🚀 go-pugleaf

                  <<Continued from Part Three>>



     "You know," Morph said, "we've been awfully quiet for people
who needed to talk."
     "I know," Random said, wandering through the arboretum
quietly, next to her.  "But that's not so bad."
     "It's not?"
     "No.  Sometimes, you speak best when you have your mouth
shut."
     Morph giggled.
     Random stopped and looked at her.  "That was weird," he said.
     "What?"
     "You giggled.  You don't giggle, Morph.  You just don't."
     "Well, I did, so I guess I do."
     Random thought about that.  "Yeah, okay," he said.
     Morph giggled again, as though to prove the point, and then
stretched.  Her arms bent back much farther than a norm human's
could, the motion catlike.
     Random coughed and looked away.
     "Keith?"
     "Nothing, Morph.  Let's just say you've become *very* female."
     Morph blinked, and smiled.  "Oh really?" she asked.  "What
should I--"
     "Hm, I'd think there was no doubt."
     Morph and Random jumped, startled as one, and looked to the
side, where a newcomer, about five foot six and solidly built,
leaned against a tree.  He wore Fringe Corps work fatigues.  On his
collar there were Commander's Bars.
     "Hello?" Morph asked.  "I'm sorry, Sir, but I don't think I
remember seeing you here before."
     "For good reason.  I came in on the last supply freighter.
Hello, greetings, salutations, and all that.  A pleasure to meet
you both in the flesh."
     "You know us," Random asked.
     "I know the reports that left the station -- not very
complete, I'll admit.  I think Captain Sheen might take a little
trouble for that.  Buuuuuuuut not too much, I'd imagine.  Anyhow, I
thought I'd say hello."
     "Great," Morph said.  "And you are?"
     "Oh!  Oh course.  How foolish of me.  Terribly sorry.  The
name's... well, unimportant.  I'm called Singularity.  I'm just
arrived."
     "Wait -- *the* Singularity," Random asked.  "You're joking."
     "Is it really that funny," Singularity asked, "or is it my
delivery?"
     "What are *you* doing here?"
     "Oh, come now -- this is where the action is, isn't it?  Round
Robin Station, on the Fringes of UCP space, right out from the Nin
and everyone else?  Besides, Spammeister went far and away, and his
little power plant really isn't stable, now is it.  I'm going to be
the Chief Engineer, at least for a little while.  We'll convert
over to a Microstar and be done with it.  Won't we, now?"
     "Sure..." Random said slowly.  "Well... welcome aboard."
     "Thank you, thank you... I'll leave you two alone.  Be seeing
you, Random."
     "Uh-huh...."  Unconsciously, Random took Morph's hand and led
her away, Singularity watching benevolently."
     "Keith?" Morph asked.  "What's going on -- you've got that
look again--"
     "He's here for me," Random whispered.  "You tangently, but me
in particular."
     "What?  Keith, conspiracy theories are one thing, but out and
out para--"
     "Morph -- we're on the fringes.  We haven't had enough time
for a Chief Engineer to pack up his whole life and ship here on a
regular freighter -- they take *weeks* to get here.  That meant he
must have left a month or more ago.  Before any reports.  Before
anything.  But here he is -- one of the most powerful paranorms in
the Fringe Corps -- a veritable legend.
     "Why?  Why is he here?  Why does he know *us?*"
     Morph stared at Random, then turned back to where Singularity
had stood.  But he was gone now.
     "C'mon," Random said.  "We need more information."
     Not far away, Singularity leaned against a tree and smiled.
Contact.
     He slipped his hand to the chain, and drew out the chunk of
Arisite he wore, and looked into it, watching it sparkle.  So far,
so good.

                           <><><><><>

     Sheen folded the white undershirt and set it in the small
overnighter, running a silver hand along it.  She smiled, somewhat
wistfully.
     "You know," Andrew said, "If you like the shirt that much, you
*can* have it."
     Sheen smiled, leaning back against him.  She didn't need to
physically feel his body heat to feel warm near him.  "Depends on
how you want to stuff it," she said.
     "After all this time, Michelle, you *know* better than to hand
me straight lines."
     "Right as always," she murmured.  "So where now?"
     "You haven't asked that these last few days.  Why now?"
     Sheen sighed slightly.  "Because these last few days, I had
you.  I didn't really want to think about you going away again."
     Andrew nodded, running fingers through the strands of her
hair.  They slipped over the tiny tendrils of mirror force
sheathing each lock.  "I'm not sure where next," he said.  "I
assume I'm still on detached duty with the Scout Corps, but that's
hard to verify now.  My team was exploring Gyruss and putting down
an uprising -- but Gyruss was destroyed, so...."
     "So you might be recalled by the Earthguard?"
     "Yes."
     Sheen slowly turned, hugging Andrew.  "I have... another
question."
     "Yeah?"
     Sheen slowly traced her fingers along Andrew's bare right
shoulder, where the tattooed pentacle was smooth on his skin.  He
had one on each shoulder -- a white pentacle with black fills on
one, a black pentacle with white fills on the other.  When the
Lords of the Outer Darkness were manipulating Round Robin Station
as the Engine of Cosmic Reunification, their Pawns and the Serfs of
the Inner Light had similar pentacles, their color marking them.
Andrew's had represented his own Masters, Yin and Yang -- the
Parents and Children of the Five Friends.
     After the Unification, the Serfs and Pawns had ceased to
exist, and the pentacles had faded along with them.  But not
Andrew's.
     "Why do you still have these?" Sheen asked, finally.
     "I don't know," Andrew said.  "I expect they'll tell me."
     "They--?"
     <<Excuse me, Captain Sheen,>> ALEXIS, the station AI, reported
coolly.  <<Shuttle Menelaus is scheduled to depart in twenty five
standard minutes.  Commodore Wavelength has enquired as to Sergeant
Major Dynamo's preparedness.>>
     "Tell her I'll be there," Andrew said.  "Michelle... we have
to go."
     Sheen nodded.  "Get your uniform shirt on," she said.  "I've
got your overnighter pretty much packed."
     "Right."  Andrew reluctantly let her go, moving to the side
and picking the tan Scout Corps undress uniform shirt up.  Sheen
walked over and slipped a few more knick-knacks into Andrew's bag,
adding a letter and a small packet when he wasn't looking.  Zipping
it up, she handed it to him.  "Come on," she said, "I've got a
Shuttle to see off and Dignitaries to be nice to."
     "When did the Earthguard become dignitaries?" Dynamo asked, as
the pair walked into the hall towards the grav lifts.
     "When Wavelength started using my Station and crew as testing
grounds," Sheen said curtly.
     "Ouch.  Gotcha."
     "I'm sorry... I don't mean for my bitterness to carry over to
you."
     "Want to talk about it?"
     "In a grav lift?" Sheen asked with an arched eyebrow.  "I
don't think so."  The pair stepped off the edge, even as Sheen said
"Deck thirty-eight."  Gravity pulses locked onto the two, lifting
them quickly to the thirty-eighth deck, where they stepped out.
"Besides," she continued, "it mostly boils down to disillusionment.
Before all of this happened, I knew that deep down we were all
Earthguard together.  We'd see any problem though -- like when we
were kids."
     "And now?"
     "We're all grown up, and I'm in the Fringe Corps," Sheen said,
stepping into Docking Bay Four.  She smiled a professional smile
and walked towards the cluster of passengers.
     "Hello Sheen," Wavelength said, stepping towards her.  "I
think we're about set."
     Sheen nodded.  "Safe journey, Commodore," she said.
     "Thank you.  You run a taut station, Sheen.  You should be
proud."
     "I'm proud of my crew."
     Wavelength nodded, and started to turn.
     "Commodore?"
     Wavelength paused, and glanced back.  Sheen glanced at Dynamo,
who quietly stepped out of the way, over where Benjadi and Genevive
Tombolo stood.  Sheen moved closer to Wavelength.
     "Yes?" Wavelength asked quietly.
     "I'll make this quick," Sheen said.  "I'm not Earthguard any
more.  This isn't an Earthguard station.  You have no business
testing me, my station or my crew.  This isn't debatable."
     "Round Robin is very important," Wavelength replied.  "We have
to be sure--"
     "I think you can be *very* sure of us," Sheen almost hissed.
"Your orders managed to sow dissension and distrust in the middle
of a crisis.  I won't forget that, `Magnetic Lass.'  Don't you
forget that we pulled it off anyhow.  Also -- I don't expect you to
test *your* officers and crew by sending them to me.  Do it again,
and I swear to Christ there will be Hell to pay."
     Wavelength nodded curtly.
     "Have a nice trip," Sheen said, stepping away from her former
commander, and walked to the others.  Wavelength paused a long
moment, then turned and waited.
     Sheen paused at the first float-stretcher, first.  Support
crew were guiding it.  Excalibur lay on it, staring up at the
ceiling.
     "Charles?" she asked quietly.
     He turned and looked at her.  "Hello, Captain," he said.
     "Hi.  I know the past weeks have been bad for us."
     "Yes," Charles said.  "They have."
     "I also know you were ordered to test me.  Now, you were a
provincial, stubborn, asinine aggravation in doing it and in
general, but I don't hold that against you."
     "Charming," Charles said.
     "I try to be.  Get better."
     "I will, Michelle.  It will take time -- my powers interfere
with regeneration processes.  But I will."
     "Good."  Sheen rested her hand on his cheek for a moment, then
walked down to the next float.
     Delphi's eyes were closed, and he was smiling beatifically in
his sleep.
     "Any change," Sheen whispered to Impulse."
     "No," Impulse whispered back.  She was on edge.  "Did you--"
     "I've made some inquiries," Sheen said.  "When I know more,
I'll send you a communique."
     "Thanks, `Reflective Lass.'"
     "Any time, `Lady Thunder.'"
     The two embraced for a long moment.  Afterward, Sheen almost
giggled.  "That tingled," she said.
     "Tingled," Impulse almost smirked.  "That was enough direct
current to power your station, and it tingled."
     Sheen shrugged.  "Safe trip, Anne."
     "You too."
     Sheen stepped over to Genevive Tombolo -- her untwin in gold.
     "Good luck," she said simply.  "And keep in contact.  I know
quite a lot about your abilities."
     "Almost everything about them, really," Genevive said,
smiling.  "Besides, we are related, after a fashion.  We should
speak sometime, Tombolo to Tombolo."
     Sheen laughed.  "I can't tell you if a great-grand ancestor
was a Tombolo or not," she said.  "My name's Michelle Logan, not
Tombolo."
     "Then I will bid you farewell, Captain Michelle Sheen Not-
Tombolo Logan of Round Robin."
     She stepped to Benjadi.
     He looked good.  He wore a loose gold and red tunic, open at
the neck.  He was unshaven.  He was... relaxed.  Himself.
     Sheen smiled to him.  "Safe journey, Ohm'velt," she said.
     "Thank you, Nu'velt," he replied.  He then leaned forward.  "I
might have to rethink my plans," he whispered.  "I hear the beer on
Orzechowicz *rots.*"
     Sheen laughed and embraced him.  She felt his arms squeeze,
just enough to permeate her mirror-force, and she relished that
last touch.
     And then there was Andrew.
     "I will be back," he whispered as they embraced.  "Maybe
sooner than you expect."
     "It couldn't be too soon," she whispered back. "I love you."
     "I know."
     They hugged a long moment, and then she let him go.  She
watched as the passengers climbed on board the Shuttle, taking care
with the two floats.  She watched it seal up.
     "Must be a weird moment for you, Captain," Lieutenant Granite
said.
     "Bittersweet, Lieutenant," she answered, watching.  "I'm going
to miss them a lot."  She turned to face her acting First Officer.
"And *Christ* I'm glad they're leaving my Station."
     "You and me both," Granite grinned.  "I'm hoping that as they
leave, we can get started on some good old fashioned boredom and
routine."
     "Sounds ideal," Sheen said.  "They're about to evacuate the
air for launch.  Come on -- we need to look over the power
rationing schedule -- this plant conversion can be a nightmare if
we're not careful...."

                           <><><><><>

     Edward Stewart reclined in the soft leather chair, sipping
wine and relaxing.  It was all going perfectly, so far.  They'd met
the Iskandarans and had managed to avoid offending them, so far.
Eris willing, they'd be able to keep it up.
     The Iskandarans themselves were a wonderful people.  Deeply
spiritual, soft-spoken... a culture born of telepathy was a quiet
culture, it seemed.  None of the Nin Conglomerate Diplomatic team
had been allowed any contact with the Arisite they used in their
ceremonies, but it was clear that they were a very open people
because of it.
     The thought of the Megacorp Council of the United Compact of
Planets, Incorporated ordering a casual strip-mining of the place,
decimating the culture and opening a chain of McLeod's Burger
Worlds, turned Edward's stomach.  He had to prevent that.  He just
had to.
     They took his warnings well enough, he had to admit.  They
listened solemnly, and they understood.  Maybe they read his mind
and knew he meant it.  He kind of hoped they had -- he had nothing
to hide.
     What were the odds the UCP could say the same?  Of all their
diplomats, they only had one telepath, and she was here.  No doubt
they hoped she could shield herself from the Iskandarans.
Hopefully her efforts to do so would alienate them.  Something
about the UCP had better alienate them soon, after all.
     Edward was the brother of a charter member of the Earthguard.
His two brothers had joined it, later.  He knew better than to
believe in coincidence.  There simply was no such thing.
     He'd tried to warn his family about Monique.  Tried to tell
them what she didn't want them to know.  It didn't do any good.
They didn't want to hear him.  And now she was in High Orbit,
waiting to land, and he was down here, waiting for her.
     He had to remember to warn the staff about her.  She wasn't a
strong telepath, like her brother, but she was extremely subtle.
Edward knew better than most.  He already had warned the host
family that had taken him in -- the Kul, they were called.  Kul
D'shari, the Matriarch, had been very kind.  She was a Counsel in
the Ministry of Diplomatic Affairs -- their word for it was the
Mek'depah.  Her husband, Kul N'phen, was a Soldier in the
Mek'Chutsa.
     Their daughter, Kul D'nunari, was angular and elfin, lovely in
a golden way....
     Edward shied from such thoughts.  No matter how humanocentric
the Iskandarans seemed, there wasn't any chance that Kul D'nunari
would echo his feelings, no matter how delicate and enchanting she
might be....
     Edward wouldn't let the UCP, Inc. tear these people apart.  He
wouldn't let D'nunari's life and world become fuel for some
corporate profit sheet.  Even if it meant the Nin Conglomerate lost
out too -- even if it ended his career.
     The Megacorp Council of the UCP, Inc. called Edward Stewart a
traitor.  They called his brothers and sister heroes.  Well, maybe
he wasn't a hero, but he had to at least live up to his principles.
No matter what Monique Dumont had to say about it.
     He sipped more wine, and leaned back in the chair, and half-
closed his eyes.  Tonight he needed rest, for tomorrow he would go
to war.
     And not far away from Edward Stewart, two servants of the Kul
stood, quiet and ready.
     The Arisite jewels they wore glistened.
     As did the jewel Kul D'nunari wore.
     As did the jewels her parents, Kul D'shari and Kul N'phen
wore.
     Edward didn't see the two servants watching him, watching as
though they weighed his measure and his tenor with every passing
second.
     He couldn't see the totality of House Kul smile slowly in
unison, as though they liked what they saw.  He couldn't see how
little he understood.  How little indeed.

                           <><><><><>

     Nixaen slowly climbed into the coffin-like pulse boat.
Getting out of the cabin had been simple.  The Shuttle's internal
sensors hadn't picked up his movements -- there was no way they
could have.  This wasn't a warship, or a prison carrier.  This was
a shuttle -- meant purely to carry people from point A to point B,
as quickly and efficiently as possible.  So, the internal sensors
were mostly devoted to amenities like making sure the air wasn't
rushing out a hole into the vacuum of space.  Nixaen applauded
their priorities -- and, of course, they made his job easier.
     He took a few long moments and adjusted the ejection system.
Normally, when the pulse boat hatch was sealed, it triggered the
lock and fired the coffin into space, to escape some disaster.  If
Nixaen ejected now, he'd land in one of Round Robin's docking bays,
which wasn't exactly what he had in mind.
     By the same token, if one of the Earthguard happened by while
the hatch was open.... well, it would be hard to convince them he
was just doing some interior detailing as a sign of his affection.
He had to get the ejection set to manual.
     Besides, he wouldn't have much time after launch to set a
destination in the navigational computer, so that he could use the
N-Space shift of the Menelaus to cover his own escape.  The
wraithpulse drive in a lifecraft like the pulse boat wasn't good
for much speed or distance.  If he was going to get *anywhere* in
Ninite controlled space, he had to figure out where.
     The hatch hissed and closed behind his head.  Behind that, he
heard the pressure lock close.  He waited a long three seconds,
breath held, waiting for the locks to release and a charge to blast
him into a reinforced bulkhead.  When it didn't come, he smiled and
started opening up the navigational and destination programs in the
pulse boat's computer.  They were preset to take the survivor to
the nearest Earthguard Outpost, Fringe Corps base or UCP Member-
World, in that order.  None of those appealed much to Nixaen.
     He got effective range from the computer, and slipped out his
minidatapad.  Any good spy carried as much potentially useful
information as he could -- and Nixaen *was* a good spy.  He kept
appraised of what the Ninites were doing, and where they were doing
it, just in case.
     Scanning the database, he began to wonder why he bothered.
The pulse boat just didn't have that much range, and even though
Round Robin was on the fringes of UCP controlled space, it was near
the unexplored region, not the Nin Conglomerate.  Well, maybe if he
got to a UCP Member World he could hitch a ride with one of the
Free Traders--
     Wait -- there *was* a world with a Ninite activity profile in
range.  There was--
     "Iskandar?" he asked out loud.  "Where the Hell is Iskandar?"
     "Launch Warning," the onboard computer intoned over the PA,
rebroadcast in the tiny cabin of the pulse boat.  "Wraithspace
acceleration in four minutes."
     "Oh *Iskandar,*" he said.  "I always wanted to get drunk on
Iskandar."  He punched in the coordinates, even as he felt the
shuttle lift off and move forward.  Locking the destination into
the computer, he started the most dangerous part of the process for
him -- he began to disable the emergency beacons that would
normally go off with ejection, and disable the on-ship alarms,
while still prepping the tiny craft for launch.
     What made this part dangerous was threefold.  First, there was
always the chance his efforts to disable the alarms would in fact
set them off.  This was not what the well-dressed spy wanted to
have happen, Seed of Chaos or not.  Second, there was chance that
he would fail, which would let the Fringe Corps know instantly that
he was not on board his nice little ship -- and get them to analyze
Wraithdrive emissions.
     Most dangerous of all, though, was the fact that his
activities would show up on the monitor boards in the Control
Cabin.  He hadn't begun to have time to hide those readings.  If no
one was paying attention to those systems, then no problem.  Except
this was a shuttle designed to be flown by a very few people, so
all the readouts were condensed into a few displays.  That might
work for or against him.  But if they saw that a pulse boat was
prepping for launch, they'd abort -- maybe Round Robin would get a
Wraithhook field over the ship....
     Nixaen found himself grinning. Whatever else happened, he
*loved* his work.
     There... there it was ready.  Now... he just had to wait...
just a few moments longer....
     "Wraithspace warning."  The Computer sounded quite pleased
with itself.
     Nixaen grinned.  Perfect.  He put his hand over the execution
button... waiting that long extra second... timing was everything.
A half-second early and it would be detected too soon.  A half
second too late, and the clamps would lock and he'd be stuck -- or
worse, they'd fire him through the Wraithspace envelope, rupturing
it and killing himself and everyone on Menelaus instantly.
     Which truth be told would be a Hell of a blow off.
     The ship began to hum, ever so slightly... a tiny vibration
and Nixaen stabbed the execution button, ejecting himself into
space.  Almost instantly the pulse boat's instruments lit up with
the massive discharge of EM emissions from the Menelaus
accelerating to Wraithspace.
     And with a kick, the Wraithpulse drive generated its own
acceleration -- the tiny drive riding a single standing wave of N-
space as he disappeared from view.
     "Yes yes *YES!*  In your *face* Gravelength!  Hah hah
HAH!!!!!"  Nixaen slammed the couch next to him with an excited
fist.  He'd done it -- once again, he'd slipped through the cracks,
finding the option they said didn't exist.
     "Right..." he said out loud.  "Let's inventory.  I have a six
foot by three foot by three foot `cabin' suitable for lying down in
and going stir crazy.  I have... hm... two weeks worth of brown
bricks of moist, prepackaged clay they call `survival rations.'  I
have sanitary facilities designed by the Marquis de Sade.  And what
to do..."  He scanned the pulse boat's archives for entertainment
files.
     "None?  Nothing?  Not even an audiochip or the complete works
of Harold Robbins?  Oh *maaaan.*  How long am I going to be in this
excitement?"  He checked the navicomp.
     He stared at it.
     "One...hundred...seventy...four...standard...hours."  Over a
week.  In this thing.  With nothing to do.
     He picked up his minidatapad, and scanned its files as well.
There weren't many -- mostly just the sort of trivia a spy would
want access to when he didn't know what he was up against.  That
didn't include many novels.
     But... there was one entertainment program, by a loose
definition.  There was `Miko's Doughnut Adventure.'  Probably the
most banal game ever written.  It was hardwired into the
minidatapad by the manufacturer -- possibly as punishment to the
public.
     Nixaen sighed and laid back, closing the minidatapad.  He'd
hold out as long as he could, but sooner or later, he knew Miko'd
be getting a *lot* of damn doughnuts.



WILL MIKO GET A LOT OF DAMN DOUGHNUTS?
WILL NIXAEN MAKE IT TO ISKANDAR?
HOW WILL THAT CHANGE THE NIN CONGLOMERATE'S ATTEMPT TO WIN ARISITE
     CONCESSIONS FROM THE ISKANDARANS?
WILL EDWARD STEWART MANAGE TO PROTECT THE ISKANDARANS?
DO THEY NEED IT?
WHAT IS MONIQUE DUMONT'S SECRET?
WHAT DOES EDWARD KNOW?
WILL HARRISON, MONOPULSE AND SHOCKWAVE KILL DIGULIO?
HOW DID SINGULARITY GET ARISITE?
WHAT HAPPENED TO DELPHI?
WHAT DOES SINGULARITY WANT WITH RANDOM?
WHAT IS HARRISON'S PARANORMALITY?
IS WAVELENGTH HAVING A BAD DAY OR *WHAT?*



These questions and others just like them are none of my damn
concern, pink boy.  Nope.  Instead... they're the concern and
intellectual problem of CHRIS "Frobozz" ANGELINI, making his debut
in this universe in the very next ROUND ROBIN (The Second Cycle),
only on Superguy, where they take us.


~~
This story is a derivative work based on "Round Robin," Copyright
1992, 1993 John Bankert, Eric Alfred Burns, Gary W. Olson, Bill
Paul and Evan Pongress and is used by permission.

"Round Robin: The Second Cycle" is Copyright 1996 Christopher
Angelini, John Bankert, Eric Alfred Burns, Mason Kramer, Gary W.
Olson and Jesse Taylor.  Electronic distribution is permitted as
per the Superguy FAQ.  All rights reserved.


--
Beta-Cit Eric Alfred Burns  |"Takes more than Combat Gear to Make a Man,
<sabre@awenet.com>          | Takes more than a License for a Gun.
http://www.eyrie.org/~sabre | Confront your Enemies, Avoid them when you can,
Writer Type, Poet Boy       | A Gentleman will walk but never run."
Gadfly-for-Hire             |                             --Sting