Free Nebula Awards Showcase 2008 by Ben Bova Page A

give up their banned technologies. At first trade between the two cultures of Walden flourished. In fact, the pukpuk industrial and commercial base propped up the fledgling Transcendent State. Citizens needed pukpuk goods, even if bots manufactured them. As time passed, however, the Cooperative recognized that pukpuks’ continued presence was undermining the very foundations of the Transcendent State. When the Cooperative attempted to close off the borders in order to encourage local industry, black markets sprang up in the cities. Many citizens came to question the tenets of simplicity. The weak were tempted by forbidden knowledge. For the first time since the founding, the emigration rate edged into the double digits. When it was clear that the only way to save the Transcendent State was to push the pukpuks off the planet, Chairman Winter had authorized the planting of genetically enhanced trees. But once the forest began to encroach on the pukpuk barrens, the burns began.
    The pukpuks were the clear aggressors in the firefight; even their sympathizers among the citizenry agreed on that. What no one could agree on was how to accommodate them without compromising. In fact, many of the more belligerent citizens held that the ultimate responsibility for the troubles lay with the Chairman himself. They questioned his decision not to force all of the pukpuks to emigrate after the purchase of Morobe’s Pea. And some wondered why he could not order them to be rounded up and deported even now. It was, after all, his planet.
     
     
    “We’ve come up with a compromise,” said Ngonda as he pushed through the bulkhead into the compartment. He was still as pale as a root cellar mushroom, but he seemed steadier. He even glanced briefly down at the eastern slope of Bootless Lowa Mountain before cutting his eyes away. “I think we can let the High Gregory visit under your supervision.”
    Memsen, the High Gregory, and a young girl followed him, which caused the bulkhead to burst altogether. Spur caught a glimpse of a knot of kids peering at him before the wall re-formed itself two meters farther into the interior of the hover, creating the necessary extra space to fit them all. The High Gregory was carrying a tray of pastries, which he set on the table he caused to form out of the deck.
    “Hello, Spur,” he said. “How do you like flying? Your friend got sick but Memsen helped him. This is Penny.”
    “The Pendragon Chromlis Furcifer,” said Memsen.
    She and Spur studied each other. A little taller but perhaps a little younger than the High Gregory, the girl was dressed hood to boot in clothes made of supple metallic-green scales. The scales of her gloves were as fine as snakeskin while those that formed her tunic looked more like cherry leaves, even to the serrated edges. A rigid hood protected the back of her head. A tangle of thick, black hair wreathed her face.
    “Penny,” said the High Gregory, “you’re supposed to shake his hand.”
    “I know,” she said, but then clasped both hands behind her back and stared at the deck.
    “Your right goes to his right.” The High Gregory held out his own hand to demonstrate. “She’s just a little shy,” he said.
    Spur crouched and held out his hand. She took it solemnly. They shook. Spur let her go. The girl’s hand went behind her back again.
    “You have a pretty name, Pendragon,” said Spur.
    “That’s her title.” Memsen faced left and then right before she sat on the bench next to Ngonda. “It means war chief.”
    “Really. And have you been to war, Penny?”
    She shook her head—more of a twitch of embarrassment than a shake.
    “This is her first,” said the High Gregory. “But she’s L’ung. She’s just here to watch.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Spur. “Who are the L’ung?”
    Ngonda cleared his throat in an obvious warning. The High Gregory saw Memsen pinch the air and whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. The silence stretched long