of time for your
reunion."

"Great," Jim said before starting on the muffin.  He
comforted himself by noting that she'd had two, which meant
Blair had remembered him and sent him a muffin.  "Mmmmm.  He
made them from scratch, didn't he?"

"It was like a ballet of cooking utensils," Jet told him,
her voice etched with awe.

"Are things getting serious between you two?" Jim asked as
casually as possible.  It wasn't like Jet was taking
advantage of a blushing virgin.  Nor was Blair.  It was
just...  To be truthful, Blair was important to Jim and his
emotional welfare was part of that.  

"Oh Jim, Blair is... wonderful," Jet gushed, "but I'm a
Retrieval Officer.  Sooner or later, I'm going to have to
break one too many dates."

"But he would understand that, Jet," Jim promised.  "Just
don't hurt him, okay?"

"Jim, I would never hurt Blair.  I've been nothing but
honest with him."  She smiled.  "The man is addictive
though."

Jim smiled.  "He makes his way into your heart before you
know what's happened."

Commander Taggart stepped up to the podium to conduct the
briefing.  Jim set his pad for full recording.

Far Space 1 was returning from its twelve-year mission.  The
crew of fifty would be moved to isolation while the samples
were moved onto InterStellar labs.  There would be massive
press coverage and lots of spectators.  This would be a
prime opportunity for a lucrative theft.

Taggart also had word that the FOI group would be well
represented.  Jim sighed.  Those Freedom of Information nuts
found conspiracies in the price of orange juice, and the
fact that they didn't have dates for their high school
proms. 

He seemed to recall that FOI had published a novel that said
none of the Far Space missions were actually being
conducted, just simulated, and the money spent on other
unapproved government projects.

Jim wanted the Far Space missions to have found something
exciting and profitable.  Successful and profitable missions
filled the coffers of United Earth, kept the flat tax rate
at 12%, and his retirement account healthy.

Like Jim, everyone in the building had a personal stake in
making sure nothing happened to this mission now that the
first Far Space expedition had made it home.

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====

Simon placed a call to his son and hoped he wouldn't have to
battle a girl for his son's attention.  

"Hello?"  Daryl beamed at his father.  "Hi, Dad.  No, I'm
not talking to a girl."

Simon smiled, then pretended to wipe the words off his face. 
Daryl loved that motion as a kid, and even at the age of
sixteen still smiled whenever Simon did it.  "We've been
invited to the unveiling of the Alpha Proxima Alien Seas
exhibit tomorrow night.  Would you like to go?"

Daryl gave Simon his 'serious' face.  "That depends on two
things."

"What's that?" Simon asked, waiting for whatever his son was
about to tease him with.

"Who would I have to kill, and can I bring a date?" Daryl
asked.

Simon laughed.  It was when Daryl's slightly twisted sense
of humor showed that he missed his wife Joan the most.  His
son was so very much like his mother.  "Yes, you can bring a
date, and I'll get back to you on that murder thing."

"Will I be able to go to the Far Space welcoming party?"
Daryl asked excitedly.

"Security will be exceptionally tight where I will be,"
Simon reminded his child.

"Come on, Dad.  I'm dying to go.  You can get me clearance,"
Daryl begged.  "Tell them you've known me all my life and
that other than that nasty ice cream incident, I'm clean."

Simon laughed as he remembered the first time Daryl managed
to telekinetically move something.  He and Joan were
treating themselves to some genuine ice cream after finding
out that Daryl was *not* about to become a big brother. 
Joan had been so sure, and she'd taken it hard when the
doctor said no.  Simon was disappointed also, but was
careful to make sure that Joan didn't think he was
disappointed in her.

                            . . . .

Daryl had been two years old, going on twenty.  He was
shamelessly flirting with two Martian Death Maids, going so
far as to hold up his arms to entice the ladies to pick him
up.  It worked.  Daryl was passed back and forth between the
ladies and allowed to kiss their cheeks with his somewhat
clean mouth.  Simon had apologized and peeled the kid away
as the family made their way into the Cory Jones Homemade
Ice Cream Parlor.  A very expensive place.

Simon was just a lieutenant at the time and most of his
salary went into savings while the family lived in his free
"lieutenant with family" three-bedroom townhouse and used
Joan's much higher salary as a virologist for their needs. 
Still, trips to Jones were rare.  Though by that point in
their marriage, Simon attributed that more to a time issue.

Daryl pressed his face against the case and pointed to the
Lemon Pie Chiffon. ~Want this,~ he'd sent.  Daryl wasn't
very verbal at that time in his life because hearing
thoughts was so natural and speaking wasn't.  Simon spent
two hours a day working with his son to help him speak
aloud.

Naturally Simon had ordered the Lemon Pie Chiffon for his
son and the family sat down to a nice table with a view of
the other tables and the interior of the shopping mall. 
Simon was talking to Joan, trying to reassure her while
struggling against his own innate male stupidity, from the
female point of view, in all things obstetrical.  Therefore,
he missed the fact that Daryl had already wolfed down his
ice cream and wanted more.

It was the sounds of protest around them that alerted Simon
to the fact that something was wrong.  Daryl sat happily,
smeared in ice cream with an impressive stack before him. 
As Simon watched, another round ball of ice cream, this one
chocolate, chocolate chip, floated over and sat down on top
of the stack.

"Young man, do not take any more ice cream," Joan said
sternly.  Daryl pouted and the stack of ice cream swayed,
causing the watching crowd to moan.

"When did he start doing this?" Simon asked, trying not to
frighten his child.

"This is new for me, too," Joan replied.

"You've got to pay for that," a waiter insisted.  His eyes
were riveted to the stack of ice cream scoops that common
sense said could not stand.  But they did stand.

Joan followed the waiter and paid for the ice cream which
had been plucked from the other patrons' dishes and added to
Daryl's leaning tower of scoops.

"Daryl, when you want more food, you must ask for it, but
you can't take it," Simon said levelly.  "Okay?"

Daryl grinned at him and sent a scoop from the middle of the
tower to Simon's cup.

"Son, you must not take other people's food.  It's not nice,
and you want to be nice," Simon insisted.

Daryl floated out a strawberry scoop and began eating it. 
He finished it just as Joan returned from paying for the
purloined ice cream.

"Daryl," Joan began softly.  "You took food from other
people and that was wrong.  When you want more food, you
must ask us for it.  Mommy and Daddy will always take care
of you and see that you are fed.  You will never have to
take it.  Mommy promises, and Mommy always keeps her
promises.  Right?"

Daryl quivered his lower lip and nodded.  The ice cream
tower collapsed and he didn't show his telekinetic skill
again for almost a year.

                            . . . .


"Well..." Simon teased.

"I'll clean my room," Daryl offered.

"You'll clean it anyway, young man," Simon said firmly.  How
his child had managed to make himself believe that cleaning
his room was doing Simon a favor was just beyond him.

"I'd wear formal clothes," Daryl, king of casual clothes,
threw in.

"You'd have to wear formal clothes to attend, Daryl," Simon
explained.  "The words 'Black Tie' are not bandied lightly."

"I'll ...  I'll ... ah, come on, Dad," Daryl begged.  "We
could bond over canapes."

Simon laughed.  "Well, I can't pass up a bonding opportunity
with my son.  I'll see what I can do, Daryl."

"Thanks, Dad.  You're the best," Daryl gushed.

"At least until I do something unforgivably parental," Simon
interpreted.

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====

Jim tapped furiously into his computer. 'What do you mean, I
have no home?'  This could not be happening.  He had allowed
Brown and his lovely wife, Leslie, to have his lieutenant
upgrade apartment.  Now the housing system had assigned his
present quarters to someone else.  To compound the problem,
the Brown's current quarters had also been reassigned.  He
had less than two weeks to find somewhere else to live, or
he'd be out on the streets.  Or, more likely, tapping
pathetically on Blair's door.

Just when he was about to blow the offending piece of
machinery to bits, Blair dashed in.  "Come on, Jim.  Your
fitting is in twenty minutes."  Sandburg didn't really have
a tornado swirling around him, but it seemed that way.

Jim looked up.  "Fitting?" he asked, confused.  

"Don't you remember, you need to have your new formal wear
for the Martian Independence Ball fitted?" Blair asked. 
"You were supposed to be waiting for me in the lobby."

Jim checked his chronometer.  Where had the day gone? 
"Sorry, Chief.  I'm having a little problem with my
apartment."

"What problem?" Blair asked impatiently, moving from one
foot to the other.

"I no longer have an apartment," Jim announced.

"What happened?" Blair asked, shocked.  "You didn't blow it
up, did you?"

Jim scowled.  "I've only blown up one apartment since I've
known you, and it wasn't mine.  This morning I got my
lieutenant's quarters, and I let Brown and his wife have
it."

Blair smiled.  "That was nice of you, Jim.  I know they want
to start their family."

Trust Sandburg to know that.  "Anyway, now my original
apartment's been reassigned and so has Brown's.  I can't
leave this terminal until I find a place to live."

Blair blew a lock of hair out of his eyes.  "Jim, you can
move in with me until you find a new place.  It's no
problem."

"Really?" Jim asked excitedly.  Blair was offering him a
place to lay his head and no begging had been necessary.

"Yeah, Jim.  Really.  Now get moving.  Remember, you're
escorting my cousin, Claudia, and you need to look your very
best.  I told her that not only were you a highly decorated
Retrieval Officer, but that you were Greek god good
looking."  Blair shoved the larger man out of the room
amidst laughter from the other officers.  "I can't let you
make a liar out of me."

"It shouldn't take me more than a month to find a new place,
Blair," Jim assured the younger man.  "Six weeks, tops, and
I'm out of there."

"Sure, sure," Blair said as he tapped the elevator button.

"I... ah, I could pay you rent," Jim offered.  Without an
official apartment, then his base salary would be increased
to include his housing allotment.  He could give Blair the
difference for appearances sake.

Blair turned to look at the taller man.  His smile was hard
to interpret.  "I'd rather take it out in trade."

"In trade?" Jim gulped.

"It's spring time, Jim," Blair said, his voice dropping
smoky and low.

"And?" Jim prompted when his friend didn't continue.

"A young man's fancy and all," Blair added, mischievously.

Jim's thoughts raced into some dark and murky corners.  Him
earning the roof over his head?  From Blair?  The mind
boggled.  "Fancy?"

Blair smirked.  "Relax.  I need help in the garden, and
Hawthorne isn't as young as he used to be."

"Oh," Jim responded softly.

Blair got on the elevator and after a moment's hesitation,
Jim got on too.  "Something wrong?" Sandburg asked.

Jim frowned and waited for the doors to close before he
answered.  "I'm just trying to figure out whether or not I
should be insulted."

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====

Simon walked over to his commander.  "Boy, Joel, these
Sandburgs know how to put on a spread."

Taggart nodded.  "Definitely.  They can cater any party I
give."  He looked over at Simon's son and the young man's
date.  "Isn't that Mia Winslow with Daryl?"

"That's her all right," Simon agreed.  "Imagine my surprise
when she showed up in her chauffeured private vehicle to
bring us here."

Joel puzzled.  "I thought she was on tour."

"She returned to Cascade last week and she's keeping a low
profile with the media," Simon explained.

"How did they meet?" Joel asked.  It wasn't as if he kept
tight tabs on Daryl's social life.  That was too volatile
for a mere human to follow.

"Daryl and Mia went to school together," Simon explained. 
"They keep in touch, even while she's on tour."

"Introduce me," Joel demanded shamelessly.  "I am such a fan
of her recordings."

"Don't gush, Joel, it's so undignified."  Simon chuckled and
led his friend toward the young couple.



Jim escorted Maxine from the dance floor to the drinks
table.  He was hands down one of the most envied men in the
room, coming in right behind Daryl Banks, who had a
superstar on his arm.  "I think that there are more
Retrieval Officers here than anyone else," he noted.

Maxine sipped her fruit punch and looked around.  "Free food
and drinks, a truly unique show, live music, good company,
and no cover charge.  What more could you want?"

"The show to start?"  Jim grinned.  

"I know what you mean," Maxine agreed.  "Even though we saw
the display a few days ago, I still can't wait to see it
again."

"Are we like kids, or what?"  Jim smiled when he spotted Jet
and Blair making their way over to them.  He waved.  "Hi,
Jet.  Blair.  You're late."

"Couldn't be helped, Jim.  Jet was on assignment," Blair
explained.

"You could have come alone," Jet reminded Blair.

"Not without my date."  Blair kissed her cheek.  "You look
beautiful, Maxine."

Maxine gave him a little curtsy.  "Thank you, Sir.  It's
actually nice to have somewhere to wear a fancy dress."

"Speaking of fancy dress, Maxine, were you planning on
attending the Martian Independence Ball?" Blair asked too
casually not to be up to something.

"Are you kidding?" Maxine asked.  "The tickets are like a
week's salary."

"This is the first time I'll be going to the Martian Ball,
and I was *born* on Mars."  Jet hugged Blair.

"Well, my cousin, Robert, needs a date for the ball.  Would
you be his date?" Blair asked sweetly.

"Blair, are you the official date finder for your family?"
Jim asked.  "I'm escorting your cousin, Claudia, Simon is
escorting your Aunt Helaine, and now you want Maxine to
escort your cousin, Robert."

"The whole family knows I have access to really beautiful,
single Retrieval Officers," Blair explained.  "They consider
you one of my resources, and I have to share the wealth." 
Blair wiggled his eyebrows, which made the rest of them
laugh.

"Is Robert nice?" Maxine asked.

"Very nice," Blair promised.  "You'll really like him."

"Is he coming tonight?" Maxine asked as she looked around.

"No, he's still on Mars," Blair answered.  "Robert is
overseeing the construction of a new deep space explorer
ship."

"Do the Sandburgs ever have simple jobs?" Jim asked. 

"Robert is Mom's older sister Helaine's son.  He's a
Rosenberg," Blair corrected.

"What does Claudia do?" Maxine asked.

"She's a pediatrician," Blair answered.

"I can't believe a doctor and a ship designer can't get
dates," Maxine said.

"Claudia is chief resident of Pediatrics at Cascade General. 
It's not unusual for her to have to pull sixteen-hour days. 
She only works for half that shift, but she needs to be on
site to follow cases if she's called.  There's not much
chance for her to socialize.  That will get better, but she
would be dateless if it weren't for Jim.  As for Robert, he
practically lives in his office now that the countdown for
launch is ticking."

"I'm surprised that they would bother to come, no matter how
prestigious the gathering," Jim said.

"Jim, Grandfather Cole is chairman of the ball, and *all*
the Sandburgs and Rosenbergs will be in attendance, if they
know what's good for them.  Come on, Maxine.  Say yes, pick
a time, and I'll buy your dress.  Anything you want.  In
fact, Helaine might even make you something to wear.  She's
the Helaine of Helaine's House of Fashion."  When the
prestigious name, which Maxine, who had only arrived on
Earth when she began the academy, might not have heard,
failed to move her, Blair turned up the big puppy dog eyes
looks.

"Don't use the eyes on me," Maxine said sternly.  "No one
over the age of five should have eyes like that."

"Was that a yes?" Blair asked, unrelenting in the use of his
variation known as the lost and helpless puppy dog eyes.

"Yes."  Maxine shook her head.  "I should have a lot more
spine around you."

Blair smiled.  "It's nature's way of balancing things since
all of you can run me into the ground."

A gong sounded, and the room became the sea of Alpha
Proxima. 

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====


It only took Jim a few hours to move into Blair's house.  He
was surprised to find that his friend had given him the
office on the third floor to be used as a study for himself. 
Jim had never had a study before.

"It's a room for you to work on your hobbies, read, or just
escape to when I start to get on your nerves."  Blair gave
him a beautiful antique teak desk, a real leather chair, two
matching glassed-front bookshelves, and a lamp that had all
been sitting in storage to decorate the room.

His first night in his new home, he gave his study a test
drive.  It was wonderfully quiet with a window that looked
out onto the front yard and the water garden.  He actually
read three chapters in his new book before he realized that
the dinner bell was ringing.

Ellison told himself several times to not get used to this. 
Six weeks and he had to be gone, but that study looked like
a permanent thing.  It looked like Blair expected and wanted
him to stay.

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====


Daryl gazed at his reflection and smoothed his hair.  "Dad,
how do I greet the Martian ambassador?  Madame Ambassador
Quentin or My Lady Quentin?"

"Madame Ambassador Quentin.  You only address her as My Lady
when she is acting as a private citizen," Simon answered as
he adjusted his jacket so that it lay smoothly over his
weapons.

"How do you remember all that?" Daryl asked, his voice full
of pride for the old man.

"It's part of my job to know how to address people."  Simon
checked his chronometer and his own reflection one more
time.  "We need to get moving."

They headed out and rode the train to the Earth One space
station gate.  Nine layers of security later, they were in
the reception area.  Simon took great pride in introducing
his son around.  He could have had any one of three
beautiful ladies on his arm, but this was an event for the
history books, and there was no one he would have rather
shared it with than his son.

By the time the first shuttles began arriving from Far Space
1, Simon had personally greeted everyone in the room.  He
wasn't naive enough to believe that rising above captain
rested solely on his performance on the job.  He would have
to show some social grace and the ability to mix with the
high and mighty.  Cultivating some movers and shakers
wouldn't hurt either.

The fifty-member crew were moved into isolation for their
final medical and psychological evaluations.  Simon believed
that this final obstacle between the crew and their families
would actually *cause* mental and physical breakdowns.

The speeches were mercifully short.  Simon was glad to see
that people were as awed as he was by these fifty brave
souls' achievement.  They had gone further than any other
human had gone.  It was just so damned exciting.

After the greeting speeches, the Captain of the "Searcher"
addressed the solar system.  Out of system broadcasts would
be greatly delayed.

Simon was quietly musing over the beautiful 'glad to be
back' speech when Captain Lydia Helmann dropped the bomb on
the room.  

"Our greatest discovery was the first authenticated alien
device.  This, if you will excuse the phrase, man-made
object contains circuitry that we can only just begin to
understand.  This is an exciting time to be alive."

Simon's first thought was 'how wonderful', but his second,
and currently more relevant, thought was 'how in the world
am I going to protect that?'.  He called in some of his best
people to guard the device until it was moved into a secured
and non-public location.

A dividing wall pulled back, and the samples of the
expedition's findings were displayed, including the device. 
It was a pyramid with four equal-sized sides.  It was
exactly a meter tall with one side that was a door that was
opened to expose a fluid-filled interior.  The gel-like
substance was pulsing with particles of every color
imaginable.  Each zipping particle seemed to have its own
interior light.  It was beautiful and so very alien.  

Simon stood to the side as all the dignitaries filed past
the display.  Daryl was the last person in the room to walk
past the displays.  Simon didn't have to be psychic to know
how excited his son was as he gazed at the new minerals,
fossils, plant life, animal life, and finally the device.

Daryl paused, as everyone had, in front of the thick
transparent aluminum divider and gazed at the object.  But
unlike anyone else, the device closed its door, and a hazy
green light formed around its surface.  A similar nimbus
formed around Daryl's head.

'It's all right, Dad.  Keep everyone back.  I need to hear
it.'  Simon recognized the voice in his head as his son's
mental communication.  He had known that mental touch since
two-year-old Daryl had slipped away from his mother in a
large market area and became lost and afraid.  Simon had
easily tracked his son by his scent and the sound of his
voice.  It was hard to say who had been more frightened,
Daryl or his wife, Joan.  But now, Daryl showed no fear.  


Daryl had felt a tickling in his mind since he had entered
the large room.  At first he thought that one of these
terribly important people had a psychic blocker employed
here to stop people like him from finding out something they
shouldn't, but now he knew better.  The "watcher" had been
waiting for a telepathic species to give its message to.  He
opened his mind and was overwhelmed by the barrage of
images.

'Fear.  Panic.  A horrifying enemy threatening this entire
sector of space.'

Daryl tried to put aside his own reactions and concentrate
on the message.  He felt young and worthless.  All his
talent was working against him and this was so important. 
'Relax and center.'   

It was time to put all that theory to work.  Time to let it
flow.  It was his instructor's favorite phrase.  "Let it
flow, Mr. Banks.  Raw power alone is not the key."

'Let it flow.' The images came faster now.  He just needed
to absorb those images without trying to interpret them.  'I
have opened my mind.'

It was over.  The door to the device opened, and the light
faded.  Daryl felt strangely empty, almost abandoned, by the
loss of contact.

"Are you all right, son?" his father asked, his physical and
psychic presence wrapping themselves around Daryl like a
warm blanket.

"Yes, Dad.  I'm all right," Daryl replied, still slightly
shaken.

"What did it say?" Simon asked.

"I'm afraid that's classified," The President of the
Federation of United Earth, Keenan Thomas, said.  "Come on
along, young man, you need to be debriefed."  The president
took Daryl's arm.

His dad stepped between him and the President.  "My son is
not going anywhere with you."

Daryl could feel the fear rising in the older man.  His
father was an impressive figure in normal circumstances, but
acting against what he perceived as a threat to his only
child, and his Dad was suddenly larger than life.

The President looked around the room and probably realized
that everyone with a weapon answered to Simon Banks, except
Regional Commander Taggart.

"Commander Taggart, we need to escort this young man away
from the cameras," the president ordered.

"You're not taking Daryl into custody.  That is *not* going
to happen," Taggart said levelly.  The big man pulled
himself up to his full and imposing height, while his eyes
hardened to dangerous, perhaps fatal, levels.

'All right, Uncle Joel,' Daryl thought.  Daryl knew his
rights, but the President had a great deal of power. 
Besides, the politician was scared shitless.  

There was a section of the law that dealt specifically with
threats to United Earth, the solar system, and the Human
Sphere.  It gave the President a lot of power over Daryl's
situation once he was in custody.

"You all might as well hear, it was a warning about another
space-faring race who they feared," Daryl reported.  "I
still have to sort through the images.  Perhaps a more
mature psychic will have a better understanding of the
message."

That news shot around the solar system almost as fast as it
shot around the room.  Daryl was hustled out of the room
with a protective wall of Retrieval Officers surrounding
him.

His dad didn't take them back to their apartment, instead
they ended up at the gate to Blair's community.  No one had
even called Blair to see if they'd be let in.  Daryl could
read that all of them *knew*, like they knew their names,
that Blair would take them in and protect Daryl.  The doctor
let them in his elegant home and offered them beds with no
questions asked.

Daryl couldn't sleep.  He was just too keyed up to reach his
relaxation point for true sleep.  He came down the stairs
quietly and mentally swept the area to locate everyone.  Jim
was in the living room, Jet was in the dining room, Maxine
was walking the perimeter, his dad was in the library, and
his target, Blair, was in his study.

He knocked on the door.  "Blair?"

"Come in," Sandburg called.

Daryl peeked around the door.  This was an amazing room,
full of family treasures, artifacts, and photos.  "Have you
got a minute?"

"For you, always.  Come on in."  Blair slipped off his
glasses.  "Still processing?"

"I can't slow my mind down enough to make sense of all I
received," Daryl explained.  "I hope someone else can
interpret the images.  I'd hate to think that my name will
forever be linked with dropping the ball with the first
alien artifact."

"It won't," Blair promised.  "You just need something else
to think about right now.  If it weren't so dark, I'd take
you out to the garden.  We could put in some plantings from
the greenhouse."

"Blair, I'm thinking about an event that will change the
course of history, and you're trying to get free labor out
of me," Daryl complained.

Blair grinned.  "That's what I'm talking about, Daryl. 
Every event changes the course of history, we're just
normally not aware of it.  You should study Chaos Theory
next semester."

"I was hoping to study girls next semester," Daryl admitted
sheepishly.  When were all of those good grades going to
start to work for him?

"Girls are the ultimate proof of the Chaos Theory," Blair
declared.

"Blair, you can't mean that," Daryl responded.

"Daryl, you'll know that I spoke the truth the first time
you ask your lady 'what's wrong?' and she answers 'nothing'
when you know full well that *something* is wrong.  You will
be on the twisty path that proves that all relationships are
ruled by the Chaos Theory."  Blair got out of his chair. 
"Let's go into the kitchen, and I'll make you some homemade
hot chocolate."

"Sounds... decadent."

"It is," Blair promised.

Daryl followed Blair into the kitchen.  Soon there was an
audience as Blair transformed sugar, cocoa, vanilla, milk,
and salt into the best hot chocolate Daryl had ever tasted. 
It made all the instant stuff he had grown up on taste like
lightly sugared dirt.  If Blair had been a girl, Daryl would
have proposed right then.

He settled on the couch in the family room with his large
mug.  Jim put on some classical music from the 21st century. 
Daryl distinctly remembered finishing off the last of the
hot chocolate.  He vaguely recalled Jet putting her arm
around his shoulders.  After that it was all fuzzy.  He woke
up in bed with the morning light streaming through the large
windows in his room.  He felt sorry for whoever had to carry
him up the stairs.  At 72 kilos and growing, he wasn't
exactly light.  

Daryl went into the bathroom to clean up and shave.  A
luxurious shower, that made the water allotment seem ten
times the set amount, followed by a hot lather shave, had
him feeling much more himself.  Being at Blair's was like
being at a luxury hotel that forgets to bill you.

As he was about to drag the laser blade across his face, a
string of numbers formed in his mind.  With a lathered
finger, he wrote the numbers onto the mirror.  What did they
mean?  Daryl dashed down the stairs to find his dad and
Blair.

"Miss a fashion step?" Jim asked.

Daryl realized he was only wearing a towel and that it was
across his shoulders.  "No time.  Blair!  Dad!  I remembered
something.  Hurry up, I wrote it on the mirror."

Daryl squeezed into the bathroom with his dad, Blair, Jim,
Jet, Maxine, Jason Rafe, and Commander Taggart.  'When had
Uncle Joel arrived?'

"What does it mean, Blair?"  Jim asked.  The officers all
turned to look at Sandburg.

"Why are you asking me?" Blair inquired.

"Who else in this room would have a clue?" Simon asked,
seriously.

"At a guess, I would say that they were spatial
coordinates," Blair surmised, "but I would have to know the
reference point."

"Galactic center," Daryl answered.  Now the officers and
Blair all looked at him.  "Think about it.  This was a
warning to all space-going species to be on the lookout for
these warring people.  What other point of reference would
work?"

"Is anything else coming to you from your communications?"
Maxine asked.

"Bits and pieces.  These people they fear are just awful. 
They kill with little or no provocation.  Incredibly
aggressive, intelligent, and highly prolific, they seemed to
be conquering a large section of space very quickly.  The
race who sent out the watcher so feared these beings that
they have deserted some of their colonies they believe will
soon be overrun by the aggressors."

"Damn," Joel said.  "They are so much more advanced than we
are.  If they're so afraid that they will run..."

"This could cause a huge panic," Jim said.

"Daryl and I could go to Earth One and find out where these
coordinates are," Blair suggested.  "I just need to call my
staff and get my classes and meetings taken care of."  

"Good plan," Joel said.  "Simon, I don't need to tell you
how tightly I want this controlled."

"No you don't, Sir."  They headed downstairs to allow Daryl
to finish getting ready.  


Hawthorne was waiting at the bottom stair.  "Sir, you might
wish to note the System News broadcast."

"Thank you, Hawthorne."  Blair knew that Hawthorne felt that
little news was worthy of interrupting the morning routine,
so he quickly turned on the comm-link.

Marion Foster, FOI leader, was shouting to a large crowd
outside their headquarters.  It was mostly rhetoric, big
surprise, but the gist of the speech was that Daryl knew
what the aliens wanted, hinted that the aliens were coming
to enslave them all, and that Daryl must be *made* to tell
all he knows in a public forum. 'Wonderful.'  

Blair used an expletive which noted Foster's lack of
traceable parentage that had all the people in the room
nodding their head in agreement, even Hawthorne.

"Shall I also pack a lunch for young Mr. Banks?" Hawthorne
asked. 

"Yes, thank you, Hawthorne.  Increase the household security
to the top level."

"Very good, Sir.  Breakfast will be served in five minutes." 
Hawthorne strolled from the room.

"Nothing ever fazes him," Jim said.

"He was a Deep Space Ranger.  You know how they are," Blair
smirked.

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====


Blair rubbed Daryl's temples as the young man attempted to
relax while the computers chewed on the coordinates.  The
aliens used a different numbering system, base 12 instead of
base 10, then Daryl remembered that the string needed to be
read from right to left.

The young man was getting frustrated because he couldn't
just blithely repeat everything the watcher had told him. 
Compounding this was the knowledge that no other psychic had
been able to hold onto as much information as Daryl had. 
The last attempt had been made by a Level 10 psychic--the
most powerful Blair had ever met in person.  He had two
theories to explain this.  Daryl had been the first to
attempt contact, so the signal was at its height, or Daryl
was stronger than Blair had suspected.

"Daryl, I need to ask you something extremely personal."

"I'm confirmed at level 17, but I'm not through maturing." 
Daryl's voice was soft and weary.  

Blair was aghast, level 17, that was incredible.  He said a
soft prayer in thanks that Daryl had not been born a hundred
years ago, when such a rating would have made him a virtual
prisoner for testing and breeding.  "Wow."

"For all the good it's doing me now.  For once, I can
believe what my instructor has been telling me: Raw power is
no substitute for experience and training."  The teenager's
face froze in a perfect moment of panic.  

"Daryl?"

"They're coming, Blair," Daryl almost moaned.

"The aliens?" Blair asked, shocked to find himself afraid.

"No, the panicked mobs.  I can see them in my mind.  They're
coming.  They want me.  We need help."

Blair tried to calm the young man. 'Who would know they were
here?' Then he had thought about it.  Daryl's school had
been notified for an excused absence.  His staff had been
notified for rescheduling his classes and appointments. 
They had been here for three hours and lots of people had
seen them.  He called Simon.

"Simon, this is Blair.  Daryl says that a mob will be coming
to Earth One."

"Let me check traffic."  Simon tapped into the readout
noting traffic patterns.  He gasped.  "Blair, there must be
over a thousand people routed to Earth One.  Tell security
that you need a lock down.  We'll be there in five minutes."

Five minutes had never seemed longer to Blair.  Hundreds of
people were coming off the trains, and the gate would soon
be overwhelmed.  Blair checked the cameras and spotted
Marion Foster.  The man was already whipping the crowd into
a frenzy with his fiery speech about death from space.

Three minutes after placing his call to Simon, the gates
were smashed.  Security shot containing nets and sticky foam
into the crowd, and still they came.  The ground staff was
overrun, sustaining several injuries. Now the crowd was
smashing at the doors.

"Daddy's almost here," Daryl said, sounding child-like. 
Dads set rules, but Daddies swooped in to protect you. 
Daddy Simon was on the way.

Blair looked out the windows to see Simon's assault vehicle
headed their way, flanked by a hornet's nest of regular
pursuit vehicles and flycycles.  The front doors, designed
for a building that was normally always open to the public,
collapsed under the weight of the people pounding against
them.

Sandburg shoved the terrified clerk out of her chair and
started working on the computer system.  He turned off all
the elevators that had cars on the first ten floors.  He
hoped that would give them some breathing room.

When he turned to reassure Daryl, he found the young man in
a trance.  He was grateful that Daryl didn't weigh as much
as the "downed officer" dummy, because if the mob made it
this far, he was going to have to carry the young man. 
Blair knew he would die before he left Daryl to that mob. 
He watched the cameras and worried.

Outside, crowds continued to pour from the trains.  The
Retrieval Officers were extremely outnumbered, but Blair
knew that it was the way they liked it.

Some of the crowd fled with a few shouts from the officers,
others held out until the pursuit vehicles started to land,
the stubborn ones soon found out why only 5% of all the
people who successfully entered the Federal Retrieval
Officer's Academy graduated.

Maxine plowed into the crowd on foot and arrested Marion
Foster.  She only had to deal with three of his followers
before the rest of them decided that Officer Tate was not in
the mood to let the FOI leader go.  The loss of his rallying
cry was a turning point as Tate and Huitink stuffed Foster
into Simon's assault vehicle.

Blair checked the hall cameras and saw that some people had
made it to the tenth floor.

"Blair, I know who they are," Daryl said.

The doctor jumped because the room had been so quiet. 
"What?"

"I know where the home world is," Daryl announced.

"Home world?" Blair asked as he got out of the clerk's chair
to go to Daryl's side.

"The computer is going to tell them that the coordinates are
the location of the home world of the aggressor species."

"Where is it?"  Blair knelt beside the young man.

"It's us.  All this time.  Blair, they are terrified of
humans," Daryl informed him with his voice sounding so sad.

Blair thought about all that was happening.  "I don't blame
them."

"Where is the public address system here?" Daryl asked as he
got to his feet.

"It's on the fifteenth floor," the clerk said.

"Daryl, those nuts will be all over us."

"Blair, we have to tell them the truth before someone else
gets killed.  Those people have been worked into a state of
panic.  We have to do something to diffuse the situation
before the RO is authorized to go from 'containment' to
'deadly force'.  Please don't make my dad have to kill those
people," Daryl begged.  "It's just their fear that's making
them do this."

Blair tapped into his datapad.  "I know this is the dumbest
thing we can do."


Jim punched the sign-waving idiot, then used her sign to
thump two more people.  Jet finished releasing the
compressed air hose and turned it on the crowd.  People went
flying across the lawn.  Flycycles now had room to land and
form a protective cordon for the front of the building.

Jim's datapad vibrated.  It was Blair.  It couldn't be
anyone else. "Ellison."

"Jim, Daryl and I are headed to the communication center on
the fifteenth floor."

"Chief, I need you to head further up, not down."

"What now?" Jet asked.

Jim knew that Jet could hear the conversation on both ends. 
"Why do you want to go to the comm center?"

"Daryl's solved the puzzle."

Jim ducked as a decorative fixture flew at his head.  He
shot the thrower with a low signal pulse shot.  The man
would be on his hands and knees, puking his guts out for a
while.  It didn't pay to throw things at a Retrieval
Officer.

"We're on our way, Blair," Jim shouted over the din.

Banks and Taggart cleared a wide path through the crowd to
the doors.  Tate, Huitink, Goldberg, Rafe, Brown, Eyembe,
DeMoranville, and Foley followed them.

"What's the scenario?" Taggart asked.

"Daryl knows the answer to the message and is heading to the
comm center on the fifteenth floor to tell everyone," Jim
reported.

"Who's guarding him?" Taggart asked.

"Blair," Jet answered.

"What?  Blair's not a guard, he needs a guard."  Taggart
waded into the foyer, tossing people out of his way like
they weighed nothing.  "Secure the center and protect those
kids."

Taggart was never one to micro manage.  He stated his goals
and expected his people to meet them.  Jim appreciated that. 

Jim took the lead on the north stairway with Simon almost
crowding him.  Again and again, they passed people gasping
for breath on the steep stairs.  He needed to arrest them
all, but he had to save Blair and Daryl.  Besides, the way
those people were gasping, they would be there for hours.

Jim almost smirked when he got to the fifteenth floor, he
and Simon had beat all the rookies there.  Score one for the
"old" guys.  The smile vanished from his face when he saw
six people lying in front of the doors to the communication
center.  He and Simon raced over.  

Jim already knew that neither Blair nor Daryl were among the
unconscious, he just needed to know what had happened to
them.  

"Don't touch the door," Simon said.  "Somebody's tampered
with the fire suppression circuits."

They looked at each other.  "Blair," they said in unison. 
Jim tapped in a call to Blair's datapad.  

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Blair.  Simon and I--" The rest of the team joined
them at the door.  "Actually, all of us are outside the
door."

"Thank goodness," Blair sighed, "I was really starting to
worry here."

Jim looked down at all the unconscious people.  "You seem to
be doing all right."

"Jim, there are only four more charges on that door."

"Could you deactivate it, please?" Jim asked.  "I can't help
you if I'm unconscious."

Taggart noted all the people lying on the floor.  "Sandburg
is more dangerous than I thought."

Blair opened the door and was nearly knocked off his feet by
Jet hugging him.  "Missed you, too," he said.

Jim squeezed Blair's shoulder to reassure himself that his
friend was all right.

"What's the status of the message?" Taggart asked.

"They're feeding in the computer confirmation of the
location of the home world of the aggressor species--it's
Earth," Daryl reported.

"Why am I not surprised?" Simon asked, as he placed an arm
around his son.

"Would you like to deliver the message, Dad?" Daryl asked,
sounding terribly young to Jim.

"No, son.  It's best if it comes from you," Simon said
firmly.

The techs opened up full Human Sphere communications.  Every
home, business, private vehicle, public transportation,
ship, space station, and military facility could now receive
the message that Daryl would deliver.

"Hello.  As most of you know, I received a message
yesterday.  It was a warning to all space-going species
about a dangerous group of beings who has recently gained
deep space capabilities.  They are aggressive, intelligent,
violent, and highly prolific.  

"This 'watcher' was sent out by the 'Children of a Single
Mind', or at least that's what their names translates to, so
that other species wouldn't unknowingly fall prey to these
aggressors.  According to the message, the aggressor species
had conquered, their words, more territory in a short time
than most species have after centuries in space.  The
'children' so fear these aggressors that they have abandoned
their colonies that could be reached by the aggressors in
the next fifty years.

"The final part of the message was the galactic coordinates
for the home world of the species.  We had a difficult time
translating this because they use a different numbering
system, and the string had to be read from right to left,
instead of left to right the way I would."  By now there was
total silence in the building and on the grounds.  "Our
calculations have been checked and reconfirmed by Earth Two,
Mars One, and Mars Two.  There is no mistake."  Daryl
signaled for the techs to replace his image with the one
coming from the Deep Space telescope.  "Ladies and
gentlemen, citizens of the Human Sphere.  The aggressor
species is us.  

"War-like and intelligent, human beings represent a threat
so great that our nearest galactic neighbors have decided to
move."  Daryl signaled the techs again.  The blue-green
planet picture was replaced with the shot of the exterior of
Earth One.  People were lying bleeding and moaning in the
soft rain.  Security guards lay like broken dolls at the
remains of the gate, some looked dead.  Retrieval Officers
were assessing injuries.  The damage to one of the most
photographed sites on Earth was tremendous.  

"I would have liked to have told 'The Watcher' that its
people were wrong, that mankind had evolved, and we would be
excellent neighbors.  But I can't.  If this is what we will
do to each other, imagine what they fear we would do to
them."  Daryl signaled that they cut the audio, but leave
the image of the grounds of Earth One up.

Simon pulled his son tightly to his chest and stroked the
top of his head.  "I'm so sorry, Son."

Taggart signaled his team.  He left Banks and Preston to
guard the comm center, just in case, and the rest of them
went about the grim task of getting medical aid for the
fallen, and arresting everyone who had participated in the
mob.

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====


Jim was exhausted.  Between the fight to get to the doors,
rendering aid, and the arrests, he ached in every part of
his body.  He had signed up for physical therapy, but he had
been scheduled for the following day.  

Blair stumbled into his back.  "Sorry," he muttered.  The
good doctor had helped perform triage once the situation was
stable on the grounds of Earth One.  There had been 527
people injured, and 12 people killed, including four
security guards.  Jim shuddered to think how many more would
have been hurt or killed if Daryl hadn't insisted on
delivering the message as soon as he understood it.  The
young man had been right.  As soon as he started delivering
his news, the fight had left the mob.

Even with the people subdued, it had taken over nine hours
to clear the scene of all the participants.  Jim imagined
the only way for that many people--some 900 arrested--to
receive their speedy trials would be to hold it in an arena. 
But that was for the advocates to work out.

"Blair, what do you have in your herb stash for exhaustion,
starvation, aching muscles, and a blinding headache that is
giving me homicidal urges?" Jim asked weakly.

"Naomi's blend number 6 will relax your muscles and relieve
your headache, a soaking tub for your homicidal urges, and
I'm sure Hawthorne has left us something to eat."  Blair
went into the kitchen and made a satisfied noise.  "I was
right--lasagna.  Bless his heart."

"Blair, the water allotment for a bath barely makes it past
my waist.  That's not deep enough for a soak."  He loaded a
plate with the nice hot lasagna, grabbed a salad out of the
refrigerator, and two slices of bread from the breadbox.

"I'm a doctor," Blair reminded him.  "I can give you a
medical excuse for a double allotment, that should come to
your chest."

"Thanks, Blair."  Jim sat down at the table.  Blair made him
an aromatic tea that had a hint of ginger in it.  Between
the food, the tea, and the company, he relaxed.


Ellison slipped into the water that blessedly came up to his
neck.  Blair came in, put an herb scented bath pillow behind
Jim's head, and placed a tall glass of apple juice within
Jim's reach.  The sentinel purred.

"Didn't you want to try the bath crystals?" Blair asked.

"They looked expensive."

Blair splashed Jim.  "Jim, they are meant to be used, not
decorate the jar."

Jim sprinkled some crystals into the water, which turned the
water a beautiful turquoise color and filled the air with a
light floral scent.  Between the water and the pillow, Jim's
homicidal urges vanished.

"Ah, Chief.  You really know how to treat a guest."

"You're not a guest, Jim.  You're my roommate."

Jim didn't respond to that.  He wanted to stay, and Blair
was telling him that he could stay.

"Blair, do you think that by the time that we meet other
space-faring species, that we'll be ready?" Jim asked,
leaving his eyes closed.

"I hope so, but I'm sure that they'll be ready for us." 
Blair offered Jim a sponge.

Jim could locate and identify the item by its smell without
opening his eyes.  He reached out to where he thought it was
and his fingers grasped it.  Score one for the sentinel. 
"What do you mean?"

"Our people only found one 'watcher', there are bound to be
more, a lot more.  Each telling everyone who can listen how
dangerous we are, and to avoid us," Blair suggested.

"So even potential friends will be wary," Jim said in
understanding.

"After today, don't you think that they should be wary of
us?" Blair asked.

Jim ran his sponge along his neck.  "Yeah, unfortunately,
they would be fools not to be wary of us."

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====


Computer analysis of all the surveillance camera footage
took only five hours.  Thirty-seven people were charged with
murder, 400 were charged with assault, and 916 were charged
with property damage, trespassing, and mob activities, which
resulted in death, injury, and property damage.  The trial
was over in four hours, it would have lasted longer but
ninety percent of those charged pled guilty.

Jim, Maxine, and Blair paused by the grounds of Earth One
while on their way back from a retrieval.  Their prisoner,
Mo Durham, counterfeiter, computer thief, attempted
murderer, and escapee, had tears on his face as he gazed out
of the window at the once proud facility.  

The grounds were being repaired by those who had received
the one-year recompensation labor sentence.  In other words,
they had to work to repay their debt to society, sometimes
in addition to holding another job.  No one was allowed to
just pay the fine, or pay someone else to do the work.  They
had to repair what they had damaged.  In this case, the
Earth One facility itself.

Blair wondered about the people wearing the yellow and green
of recompensation workers.  Most of them had never been in
any kind of trouble before.  Many could probably never
conceive of such an event as being arrested and convicted. 
Ordinary citizens turned to convicted criminals, whose
records would dog them for the rest of their lives.  They
would lose their right to vote for one year.  They could
*never* hold public office.  Their profiles now carried
their picture.  Four or more hours of every day would be
dedicated to repaying society for the damage that they had
caused until the end of their sentence.  

He wondered how many of them would have left their jobs or
their homes that day to besiege Earth One if they had simply
thought about the consequences?  How many would have
listened to Marion Foster if they knew that 12 deaths could
be laid at their door because of it?  How many of them could
explain their actions to the families of those 12 people?

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====


Jim had been stunned by the beautiful formal wear that his
friend had gifted him with to attend the annual ball
celebrating Martian independence.  It was midnight blue,
complemented his body, and had a sash for the left shoulder,
indicating his single status, in the Ellison tartan.  He
felt a little naked without his weapons, but the Martian
Home Guard would be in charge of the gathering, and he
pitied any idiot who would try to ruin the celebration.

Jim had ancestors who fought in the Martian War of 2094 -
2096, on both sides of the conflict.  Blair's family had
been especially prominent during the conflict.  There was an
enormous habitat dome called Sandburg's Freehold, named
after Marissa Sandburg--rebel, military governor, pilot, and
mother of six.  Her portrait was on the five credit Martian
coin.  Blair's grandfather, Cole, was named after her
husband who had taken the Sandburg name in the Martian
fashion of marriage.  Jim expected to hear lots of Sandburg
stories at this event.

"Jim, you look great," Blair said as he walked into Jim's
room.  "I have a surprise for you."  Blair held up an old-
fashioned photograph, hermetically sealed against the
elements.

Jim looked at the two men in the photograph, dressed in the
uniforms of the Martian rebels, with their arms around each
other.  He was stunned by the resemblance to himself and
Blair.  Now he had an idea what Blair would look like with
very short lightly curled hair and blue eyes, and what he
would look like as a blond with green eyes.  "Who are they?"

"The blond one is Frederick Ellison, your great-great etc.,
grandfather.  He was a scout for the rebels and one of their
best spies.  The other man is Damien Sandburg, my great-
great, etc., grandfather.  Younger brother of Marissa.  He
was a pilot at the beginning of the war, and Ellison's full-
time partner at the end of the war.  They were highly
effective as a team."

"My great grandfather's name was Frederick.  But he's the
only Frederick I know of."  Jim gazed at the photograph. 
Both men had many medals, several campaign ribbons, and the
medal of valor.

"I knew that Damien's partner had been named Ellison, but
Ellison is a common name.  I found this photo.  One look at
him told me that this man had to be a blood relative of
yours," Blair explained.

"Do you know the lineage?" Jim asked, terribly surprised and
excited.

"Frederick, Samuel, Damien, Harold, Michael, Kenneth,
Frederick, John, William Joseph, James, that's you."

"So what happened to him?" Jim asked.

"After the war, they went into business together.  They got
rich, lost almost all of it during the big economic collapse
of 2126, and fought their way back to leave vast fortunes
when they died."

"Ellisons had money?" Jim was surprised.  He had always
thought that Steven was the only Ellison to make it big. 
"What happened to the money?"

"Scrabbling among the heirs.  It's an old story.  Frederick
had 107 heirs when he died and Damien only had 20.  Instead
of settling for smaller shares spread out over time, they
sold out to the Sandburgs.  Most of the money was spent by
the time the next generation inherited."

Jim sighed.  For a brief instant, he had been wealthy.  'Oh,
well.'  "Idiots," he mumbled.

"Greed is a powerful motivator."  Jim tried to hand the
portrait back.  "No, I got that for you.  You can show it
off next month at the clan meeting.  If you didn't know
about Frederick, then other members of your family might not
know about him.  He was an important man, and he is
responsible for many Martian victories.  Fierce Scotsmen
would appreciate that."

Jim smiled as he admired his ancestor in the picture.  "Yes,
they would."

Hawthorne came to Jim's bedroom door.  He was dressed in
formal wear because he was also attending the ball.  Jim
guessed that Blair paid for the tickets.  "Sir, Doctor
Claudia Sandburg has arrived."

"Thank you, Hawthorne," Jim said.

"I will be going off duty now, Sir," Hawthorne announced. 
"Unless you have need of anything further."

"No, Hawthorne.  That will be all.  Have a wonderful time at
the ball," Blair said.

Hawthorne smiled.  "Thank you, Sir."

Jim came down the stairs, not really caring what Claudia
looked like as long as she was good company.  He figured
that being a Sandburg practically ensured one of being
pleasant to look at.  He hoped that the Sandburg charm was
inherited too.

"Jim, may I introduce my cousin, Doctor Claudia Sophia
Sandburg."

Ellison was *not* going to drool, he just wasn't.  The woman
was a goddess, an absolute goddess.  The gold-colored gown
made her look even more like a deity.  "It's so nice to meet
you at last."   He tried not to stare at her beautiful blue
eyes, tiny nose, high cheekbones, and masses of dark brown
hair.  She was petite, about 5' 2", somewhat delicate
looking, with long fingers on her elegant hands.  He kissed
her hand, while pretending to have some class.

"It's nice to meet you, Jim," she said in a surprisingly
deep, but oh so pleasant voice.  "Blair has praised you to
the skies."

Jim nudged Blair.  "Thanks, Buddy."

"Well, why don't I leave the two of you alone while I see
how Jet is coming along."  Blair left them to talk.

Claudia was a wonderful conversationalist, and Jim had a
marvelous time at the ball.  They set a date for her next
free time.  Jim overheard her telling Blair that she 'owed
him big' for fixing her up with Jim.  His cousin, Robert,
said the same thing about Maxine.  Blair's aunt, Helaine
Rosenberg, the clothing designer and manufacturer and
Naomi's older sister, also gushed over her date with Simon. 
It had been a magical night.

                  ====<><><><>===<><><><>====


Daryl watched as Marion Foster was escorted to deportation
to begin his forty-year sentence of hard labor for inciting
a riot, which led to 12 deaths and hundreds of injuries.  He
had used his right of public statement to declare that Daryl
had lied about the message and that mankind was doomed. 
Luckily, few people were inclined to believe the man.

Far Space 3 was now within communications range, and they
too had discovered a watcher.  Unlike FS 1, FS 3 had a
telepath on board.  She had confirmed what Daryl had told
them--mankind had been declared a dangerous species to
fellow space travelers.

Daryl felt old and tired.  He was burdened with knowledge
that was taking his childhood from him.  He hadn't held
anything back from his conversation with the watcher, this
was information he had picked up at the ball.

Blair's cousin Robert Rosenberg's new ship had incredible
new engines and communication equipment.  If all went well
with the launch, mankind would be entering a new phase of
space travel, going further, faster, and with full
communications still in effect.

The Children of a Single Mind only thought that they had a
fifty year buffer zone between them and mankind, but if
Robert's ship worked up to specifications, that was no
longer true.  The Children didn't have fifty years, they now
had less than five years before mankind would be knocking on
their front door.

                          -- The End --