Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ the first Trekmaster—they were called Trekkers while doing it—to reach the Webbines’ Home Ground. Except perhaps the first Bearpaw, and nobody will likely ever know what happened to him. TJ actually spent some time there at their Home Ground, communicating, talking, or whatever they do. He doesn’t feel right in putting his thoughts about the episode and all the data he learned on paper yet.”

      “God, wouldn’t Sharon Gold just rape him for that information...oops, sorry, mother but you know what I mean.” He felt a compulsion to cross the ridges himself and meet with the mysterious inhabitants, the Webbines. But he wasn’t ready to make the Trek. “Perhaps it is a foolish custom, mother. Grown men dying for the sake of a throne? A throne which may be much diminished in importance soon should we gain entry into the Federation.”

      Her voice took on a strained tone. “The Federation will leave us alone. Planetary matters are internal, and there will be no interference. At least that’s the way I understand it. Sharon Gold said that’s why they still use the archaic term ‘Federation.’ “

      “And if Sharon Gold doesn’t recommend us for the Council seat, then what?”

      “It is all academic then,” she answered.

      “Mother, I don’t think I like the idea of a high percentage chance of dying in order to become King.”

      “I’ve told you,” she almost shouted at him, “the Trek is custom. It will be honored.”

      Mike saw the strained look on her face and understood for the first time. She didn’t want him to go on the Trek either. But she had no choice. She was more bound than he was by custom and tradition.

      She slumped to a stool and her shoulders dropped. “What do you want me to say?” she demanded.

      Michale’s resentment grew. He could not stop himself. “So, one day, TJ Shepherd is going to turn me loose with a bunch of his illegitimate children he calls ‘kinglets’ to make some insane trek and probably get killed?” Instantly, he wished he could have said it differently. He knew he’d hurt her. “Mother.” He shook his head. “That wasn’t fair of me. Forgive me, formally, mother. I didn’t intend to hurt you. It was foolish of me to say.” The subject was an unspoken taboo. Mike knew his father would do anything to insure the continuity of the Shepherd rule and prevent the re-emergence of the nobility as a ruling class.

      “Don’t you see he had to do it?”

      “No,” Mike said flatly, still understanding only partly. But he knew it was one of the many crosses she had to carry. After his own birth, she had been unable to have other children. A price she had to pay. One taken from her heart every time her husband fathered another child to insure Shepherd succession to the throne of Crimson Sapphire. A self-sacrificing concept TJ had come up with. Or so he said. Mike knew these things instinctively, and felt closer to his mother than a few minutes before when he was faulting her for his father’s shortcomings. At least, he thought ruefully, the crusty old bastard hadn’t dumped her like he could have. Could TJ really love her? She must love him, for why else would she put up with him, and his foibles? His profanity, his “official” affairs, his boorishness. Mike felt a pang of jealousy. Always had he fought for his mother’s affections. Always had both he and his father put her in the middle of their fighting, their arguing, always relying on her and her wisdom to arbitrate, to keep them together as a family—to maintain the uneasy peace.

      “A time of trial, nothing will remain the same.”

      “What, mother?”

      “This Federation business. We’ve enough problems as it is.”

      “Have you told father what you think about it?”

      “What I think is unimportant. Except about you.”

      “I know,” he grinned suddenly. “What I need to do is find some nice young girl and settle down, right?”

      Gwen smiled and nodded—too enthusiastically, Mike thought, but that was understandable.

      10. THE GIRL

      Rebecca Sing patted her burro on the rump and urged it forward. The beefaloe herd parted at her entry and she began singing, singing to soothe the unruly beasts. She pulled the lutar off her back and began caressing the strings. She liked the six-stringed lutar better than either of its parents, the fat lute and the thinner guitar. She felt safer among the beefaloe, for the local volves now had juicier targets.

      She was tired of traveling and was determined to reach her destination soon; therefore, she had taken this shortcut pointed out to her by several of the Prince’s vaqueros. Prince Michale, son of the King, owned these vast lands by right of some obscure hereditary title. More beefaloe than she had thought existed on the entire planet roamed the land. She understood the beefaloe were a strain bred from the sheepaloe to exist in dangerous areas—beefaloe could protect themselves from the rare snarves and packs of volves, where sheepaloe were docile and stupid creatures.

      A bull dwarfed her and the burro and pawed the ground in front of her and snorted. He tossed his long horns, showing his displeasure. She continued to sing, low and throaty.

      “I’m just as headstrong as you, so you’d best clear the trail,” she told the bull as she finished her song.

      Strangely, she felt herself smiling. The bull reminded her of the parting scene in Lonestar.

      Jon, the smith’s son, had thought her his for the taking; in fact, for over a year he had acted in a very possessive manner. And, therefore, none of the other young men would have anything to do with her. Jon’s ever-looming presence intimidated them. Though she didn’t truly dislike Jon, she found herself resenting him more and more and she felt herself boxed in. freedom somehow denied. He reminded her of the bull. Head down and charge. Overpower. Overwhelm with brute force, personality developed from his strength and large size. He had taken it for granted that they would marry. And she had been ready to marry, but realized Jon wasn’t the one. There were some fine and gentle young men in Lonestar worthy of interest—yet none had challenged Jon for time with her. All of which confused her: she did not want to be the object of competition, she did not want a violent man to pay her attention, and yet it would take both to free her from Jon.

      “You are leaving?” Jon had asked, bewildered. His thick black hair drooped across his shoulders and his giant left fist seemed to spasm.

      “Yes. My brother does not return, now that he is enrolled in that fancy school.”

      “He does not need you. I do.” Jon’s voice boomed. Rebecca was surprised. Jon must have seen her determination to leave for he had never admitted to needing her. He wouldn’t make a bad husband, she thought wistfully, but she did not want to tote and carry for him. It was just something she didn’t want to do, she wasn’t purposefully trying to break the mold.

      Carefully, she explained that she’d promised her mother on the day she had died that she would care for her younger brother. “I told her I would watch over Kellen until he became a man,” she finished. Kellen was now of adult age, but was he a man?

      “You are carrying loyalty to a fault,” Jon accused.

      “No, it is my way. There are no other Sings left, that I am aware of, and I have a sworn duty.” She didn’t want to argue—he wouldn’t understand the real reasons. Such as her yearning for new ideas and places and people. Could that be what affected Kellen? He’d changed so much recently and she hadn’t grasped how deep the СКАЧАТЬ