Flag of the Deep Space Survey

Christopher Alan Starbright had just turned fifteen. He had not seen the world of his birth since he was six, when his father had been assigned to the *D.S.S. *Michael Archangelos*. Now *Michael* was orbiting low and fast over Selene, which was fading from mouse-gray to mouse-brown before the bow as the star Helios slipped toward the horizon behind the stern.

Like all *Cherub*-class Surveyors, *Michael* was designed to stay on a given mission for years, even decades at a time. It stopped at a Deep Space Station or a habitable world at its captain’s discretion, whenever he felt that the crew needed a break from the “corridor culture” that was the ship’s routine. *Michael* was a saucer-shaped starship over sixteen kilocubits – over four and a half miles – in diameter, with sea-air-space capability and a top sustained virtual velocity of log six, but even its relative roominess could not compare to the freedom of a planet with a breathable atmosphere and a pleasant climate.

Ironically, Chris Alan – as he called himself, and as all his friends and family called him – had lived within two light-seconds of just such a world, the archetype of all the others, but he had never set foot on it. He had been born and raised in another corridor culture: Earthlight Station on Selene. That station featured one of the engineering wonders of the Galaxy, the Earthlight Auditorium with its surrounding Earthlight Gardens. Chris Alan had been precocious, but even so he had not been old enough to fully appreciate the sight of Selene’s parent world through the duringlass dome that protected the Auditorium and Gardens from the hazards of space. Chris Alan looked forward to seeing that sight again, now that he was older.

Of course, being a boy not all that far into puberty, Chris Alan looked forward to seeing many other things. Earthlight Station alone boasted a fairly large population of attractive young people (but then, who in-Sphere *wasn’t* attractive?), and some of them had been in touch with him as video-friends over the Nexus. He had become so taken with one of them (a charming fourteen-year-old strawberry blonde) that both his parents had chided him to exercise restraint when he finally met her face-to-face.

Yes indeed, fifteen was a wonderful age to be for a boy – especially one as intelligent and as sensitive as Chris Alan was.

Chris Alan Starbright

“The view is even better through the scanners, Chris Alan,” an adult voice said from somewhere behind him.

“I like looking through the window better this time around, Dad. Thanks.”

< And well you might, > thought his father. Dr. David Starbright, the astronomer, planetologist and stellar cartographer aboard *Michael*, was a Scientist temperamentally speaking, as his son was a Protector. As personality types, they had very much in common, yet paradoxically their types related most naturally as casual friends. Dr. Starbright had learned long ago when to give his son the personal space he needed to have. Besides, there was that way Chris Alan acted sometimes – as if he *sensed* things that not all the sophisticated technology and hyper-technology at his father’s disposal could reveal. It was slightly unnerving – all the more in that Chris Alan was not all that inclined to talk about it. Like his fellow Protectors generally, Chris Alan didn’t like to talk about himself.

“Dad, there it is!”

“I see it, Chris Alan!” Dr. Starbright’s fingers flew over the interface screen. “Whenever you feel inclined to look, I’ve got the whole sensor suite online. I have about a dozen windows open already. You’ve seen many worlds through *Michael*’s eyes. I think you’d find the comparison with this one fascinating.”

“I’m sure I will, Dad. Not just yet, please.”

Image Source

And there it was indeed: Ge, in almost full phase from this vantage point, rising above the rugged horizon of Selene. Chris Alan had hoped he would not be disappointed; after all, it was just one water-covered, blue-and-white world among many, rare as such worlds actually were. Many of those worlds were almost as high on the habitability index as Ge itself. Some were all the more interesting because of their vast deserts, inhospitable mountains and other features that limited the amount of available land surface for mortal colonists. Ge was gorgeous, and it seemed to have arrayed its land masses and cloud cover for best possible effect, like a woman adjusting her clothes in a mirror; yet Ge was not overwhelming physically compared to its planetary cousins. It was one lovely flower in a whole field of lovely flowers, as his Ge-born mother might have put it.

And yet…and yet…there was something about this world that spoke to Chris Alan’s very soul. It was home (even if still largely sight unseen), but it was much more than that. It was the center of the Covenant Realm in every meaningful sense. This was not just a piece of data to Chris Alan. He could feel the Power emanating from the Heart of the Sphere, somewhere down there on that orb: a Power that was gentle when at rest, absolutely unstoppable when aroused. Not even his fellow Lightchildren (had he only known it) could perceive that Power in that way – let alone any mortal. That perception was his alone, among all his Adami kind.

“Where’s Mom? She should be seeing this.”

“She is, *depend* on it. She’s in Stellar Cartography, where she can do the sort of playing around that *you* normally do when we approach a new world. And where is Rafael?”

“I am monitoring, Dr. Starbright,” said a voice speaking from Chris Alan’s vicinity like an invisible ventriloquist: a very precisely inflected voice, using practically idealized Adamic. “My link with *Michael*’s computer network is active. Later, I will review with Chris Alan what you are looking at now.”

A Starbard with her Guardian in Alpha Mode

“Hmph. You two are learning some subtlety. I didn’t see you come in, Rafael.”

“I am in Contact Lens mode, Dr. Starbright. It is something recently added to my programming. It is surprising that no one else thought of this mode first, but your son is as clever as his father. Soon it will be standard programming for all Guardians; it is a very useful tool. But I am merely showing Chris Alan some numerical data about Ge and its vicinity. Otherwise, he is relying on what his own capacities tell him.”

“Good.” < And the day’s probably not far off, > Dr. Starbright mused, < when my son won’t *need* all this ship’s equipment to tell him things. The more those two work together, the more phenomenal their capabilities get. What an incredible pair they’re becoming. Correction: what an incredible *unity* they’re becoming. > And that too was a bit unnerving – yet it was also a source of intense pride for Dr. Starbright.

“Everyone else is in Science Ops, then?”

“Everyone who can get away from their normal work stations, yes – even the command staff and Spica.” With the rest of the staff taking over his normal haunts, Dr. Starbright had picked Tactical Ops – what would be the main bridge of a dedicated warship – because it had an adequate sensor suite plus the best all-around view on the ship for naked-eye scanning. Science Ops had a much more formidable array of hyper-tech instruments, but for Chris Alan’s sake he was glad to be up here.

“Hey, Dad, can I ask a stupid question?”

“You know I don’t believe in stupid questions. Ask.” This was a little verbal game they played. Dr. Starbright truly believed only in “stupid mistakes” made by people who didn’t ask “stupid questions”. His son knew that well, but was glad he could ask about the patently obvious just to make sure it *was* patently obvious.

“Well, despite having lived here for most of my life…”

“OK, *that* means it’s a ‘stupid question’,” laughed Dr. Starbright. “Ask anyway.”

“Well, Dad, I have never understood why Tactical Ops is forward of Science Ops – and on the top deck, no less. If I were an attacker and knew *Michael*’s layout, then this would be the first place I’d shoot at.”

“As if it would do the slightest bit of good.” And that was true; no merely physical tech or even hyper-tech could defeat the meta-tech that stood behind the hull and windows of a Deep Space Service vessel.

“Yes, but why paint a bull’s-eye on the jugular vein anyway – so to speak?”

“Well, it’s not as if we stick Tactical Ops outboard, just to show off. It’s most efficiently placed right where it is.”

“True. But it wouldn’t be the safest spot, not on any other kind of ship.”

“Is your head placed in the safest possible area of your body? No, but it’s put exactly where it needs to be – and it’s rather well-armored for the job, considering.”

Chris Alan had to smile at that. “Yes, I see your point, Dad. Sorry for being so dense.”

“No problem. Really, I think the Lord Davidson exercised His usual sense of humor and put in a bit of Frustration Factor for the sake of potential enemies. We can see them coming best from here, but they can’t hurt us in return. They can’t even blind us momentarily, not even by coming at us from the direction of a nearby star. Bucky, clever rat that he is” – Bucky was a Nihekhi, formed after the rodent archetype – “can always find a workaround against that tactic.”

Dr. Starbright was silent for a moment. “Sometimes, Chris Alan I think that your having grown up in such a sheltered environment makes you unreasonably cautious. One place it shows up is your over-reliance on your shields in sparring practice with Rafael.”

“Then why do I always end up hammering at him so hard?”

“Probably it’s because you’re more apt to feel first and think later than I am. You exercise undue caution until some hot button’s pushed hard enough, and then you throw caution to the winds. That may have its advantages, but not for *you* – especially not in pitched battle. If you ever face a real enemy blade-to-blade and lose your temper so much that you can’t think straight, then not even your Gifting may be able to save you. I know that much about Gifting.”

“Yes, Dad,” said Chris Alan – meekly enough, for a strong-minded teenager.

The one real vulnerability of Gifting was fairly common knowledge. If a Lightchild broke Covenant Law at all seriously, then his Gifts were hamstrung as a result. Actual rebellion against the Lord of the Realms would result in the actual removal of his Gifting. Chris Alan knew something about this from personal experience. Despite his caution – or perhaps *because* of it – he was tempted at times to try extreme sports or other risky behaviors *unnecessarily* to see how well his Gifts and his Guardian would protect him. But his supernatural Gifts *would* not, and Rafael Goldwing’s artificial intelligence *could* not, defy Covenant Law, and sometimes Chris Alan had suffered from painful injuries for quite a while before the Life within him healed them.

“We’re now making our final approach to Earthlight Station,” said Dr. Starbright. “You could’ve come over here when Ge passed overhead, you know. Or if you’ve worked out the means through Rafael…”

“I *know*, Dad. Sometimes I just like to work within my natural limitations.”

< And that is an impulse I may never understand either, > Dr. Starbright thought, not for the first time. Maybe it was the artist in Chris Alan; his mother was the same way. Both had a strong belief – not shared by every artist in mortal or immortal history, Anne admitted freely – that certain limitations were liberating, not confining. Not surprisingly in that light, Chris Alan had fallen in love with the lever harp that Spica Wheatstar, *Michael*’s resident Starbard Level Five and Chris Alan’s tutor, played and used to accompany her singing voice. The diatonic-chromatic lever harp had capabilities and limitations that more modern chromatic instruments did not, especially when just-tuned. Those characteristics struck a chord (so to speak) with something very deep in Chris Alan’s psyche. He was becoming a very skilled player on his own harp, a fact that made his mother even prouder if anything than it made his father.

Spica Wheatstar, Starbard Level Five

But when it came to applied science, Dr. Starbright’s instincts were different. He searched constantly for better ways of doing things, and for extending human capabilities in every way possible. He continually upgraded the various science modules aboard *Michael* for that very reason, and many of his designs had been incorporated Service-wide. And he was working with *physical* things. Given Rafael’s *metaphysical* nature, one would think that Chris Alan would be even more eager than he was to use and to expand Rafael’s capabilities.

Chris Alan’s intuition about people spoke to him, and he gave one of those unbidden answers that made people wonder if he was a mind-reader.

“You know, Dad,” he said a little wistfully, “between my Gifting and my Guardian, sometimes I wonder if there’s still room to be *me*. I don’t want what I really am to be crowded out by what everyone else expects of me.”

“I understand that, son,” said Dr. Starbright. “But I wouldn’t worry too much about it. You’ve heard me say it before: Intuitive Thinkers and Intuitive Feelers alike make their own places in the Realms – especially when they’re as intelligent and talented as *you* are. They believe in themselves too much to let it be otherwise. Just make sure that *your* place is one where you can live happily.”

< And you’re making terrific progress in that direction already, > he added to himself. The whole Starbright family was very talented, and they married talented people; both Dr. Starbright and his son (not to overlook the former Anne Darling Brookwater) were in the lower range of what students of Adami intelligence considered extraordinary genius. When they added their life’s wisdom to their native gifts, they could solve problems in ways that made others wonder if they were divinely inspired. But Chris Alan’s intuition was sometimes nothing short of phenomenal – and that was *without* the help of Rafael Goldwing’s astounding computational power.

< Maybe Chris Alan *is* inspired – or *will* be. He has an extraordinary calling. One’s fifteenth birthday is none too soon to start coming to terms with something like that. >

Which was precisely why Dr. and Mrs. Starbright and Mistress Wheatstar had persuaded Captain Jonathan Honeyberry and 1st Officer Miriam Honeyberry to bring the *Michael Archangelos* to Ge/Selene.

= = = = =

“Dad, we’re being scanned,” said Chris Alan suddenly.

“Yes, we’re now on approach vector…”

“*No*, Dad, *we’re being scanned*,” said Chris Alan urgently – even a little angrily. “*Look at what is before your eyes*.”

Before the surprised father could react to what was the sharpest retort his son had ever handed him, Science Ops hailed him. “This is the Captain,” said a familiar voice. “I’m coming up there with Bucky. Our sensors down here are going crazy – and so are those in the Station. What do you read on your board, Doctor?”

Never did Dr. Starbright’s fingers fly faster over a touch screen than they did then. Soon he had what he wanted: a running plot of flashes of weak blue radiation that were surrounding *Michael*, in a pattern very much like a probability cloud. One entity, winking in and out here and there many times a second, was causing the pattern.

“I see it, Jon,” said Dr. Starbright. Apt as he was to treat everyone as peers, he called even the Captain by his first name. Everyone accepted that quirk, including the Captain. “We’re being stalked by an unknown entity using an inverted Drunkard’s Walk – and it’s staying with us as we descend. But my precocious son and his Guardian spotted it first.”

“How long ago, C.O.B.?” shouted the Captain as he ran through the rear door of Tactical Ops. Bucky was hard on his heels. They were both a bit out of breath, having climbed the spiral staircase rather than taking the elevator. Captain Honeyberry always called Chris Alan “C.O.B.” – Chief of the Boat (which Chris Alan was, in an honorary and sometimes even in a practical sense).

“Ten seconds before you called, sir, roughly,” replied Chris Alan. “And Dad, I’m sorry for my outburst. In this mode…”

“Forget it,” said his father. “You’re the luckiest person I know; you always seem to be at the right place at the right time. *Stay* that way – and keep your eyes peeled.”

“Yes, sir,” said Chris Alan with a smile.

Within seconds, as quickly as it had appeared, the unknown entity vanished.

“Well, what do you make of *that*?” said Chris Alan.

“Cherenkov radiation,” said Dr. Starbright – or would have, if the Russian language and nation had existed in that Realm. What he actually said was “*Heatherson* radiation,” after the Adami who had discovered and described the effect on Ge. “Since it occurred in a vacuum, it had to be caused by something traveling faster than light in a vacuum. I’d say whatever-it-was can travel inter-dimensionally and was entering and leaving our space-time matrix at high virtual velocity.”

Dr. Starbright checked another menu on the screen. “We’ll be landing within minutes, Chris Alan. Jon, we’ll leave you and Bucky to your bridge…”

“No, stay if you wish,” said the Captain. “C.O.B. shouldn’t miss a naked-eye view of our landing.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Chris Alan, “but *technically* my eyes aren’t naked. I’ll explain later.”

And there it was: Earthlight Station, built at exactly zero degrees latitude and longitude, with its vast landing fields and supporting facilities sprawling in every direction around it. Most of the Station was underground, partly for shielding against radiation and static charges due to dust, and partly because it was much easier to keep the temperature and the artificial gravity stable that way. Dr. Starbright kindly turned down the internal lighting on the bridge enough so that the way Ge and the ground lights illuminated the surroundings were more clearly visible to Chris Alan.

But Chris Alan now had something more on his mind than the scheduled arrival and its aftermath – something he was not at all prepared to discuss with anyone, not until he was sure about the implications. Not even during and after the standard debriefing of the crew, with its pointed questions about the unknown entity’s actions, did he state his hunch.

< Something out there was looking for me, > he thought over and over. < I just *know* it. What – *who* was it?*

(Continued in REALMWALKER 02…)

= = = = =

N.B.: Chris Alan Ralston (see the Prologue) aka Chris Alan Starbright, while not inspired by the British actor Alex Pettyfer, shares much in common with him in appearance.