Free The Blue Marble Gambit by Jupiter Boson Page A

lost era I tried so hard to recapture. Two combatants, each
saluting the other jauntily. A chance to gloat. How could I resist?
    A
few days later I arrived. Just for
practice I snuck up on the Admiral's ship; at the time it was the half-mile
long Very Impressive . I wafted across the gun-bristling skin
to the nav bridge and announced my arrival by rapping
on the windows. A startled sentry
almost shot me, but soon enough I was in the Admiral's private quarters.
    After the ritual introductory wrestling
match, we pulled apart. He was
twisting a kink from his neck, and I was rubbing the sore spot on my biceps
where he'd bit me, when he hauled down the flag of truce. And stomped on it.
    "Court,"
he smiled, starlight flickering off that eerie dental diamond, "I'm afraid
you're now bound for a life sentence mining the pores of giant slugs in the
Orell 2 penal colony."
    "Our
truce!" I cried, as I felt the cold stab right in the back. I'd always thought the term 'penal
colony,' through some tragically serendipitous lingual twist, to be an
unpleasant reflection on a common inmate pastime.
    "Truce,
schmuce. You're trapped in another
century. I'm doing this for your
own good. To save you."
    Oh,
please. Throughout human history
more trouble has been caused by people trying to save each other than perhaps
any other way. It's best just to
leave well enough alone.
    "You
have a curious notion of saving," I pointed out.
    He
smiled and poured us each smoking blue drink from a blastproof clearsteel
cylinder.
    I
tried it, and understood the need for the container when it began busily
dissolving me from the inside out. It was excellent.
    "There
might be an alternative," Uncle Admiral hinted.
    "You
seem to have my attention."
    "Much
more than that, actually." He
told me about the Fist, its need for good recruits, the piss-poor selection
among Earth citizens, blah blah blah. Ad nauseam, through nauseam, and finally well beyond
nauseam.
    "I
could probably pull some strings for you," he said, in what I would later learn to be a masterful understatement.
    I
pretended to think about it, then shook my head. “I'll take jail," I said, and held
my wrists out for the binder cuffs. “I don't go for coercion or trickery. To join you now would only encourage
your nefarious games! No! No! And most of all, No! I am ready to pay my debt to society! Woe is me ! If only I had been raised
differently! More school! Less school! Different schools! It's not my fault! If-"
    "Are
you through?" interrupted the Admiral.
    "Just
warming up, actually."
    "There's
something you should see before you're so quick to, ah, embrace the penile
colony lifestyle." I swear he said it that way.
    I
pretended to consider. “Well,
although I am eager to begin re-paying society, alright." The something took
three days to review. It consisted
of secret reports and data, a mountain of evidence which supported one conclusion, a conclusion carefully kept from the public: we
SpaceChimps were on the interstellar ropes. The Insect Galaxy viewed humanity with
the warm affection a Prom Queen for a spider on her toothbrush. The Crunchy bugs were out to get the
Squishies, who lacked a decent shell. And even the other Squishies didn't much care for us.
    So
far their plans were mostly casual and disorganized. But that could change, and even if it
didn't, it might not matter. Even a
casual swat from some of the ancient, powerful Old Galactic Races could be
devastating to Earth.
    The
Home Planet needed its best and brightest; Mother Earth needed those with
operational experience to sally forth and do battle with the multi-eyed
exoskeletal thingies of the universe. Unfortunately there weren't many with operational experience; GovCorp
itself was a majestic experience in hypermanagement. So Admiral Uncle was collecting Fingers
for the Fist, calling the sons and daughters of Earth to action.
    Sounds
hokey, but it was the kind of cause one couldn't refuse. The Admiral later stressed - accurately,
as it turned