***Zorakk

Future Shock
Third version

Chapter One
Of Boys and Ggaahhh

First part
Xartoz

– with apologies to © holder of "GUNSMOKE"

<< ONE >>

A century ago Syftilius Minor had held great promise, as the closest M-class planet to the warp gate. As first the Khitamurr Accords were negotiated between the Komerex Klingon and the Terran Empire in the late 23rd century by the demi-god race, the Organians, it looked as though the Triangle Sector would become an important galactic cross-roads for the three stellar superpowers in this area of the galaxy. However at the height of speculation and feverish investment by off-world corporations on Syftilius Minor, the Organians withdrew suddenly and without notice. Almost immediately relations between the Komerex Klingon and the Terran Empire began to deteriorate, The Triangle Sector became not only important to the three major powers, but strategic. hugh volumes of space were littered with hyperspace mines and were far too dangerous for civilian craft to navigate. Syftilius Minor was not a rich world, it had only the expected amounts of heavy metals and radioactives, and virtually no exotic biota that could be parlayed into a pharmaceutical fortune; but now it had an enormous planetary debt. Off world investment on Syftilius dried up like a lake in a desert. Now, the primary occupations on Syftilius Minor were farming and gas-mining. On the eve of its bicentennial, Syftilius Minor was a squalid slum world with a huge planetary debt and little of interest to the rest of the Galaxy. Living conditions on the planet had steadily gone down-hill and its population remained remarkably provincial and puerile.

Pete Reynolds, 34, 1.87 meters [6"2'], 98 kilograms [216 lbs], black hair and brown eyes; Star Nomad Free Trader, and like most of the Nomads in the galaxy, after nearly 300 years of interbreeding with the fifty or so other alien human races that could produce viable embryos with Terran humans, Pete was an exotic mixture of racial and ethnic types. Pete called himself a Terran, although a little less than half his genetic make up was Klingon, in fact he came close to the biological-legal definition of a Klingon-Human fusion.

The young Star Nomad made his living as a gypsy trucker, an owner-operator of an interstellar truck built on a modified Star Fleet 'Danube-class' runabout frame. The burly Star Nomad merchant hauled various cargo between the stars for a profit. This trip, although it had taken him to his least favorite world, had been profitable. He had just made a delivery of industrial grade DeneBryan Flame Crystals to a shady-looking Orion character with a pair of Nausican body guards in the warehouse district of the starport city, Port Sythe. It seemed the deal was somehow extra-legal, and that the Orion Syndicate was involved – though how he couldn't imagine, DeneBryan Flame Crystals were pretty, and were semi-precious stones, but payment had been in the form of a brick of gold-pressed Latinum. A Brick of Latinum should have bought the Orion a lot more.

The free and easy way that the low-level gangster had given up the latinum when Pete produced the still sealed case of crystal led the young Nomad to the conclusion that the Crystals had only been camouflage for something a lot more valuable. No doubt about it, Pete Reynolds thought, Syftilius Minor was the armpit of he galaxy. Pete was deliriously happy to have made as much as he had on this transaction. Those who dealt very frequently with the Orion Syndicate tended to attract a lot of unwanted attention on both sides of the Federation-Klingon boarder and Pete was anxious not to become too involved with shady deals.

So why in the name of Fekk-lar was he still standing here, wasting valuable time? He began the long hike through weed-choked vacant lots, back toward the city's starport. On to Trader Edars's, he grinned, Trader Edar's was a combination speakeasy and casino adjacent to the starport where the local Port Captain usually held court. Any cargo leaving Syftilius Minor would first funnel through the office of the Customs Inspector – who worked for – that's right, the Port Captain. On small frontier worlds like Syftilius the Port Captain decided which ship hauled which cargo. Pete's truck being rather limited in capacity to transport agro-goods, he was hoping there was a mailbag or two headed in system that would pay for his propellant bill here at Port Sythe.

After fifteen minutes of negotiating the mud and snow-slush of of the field, the Nomad emerged onto the rough road, rudely paved with crushed rock and permaplast, which led back into Port Sythe's business district. Wires and opticord stretched loosely between wooden or plastic insulators hung from eight meter tall wooden poles, every third one of which had a halogen-laser lamp hung from it as a street light. About one in five of these were still operational. Wet, decomposing cardboard and other assorted detritus and trash was liberally mixed with the soot-strained slush of the last snow storm, and covered about a third of the paved area. The plows had pushed it up into two-foot high mounds on either side of the roadway.

As he walked, he considered his options. The Star Nomad trucker grinned, at Trader Edar's there would be good hot food – no doubt about it, the sodbusters knew how to eat, and dished up hearty portions of it. In addition to the food and a cup of the local chocolate drink, there was perhaps a chance to pick up a paying cargo headed back in toward the Core Worlds, where the real money was to be made. Not that a brick of Gold-plated latinum was not 'real' money, Pete smiled openly this time as he patted the leather currency carrier buried deep within his flight suit.

Latinum was a strange substance. Element number 113 on the periodic table, it is metallic and a liquid at a wide range of temperatures from 270 to 415 Kelvin. It could be used in a wide variety of electro-psionic applications because of its high psionic permeability, but it is too rare in its natural state, and far too expensive to replicate. That's why Latinum has become the standard of galactic exchange between those without direct access to one the galactic finances webs. Sealed inside a relatively worthless gold exterior to confine its liquid nature, Latinum was available in three hierarchical levels, each containing 100 times as much Latinum as the one below it. The slip was the base unit, and looked rather like a tiny ingot of gold, 3 x 1 x 1 centimeter [1-1/8 x 3/8 x 3/8 inches]. A bar of Latinum was 7 x 2 x 1 centimeters [2¾ x ¾ x 3/8 inches], while a brick was 20 x 8 x 4 centimeters [8 x 3 x 1½ inches] and weighed 4.7 kilograms [10 lbs].

Slips of Latinum were the common everyday denominations, somewhat akin to the Federation 20 stellar note, while bars were used in major transactions. Few ever saw a brick of Latinum because there were few things that were valuable enough to rate such a thing – and again Pete had that strange tickling feeling at the base of his skull that told him there had been much more than Flame Gems involved in his recent transaction and that he should stop these 'extra' trips for Quark. The Ferengi always seemed to be in trouble with the authorities, but the pay rate was spectacular. Pete would realize an above operations cost profit of almost three bars of Latinum. Even if Quark's consignment cargos always were more than they seemed, Pete decided, he would not be able to resist the profit ratio of the deals.

Trader Edar's Bar and Grill was located just across a wide blacktop road from the Class C. starport which served the agro-world of Syftilius Minor, one of the so-called Free Worlds that were sprinkled liberally through out the human-explored volume of the Triangle Sector. These worlds joined no over governments, and owed no allegiances to any of the huge multi-stellar empires. And in turn could expect little but words and belated humanitarian aid in case of war or other natural disaster.

The outer storm door to the bar's entry alcove opened, admitting the shriek of a landing ship's atmospheric drives as it settled to its birth on the landing ramp; and drawing all eyes toward it. A blast of icy, bitterly-cold wind from the winter prairie outside buffeted at the Star Nomad as snow began to fall once again out of the pewter-sky. Pete turned to the flimsy interior door and pushed it open to the bar-n-grill's entry alcove and a blast of alcohol-laden, hot, damp and stale air assailed him. He unsealed his worn Terran Imperial Marines field jacket and let it hang open on his shoulders. Pushing open the bar's inner swing-doors, he quickly surveyed the dim 500 square meters of interior floorspace. The room was crowded with an eclectic mix of locals and off-worlders, both humanoid and exotics. The noise was nearly deafening and the stench overwhelming.

"Reynolds! you old pahTOK!" The Klingon accented voice cut through the background 100 db babble of the bar, and Pete saw an old friend coming through the crowd.

"Kha-plaugh Kah'Quiopat," Pete greeted his old friend in the traditional Klingon way, by grabbing his shoulders and banging heads with the lanky seven-foot tall Imperial Race warrior.

"Come, share my table. I have someone I want you to meet." Pete followed the Imperial Klingon as he wove his way through tables crowded with aliens of varying descriptions, but remarkably as vastly different as their exterior forms were, they all had the familiar carbon-based chemistry and breathed oxygen.

"This is Xartoz, son of Maartoz." Kah'Quiopat rumbled, indicating a small but powerfully built Klingon human-fusion boy. "He is my apprentice and foster. Both Pete and Kah'Quiopat were boylovers. Klingon boylovers did not face all the challenges in their culture that the Terran did, and in fact Kah'quiopat was highly regarded for his ability to relate and pass on the complexities of Klingon culture to the younger generation.

The young Klingon was perhaps the equivalent of a human ten year old, but with Klingons it was hard to tell, he might have been as young as eight or as old as thirteen. His body was slim and athletic, his black hair was pulled back in a tight warrior's knot at the base of his skull, and from there hung braided down to his mid back. His eyes were by far the most riveting thing about him, jade green, and seemingly illuminated from within by the fires of his soul. He would be a warrior to be reckoned with when he reached the age of ascension.

"Kha-plaugh, son of Maartoz," Pete greeted the boy.

"My Lord does undeserved honor to this unworthy one," the boy said softly and looked hard at Pete's belt buckle.

Pete sat down and glanced inquiringly at Kah'Quiopat, who nodded slightly. Pete pulled the small 4'9" 75 pound boy into his lap. "So. Tell me of your honors, Xartoz," Pete said, shifting from the more formal 'Son of Maartoz' to the boy's given name.

"I would much rather hear of yours, Milord," the boy said politely.

The youngster playfully clutched at Pete's crotch and the Nomad responded by tickling the boy.

"Ho, Kah'Quiopat! I see your foster is not shy!" Pete laughed.

"Indeed not!" Kah'Quiopat laughed and then growled a few words in Klingon to the boy. The youngster responded by crawling off Pete's lap and going over to Kah'Quiopat and stood in front of him. The Klingon unfastened a few snaps, and the boy stood at attention, with his pants around his ankles. While Pete and Kah'Quiopat were admiring the young Klingon boy, a group of local rednecks gathered around the table.

"Look't Festus," one of the goombahs said. "We got us some sure-enough child molesters here."

Kah'Quiopat made a signal to Xartoz and the boy quickly redressed. The big local, about seven-feet tall, identified as Festus got right in Kah'Quiopat's face and drawled: "Y'all like nekkid little boys – huh offworlder?"

Kah'Quiopat shoved him away and stood, hand brushing against the sheathed Lev'ek dagger. "Ho, dog! You, a resident of this ball of dung dare to speak to me, a Klingon warrior thus?"

There was instantly total silence in the bar'n'grill as the two giants stood face to face, less than forty centimeters apart.

He turned to Pete, ignoring Kah'Quiopat. "We don't hold with that stuff here, off-worlder."

"Indeed," Pete added, also standing and letting the Optronics atomic blaster pistol in his belt be visible. Xartoz was in a combat stance also with his Lev'ek drawn and the three blades deployed.

"Do not turn away from ME weed-eater," Kah'Quiopat grabbed Festus from behind.

The local goombah whirled into a combat stance and took a swing at Kah'Quiopat.

"Ahh," Kah'Quiopat sighed. "Now you are speaking as a man!" The Klingon reached out, grabbed the goombah's vest and rammed his bony skull against the human's head. There was a sound like a squashing melon and the Klingon tossed Festus' limp body aside. Kah'Quiopat snarled out at the rest of the bar, daring someone else to advance against him. Though there were no takers, there was an under current of hate and fear that was almost visible in the air as a large red and black thunderhead over the crowd of sodbusters.

"Come on, old friend," Pete said extending his hand to the Klingon warrior, relaxed and palm up, a show of submission in Klingon body language.

Kah'Quiopat snarled once at the bar in general, "What cowards! I wouldn't want to be caught dead in a place like Port Sythe."

From somewhere in the shadows a single voice suggested that in that case it might not be a good idea to hang around long.

Pete laid a restraining hand upon Kah'Quiopat's forearm and muttered a few carefully chosen words of Klingonaasse to him and the Klingon Warrior allowed his friend to pull him out of the bar and into the storm outside. The snow had turned to a kind of sleet and hail. The trio began to walk down to the gates to the Starport, a block and a half away.

"Cursed weather!" Kah'Quiopat swore. "I hate Syftilius Minor!"

"Armpit of the galaxy," Pete grinned. Xartoz laughed, his arm around Kah'Quiopat's waist.

The older Klingon laughed also and hugged his special friend's small shoulders. "Yes, the sooner we are away from this cess-pit the better."

"Why are you here?" Pete asked pointedly.

"Ggaahhh, my Terran friend. The food of the gods."

"Yuck!" Pete made a face. "You mean ggaahhh, worm-larvae eaten live in a sauce that tastes like motor oil?"

Xartoz again laughed heartily. "You have no stomach, TerRot'non?" the little boy asked playfully.

Pete grinned and reached out to give the young Klingon boy's warrior's lock a soft tug, a familiarity the boy allowed because of Pete's friendship with his quigon'Zhaik, a word that meant many things, among them friend, lover and mentor.

"Not for ggaahhh, my little friend," Pete said.

"But ggaahhh is why I am here. Horrible as I find the climate here on Syftilius Minor," Kah'Quiopat went on, "The ggaahhh worms love it and their offspring have an exotic tang to them much valued by my people. It comes from burrowing through the alien sewage and refuge of this gods-forsaken cosmic cinder."

"Makes them sound even more appetizing," Pete groaned as they reached the starport main gate and produced their id for the pol-rob security droid on duty at the gate.

"Thank you gentlemen," the droid's metallic voice said as the interior chicken-wire gate slid open for them.

"However these ggaahhh larvae obtain it, they have a gourmet taste, and command gourmet prices 3;"

Kah'Quiopat continued.

"Uh – let me guess," Pete said grinning. "Here you are with some number of tons of ggaahhh in bio-suspension and no way to get them back to the home world 3;"

"Not exactly the home world," Kah'Quiopat said. "Kolandan Cor. A line brother of mine has a Klingon restaurant there and I owe him a favor 3; but you are correct. I am sorely in need of transportation for Xartoz, the ggaahhh and myself to Kolandan Cor."

Pete smiled widely. "You are in luck, my Klingon friend. Dream Walker can handle the ggaahhh – they ARE in standard cargo modules?"

"Aye, indeed, the small ones, a meter by a meter by three. Thirty of them."

"No problem then," Pete said. "And since I have just made a very big score here, and Starbase 288 [which is very close to Kolandan Cor] is my next stop on the way to Bajor, I will tote you and your ggaahhh to Kolandan Cor for the cost of the propellant and the opportunity to take several dozen holographs of Xartoz while you load the ggaahhh."

"I take it these will not be 'school pictures'?" Kah'Quiopat grinned.

"Not unless Xartoz goes to school on either Beowulf or Risa."

"HAH!" The Klingon warrior roared with laughter. Then he turned to his companion and growled something Pete didn't catch in High-Klingonaase to which Xartoz just snorted and nodded once.

"Xartoz will allow your request to take holographs of him. And, Pete – do a good job, I want a set to submit to newsgroup:galaxy.net/ISN/alt.holo.erotic.boys."

"Aw rite, Xartoz!" Pete said giving the Klingon boy a punch on the shoulder. "Going for the 'best of category' award – yes?"

The Klingon youngster blushed and just nodded.

They had arrived at the hanger where Pete's modified Danube-class runabout was parked. Pete walked up to the side of the shuttle and slapped a palm against the hull. "Okay, lcars, open up, we have company."

"Affirmative," the ship's computer replied, cycled open the airlock and extended the gangway for them to enter.

"Okay, Xar, why don't you get onboard and I'll get ole Kah'Quiopat started with the hold.

The Klingon boy nodded and was almost instantly gone. Pete and Kah'Quiopat walked around to the rear cargo doors of the Dream Walker, the Klingon merchant was already on the phone with his cargo storage broker, arranging for the sixty stasis containers to be delivered to Pete's ship.

Kah'Quiopat turned to Pete: "What do you think of the boy?"

"I think he has a lot of potential."

"Yes," Kah'Quiopat murmured. "But he is young, very young to be on his own. He is lineless you know 3;"

"Tough," Pete agreed. Klingons were among the most clannish people in the galaxy. A person's starting position in society was determined by his family: prestigious family members could offer avenues of advancement and contacts. A lineless individual was at a big disadvantage. This coupled with the fact that the Fusion races had lost much of their social and political clout {along with their numbers} during the Kinshaya Wars at the turn of the century meant that Xartoz was going to have to fight for everything, twice as hard as his contemporaries who were members of strong houses or clans. "But what of this 'son of Maartoz' title you introduced him with?"

"Maartoz was my foster brother, he quote/unquote adopted Xar when he found him alone and homeless on the streets of the Imperial City, only days from death by exposure. That was last year. Maartoz's consort feared for the succession of her own because of Xar's favor in Maartoz's gaze. That is how he came to be with me."

"Ah, yes," Pete grinned. "Forced upon you at disruptor point no doubt."

"Filthy Pah'TOC!" Kah'Quiopat swore at Pete playfully, swinging high and wide as Pete easily ducked under the others blow. "But you know I like my boys a bit closer to the Age of Ascension – you're the one who loves the little ones. I've got to go to Kolandan Cor to the slave markets, I hear a shake up in the Romulan Senate has generated a fine crop of child Enemies of the State."

"Speaking of companions, how is K'darahjen doing?" Pete asked.

Kah'Quiopat's eyes misted over for a moment as he thought of his most recent boy-companion, now in the Imperial Navy. "Ahhh, you know how 15-year-olds are, he's too grown-up now to acknowledge me since his Rite of Ascension," Kah'Quiopat snorted, "And of course I still love him more than life. That is why I took on Xartoz so soon, not because of any pressure I felt from my foster — but I must find another for Xar soon. A Romulan boy of eight or nine will make a fine servitor."

"Heh!" Pete chuckled, "You, an Imperial Klingon, Xartoz, a human fusion, and a Romulan kid? You'll make quite a trio on the High Market Street on Klintzha! I'm gonna go start taking those holograms now. We can leave as soon as you finish stowing the ggaahhh."

Pete walked around to the portside airlock, leaving Kah'Quiopat to get the ggaahhh on board – and up the gangplank to the interior of the Dream Walker. When he entered his sleeping quarters, he found Xartoz looking through a stack of porno holograms on the desk. Pete walked up behind the boy and picked up a stack the bot had already been through, going through them quickly. They were the most recent downloads from InfoNet's Boy Lovers Interstellar site and were mostly bondage and sodomy shots of a cute Terran-human eleven or twelve year old, about the same age as Pete had subconsciously assigned to Xartoz; and a tall, naked and masked teenage Romulan slave master – in truth however the 'Romulan' was probably also a Terran teenager in makeup, mostly because Romulan porn of any kind was very difficult to procure, hardly ever posted to the galaxy web, and few if any Vulcans would portray a Romulan for such a project – it'd be illogical. One hologram that Xartoz paused for was of the boy on all fours and the Romulan on his knees with his entire cock in the boy's butt. Xartoz then looked at Pete, his face blushed as he saw the bulge in the Nomad's flight suit and the way his hand was rubbing at it.

"So what do you think?" Pete asked. If the boy was squeamish – or did not have the stomach for the extreme edges of porn, better that Kah'Quiopat knew it now. Klingon sex was brutal rape by any human standard, and this boy looked so human 3;

Pete brought himself to his senses. Xartoz was a Klingon Fusion, and a lineless-boy at that. No doubt he had experienced things in his past that would make these holograms seem rather insipid and childish.

"So," Pete began, "I see you're fascinated with the holograms and what the two people in them are doing 3;"

Xartoz stammered a minute, and asked: "Are you into doing stuff like that with boys?"

Pete nodded his head. "Sometimes," he said, putting an arm around the Klingon boy's waist and pulling him close against him as he sat down on the sofabed. Xartoz had already shed his armored vest and combat suit and was dressed in only a lite tee-shirt and shorts. He looked even more human and very vulnerable in this state.

"You are a little bit young for anal sex, but I can see no reason why we can't message each other and maybe give each other a blow job 3; and who knows: you might enjoy a little play-acting in a bondage script. Many of the best Klingon Operas have scenes where the hero is forced to submit to indignities by his enemies."

"Script? What script?" Xartoz asked.

Pete wrapped both arms around the little boy and pulled his unresisting body down on top of him on the sofabed, so that the boy was sitting in the Spacer's lap. Pete started kissing him on the cheek and the back of neck, and ran his hands all over Xartoz's tummy and his bare thighs.

"You don't think they can just ad-lib those holograms do you? Each takes a lot of time to set up and work through, so that each person knows exactly what the other will be doing 3; it's a lot like a ballet, with really accurate choreography throughout – that way no one is hurt."

"Bah!" Xartoz said, "Sex without pain means nothing 3;"

Pete let that pass, attributing it to cultural differences between Terra and Klintzai. Pete could not enjoy himself knowing that his partner was not completely comfortable with whatever sex game they were playing; this attribute was one of the main reasons that he had been able to endure the rigorous testing and then training course at the Pedophylic Institute on Risa to get his Boy Lover's licence.

"Kah'Quiopat says you want to take some holograms for the web." Pete said.

"Yeh," the young Klingon boy said simply. He seemed nervous now, as though his last comments had somehow offended the Terran Warrior. "I also want to see what it's like to be naked with a TerRot'non-non."

Pete smiled at the youngster, "I think we can arrange that," he said as he began to peal off the boy's t-shirt while Xartoz was just as industriously unzipping Pete's flight suit. Within minutes, they were both in their underpants; with Pete sitting on the couch, with Xartoz kneeling on his thighs facing him.

"Heh! It's down to the last now," Pete said.

"You take off your underpants!" Xartoz commanded.

"Oh, no," Pete said "I'm the grown up here. You are first." Pete's hands had been cupping the cheeks of the Klingon boy's fanny; now in a snake-like quick movement, he transferred his hold to the elastic waistband on the boys underpants and pulled them down around his knees.

From the front neck down, Terran humans and Klingon-human fusions were virtually identical. A close up of Xartoz's uncircumcised wiener and cute little balls would have been impossible to tell from those of a Terran preadolescent boy's.

"No fair!" Xartoz laughed, his prior nervousness gone. He jumped off Pete's lap and kicking off his underpants. "Now you hafta get naked too!"

Laughing, Pete said, "Yes, fair is fair, but that sure was fun watching your face as I jerked down your underpants. It is a crime we did not get that on hologram for the web, the brotherhood will never forgive us!" As he spoke, Pete finished stripping and stood in front of the Klingon boy.

"You don't have any spine," the boy marveled at Pete's smooth back before quickly looking at his own back to assure himself his own spine was still there. Klingon-human fusions have a enlarged, armored spine that runs from the bottom of the Klingon skull to just above the butt crack which protects the Klingon spinal chord and the auxiliary cns junctions. The Klingon spinal ridge, which is raised about a centimeter and a half and runs down the back virtually insured that it was impossible for a Klingon to experience paralysis or beheading.

Pete scooped Xartoz up into his arms, and the small boy automatically wrapped his legs around Pete. "Well, ready to take some pictures?"

"How about a little more slap and tickle?"

"Nope! Work before pleasure," Pete said. "Besides, this won't take long, you are a pretty good looking kid."

Xartoz blushed. "Thanks," the youngster mumbled.

<< TWO >>

Almost three hundred years ago, the Neutral Zone was established to separate the territorial ambitions of the United Federation of Planets from those of the Romulan Star Empire after nearly two decades of vicious war between the two stellar rivals. The Neutral Zone was five light years wide in the x-axis, nearly thirty light years "high" in the z-axis and snaked its way along the y-axis and across interstellar space for nearly two hundred light years. The Romulan Neutral Zone virtually sliced a rather tightly packed galactic cluster in half. The cluster of about 3,900 stars packed into a flattened ovoid with a semimajor axis of 200 light years was also called the Triangle Sector in the United Federation of Planets.

The Triangle Sector is some 7,500 light years and three warp gate jumps from earth – it is also a strategic volume of space where three interstellar superpowers face off against each other across this roughly triangular volume of space. The Triangle Sector forms a buffer between volumes of space surrounding three separate warp gates – one connected to the ufp explored network, one to the Klingon explored network and one to the Romulan controlled network of warp gates. The Three warp gates are separated from each other by less than thirty light years, and are buried deep in the strategic heart of the Triangle Sector composed of a close packed knot of 120 stars deep within the cluster itself.

Warp gates offer instant transportation between two points separated by interstellar or even intergalactic distances, and as such have become tightly integrated into the interstellar economic operations of many star-civilizations and as such are considered strategic assets. The warp gates are the product of a long vanished alien race that had ruled a universe-spanning civilization some six million years ago and left behind a vast, still functional and so far only partly explored chain of interstellar teleportation gates. The first warp gates were first discovered by Terran stellar explorers around the stars Capella and Arcturus in 2043, but due to peculiarities in the stutter warp drive, {Terra's first, more primitive attempt at an ftl drive} which made it disastrously incompatible with the warp gates, these ancient alien artifact's fundamental properties of stellar-scale teleportation did not become known until after the discovery and then wide spread use of the Cochrain Super-impeller in the 2070s.

Because the super impeller/hyperwave warp drives are 'safe' traveling through the warp gates, and active stutter warp drives immediately destroy themselves, the super impeller drive has become the standard within the Federation – and variations on the same principles are employed by most other stellar nations in this Quadrant of the galaxy. Today, warp gates form a cornerstone of interstellar civilization, and because of this, it is inevitable that conflicts would erupt over possession of these prizes. The single Romulan-Federation war had been fought here in the Triangle Sector, while all three of the Federation-Klingon wars had been fought here and several Romulan-Klingon conflicts have ultimately been settled by the application of military might here in the Triangle.

Three warp gates being located within such a compact volume of space is a curious anomaly in itself, but the fact that these three nodes are claimed by the United Federation of Planets, the Komerex Klingon, and the Romulan Stellar Empire make the Triangle Sector a strategic volume of space and politically extremely volatile. In the mid 2070's when Terran explorers came across the Rigil Trade Planet, they found representatives of hundreds of technologically advanced worlds there already at a rare super-junction of nodes where several hundred 'strands' of the warp gate network came together. So far, Rigil is unique in Terran exploration, the Triangle Sector is the second most dense concentration of warp gate nodes known. Over a twenty year period [2072-2092] following discovery of the Rigil Trade Planet and the warp gate network, there was an explosive wave of exploration and colonization across a staggering 1.5 billion light year wide swath of the universe.

In 2368, Tension between the Komerex Klingon and the United Federation of Planets exploded into open warfare between the two stellar superpowers, as the Klingons moved to seize the Organian starsystem, which contained the closest class-M planet to the ufp's warp gate. The forces of Klingon Overlord Kor had no trouble securing the planet which at the time was thought to be inhabited by a technologically stagnant humanoid race. Federation starship Captain Kirk of the uss Enterprise was assigned the task of attempting to counter the Klingon advance, or at least hold Kor at Organia until Star Fleet could mobilize enough ships to oppose the Klingon invasion.

The Organians brought an abrupt end to this third Federation-Klingon conflict by revealing themselves to be ancient nearly god-like creatures composed of pure energy, who had long ago out grown the constraints of the physical multiverse and in their overall control of energy, matter, and indeed reality itself. The outright forbad any further hostilities between the combatants, and established the Organian Treaty Zone. Here, the two could fight to colonize and develop the area. At an undisclosed future date, the Organians would return and decide who had 'won' the conflict.

Both Klingons and Federation governments took the implied Organian treat of 'dire consequences' if there was any further military combat, very seriously and threw themselves into the development of the Triangle Sector, which suddenly experienced a population boom, as both Federation and Klingon governments rushed to formalize territorial boundaries and zones of interest. Although not involved with the Organian Treaty Zone, the Romulans also were quick to rush population and resources to the Triangle to ensure the security of their warp gate.

The Neutral Zone, which had been totally inviolate since 2109 when it was established, was now a military and political hot spot and thorn in the side of both the Romulans and Federation. On each side, both governments had spent considerable resources on intelligence collecting equipment, and ways of jamming each other's surveillance equipment. Heavily armed warships were stationed within a few hours warp travel from the zone, should they be needed to enforce the respective side's 'manifest destiny.' Kolandan-Cor was one of only a dozen Class M planet within the confines of the Neutral Zone, located slightly closer to Romulan territory than Federation, and almost dead center of the Zone proper, it had become the unofficial 'point of contact' between two rival stellar superpowers who had only sporadic official relations, mostly via qlr subspace radio.

The bright, ice-fire auroral curtains of the galactic central regions were clearly visible here within the confines of the Triangle Sector as Dream Walker cut in and out of the peculiar twists and turns in subspace, the last half light year before coming up on the Neutral Zone, and the Kolandan-Cor/Starbase 288 passage. Dream Walker was fast approaching that invisible line in stellar space that divided the United Federation of Planets from the Romulan Neutral Zone. Pete was attempting to save a few hours on his arrival at Kolandan-Cor, just two and a half light year from a 90 mark 263 degree jink in the Federation boundary of the Zone. The jink was there specifically to attempt to lure arrogant Romulan Commanders {of which, it seemed, there was no limit to the supply} into momentarily violating Federation space. Only a light year away, Starbase 288 and its flotilla of guided missile frigates and destroyers stood ready to make sure any errant Romulan did not over-extend his welcome.

The truck's sensor array had already acquired the first of the navigational beacons that identified the gateway into the 1 au wide corridor that led from the Federation edge of the Neutral Zone to the planet Kolandan Cor, buried deep within the zone, and the one place in all the Galaxy the Romulans consented to formal dealings with non-Romulans.

"Federation vessel." the truck's Omnicomm burst into life, startling Kah'Quiopat, who had been napping in the Navigator's acceleration couch, awake. "This is the Romulan patrol ship Tal Venonn. You are approaching the Neutral Zone. What are your intentions?"

Pete grinned at Kah'Quiopat, "Didn't realize we were so close to the gate," he said as he reached up to the overhead comm controls and adjusted the comm frequency to the Romulan Hailing Frequency. While he was doing that, he made a hurried long range scan of space around him. Nothing. The Romulan was cloaked. No way to tell if he were a small patrol craft just off his bow, or a giant D'deridex class battleship on the Romulan side of the zone. Either way, Pete decided it was not wise to keep his interrogator waiting.

"Unknown Romulan Vessel, this is the Star Nomad Transport Dream Walker. I am en route to Kolandan-Cor with a consignment cargo."

"What is your cargo, Dream Walker?"

"Klingon foodstuffs, specifically, ggaahhh."

There was a pause and then a half chuckle, "I do not envy the one who must clean the cargo hold, Dream Walker. Maintain course 028 mark 000 to the gateway marker beacon. You are officially warned that straying from the corridor may subject your vessel to unannounced lethal weapons fire under the terms of the Treaty of Algeron, 2109 your calendar."

"Acknowledged, Romulan patrol. Dream Walker out."

Kah'Quiopat made a face, and mimicked the stilted Romulan vocal cadence: "I do not envy 3; ptoo! What does a pah'toc like that know of good eating?" the warrior scowled. "And speaking of good eating, I'm hungry. Mind if I raid the galley?"

"Help yourself," Pete said. "It's liberty hall, you can spit on the cat and call the floor a bastard."

"Cat?" Kah'Quiopat asked puzzled. "What cat?"

"It's just a saying!" Pete said. "Why are Klingons so literal?"

"And you TerRot'non have far too many 'sayings' 3;" Kah'Quiopat grumbled as he went aft to the galley. He was back minutes later with a thick dagwood sandwich of several varieties of meat. He crawled over the course interrogator between the two acceleration couches of the pilot and navigator. Flopping down in the navigator's couch, Kah'Quiopat took a large bite of the sandwich and looked over at Pete.

"You've been too long without a boy now," the Klingon stately bluntly.

Pete choked and stammered a few words "uh 3;er 3;"

"No, I am right. How long has it been since you left Douglas?"

Pete's face blushed bright red. Douglas had been the one who had first met Kah'Quiopat in a chatroom and had gotten the two inter-galactic boylovers together.

"Four, no five years ago," Pete sighed as memories of his first formal 'special friend' came back to him. "Among my people, we boylovers are a tiny minority, many consider us to be perverts and deviants. It was only natural that as he grew older and made more and more of his own friends that Douglas would drift away. We human boylovers are prepared for that – that our active physical relationships with our boys grows old and dies. It is enough if the boy has fond memories of our time together and we remain friends – as Douglas and I are."

"But do you not hear the call of Inon'Zor, God of Boys? Does not your blood race through your veins and pound in your temples at the mere sight of a beautiful youngster?"

"Of course," Pete said. "But 3;"

"But nothing!" Kah-Quiopat rumbled. "When we land at Chomacht'Xarr on Kolandan-Cor in the morning I will take you to the slave auctions with Xartoz and I."

Pete sat suddenly forward in the pilot's acceleration couch and looked over at his friend Kah'Quiopat in astonishment: "You're joking, right?"

The tall, lanky Klingon leaned across the navigation autoplotter on the mid-station hump between pilot and navigator's station at his friend's astonishment. "No, my Terran friend, I'm serious. We should pay a visit to the Romulan slave pens on Kolandan-Cor; there was a Romulan prison ship that landed there yesterday, and I know there were several dozen children of 'Enemies of the State' on board. One of the many perks of having a sister well connected in Klingon Intelligence."

"I can't. You know that."

Pete was a licensed Boy Lover, which meant that he had applied to and been accepted by the Galactic Pedophylic Institute on Raisa, the pleasure planet famous throughout the galaxy for its free and open attitude toward virtually all types of sex. The Institute administered the Federation's Gay Youth program, as a part of this it needed responsible adults to help with boys and girls who thought they were gay. Most of the time it turned out that the child was NOT gay, but being a part of the program had helped more than a few through an specially rough place in their lives.

But for all its legendary tolerance, the Institute had a zero-tolerance for any kind of relationship that did not have the boy's best interest at heart. Pete could loose his privileges as a member of the Galactic Pedophylic Institute if he were found to have obtained a slave or any other form of indentured servant for that matter. The Institute used Betazed and Vulcan High-T telepaths to weed out those who might hurt children in this kind of relationship, and those who could withstand the telepathic scan and six month training period went on to become licensed Pederasts or boy lovers [even though there were as many or more GIRL lovers in the program.] Pete had known since he was a young boy that he was much more comfortable with younger people than his own age group. This had not been much of a challenge when he was 12 and his special friends were 8 and 9. But when he had grown into a teenager and still preferred pre-teen friends, it had made his social life complicated to say the least. That was why Pete had gotten his license soon after leaving the Star Fleet Marines in 2386.

Suddenly Kah'Quiopat let out a feral growl and Pete realized that his Klingon friend was NOT going just to look. Kah'Quiopat was going to buy – if there was anything there even remotely to his taste.

"Hei, friend," Pete said softly and poked his elbow into the Klingon's ribbs. "You're going shopping, are you not?"

Kah'Quiopat smiled, his lips curling back to reveal centimeter and a half long canine incisors, marking Kah'Quiopat as a member of the true Imperial Race of Klingons. "I plan to find Xar a younger playmate. Boys need to be with others their own age. All boys should have at least one brother, especially boys in Xar's condition." Kah'Quiopat said and then swiveled around in the Tomahawk's navigator acceleration couch and looked at the sleeping form of his young friend, curled up in the flight engineer's couch.

"Well," Pete said slowly, his dick getting hard thinking of browsing the slaver's catalog, "I guess it can't hurt to look 3;"

"Of course not!" Kah-Quiopat laughed. "After all, its not like you were going to buy 3;"

"And with that thought firmly in mind, I'm going to catch some sleep before we reach Kolandan-Cor. If you're staying up, please remember to switch on the autopilot before you turn-in."

"Arrrgh, Cap'n," The Klingon grumbled.

<< THREE >>

Pete entered through the double blast doors that separated the flight deck {which could be detached and used as a life boat in dire emergency situations} from the rest of the Dream Walker in just his shorts, still dripping from his morning shower.

<Just like in the Marines,> the Nomad mused, <the three "S's": Shit, Shower and a Shave.>

"lcars, time and position?" Pete called out to the small starship's also highly augmented main computer in his command voice.

"Galactic mean or ship's time?" the computer responded.

"Ship's time."

"05:24:38, currently on final approach to Kolandan-Cor."

"Okay," Pete said. "Give me a grid map of Chomacht'Xarr, south eastern sector."

"Specify scale of grid."

"1:20,000"

The specified map came up on the main screen, replacing the normal electronically amplified optical image at the forward viewports. Pete spent a few seconds looking at the map on the heads-up display before ordering:

"Locate 722 Avenue of Light." The map scrolled north and west several screens and then stopped, a red diamond winking on it marking the specified location. "Now locate nearest landing field open to us."

The map displayed another pip of colored light.

"Good. Apply for landing clearance, earliest possible time. Inform upon confirmation."

There was an acknowledgement sound effect and lcars fell silent again as the viewports returned to their standard telescreen function.

Seen like this on approach at a distance of 50,000 kilometers [30,000 miles], the world Kolandan-Cor looked much like all class M planets. The first thing that one noticed was the marbled blue and white appearance which was visible from the time one first came close enough [at about 5 million kilometers {3 million miles}] to first notice the planet as an independent sphere, not just another point of light in the velvety blackness of interstellar space. From here, with the planet covering almost 15 degrees of the forward viewport even unmagnified, it was spectacular. From this distance, one could easily pick out the cities on the night side by their street lights and general use of illumination. On the daylight side, the contours of the continents were visible and the delicate shading of pastels, brown and green and gold and burnt ochre which marked the various land forms stood out, occasionally hidden by the puffy-white of tropospheric weather and clouds.

Dream Walker continued its rather leisurely 35 kps [21 mps] unpowered approach toward a preselected point 2100 kilometers [1300 miles] above the surface of the planet where the Star Nomad truck would begin its powered re-entry and landing sequence.

Xar came on the flight deck and headed right for Pete. "How much longer?" Xar asked, coming around the pilot's couch in nothing but his underpants and immediately crawling into Pete's lap.

Oh, about twenty minutes to reentry burn and then another fifteen minutes or so to touchdown at Chomacht'Xarr."

"So 3; you have a few minutes before you have to go to work?" the boy asked.

"Yes, I guess so."

"Rub my wiener!" the human-klingon fusion boy said, "That really feels good."

Smiling indulgently at his young friend the spacer began to stroke Xartoz's tummy and lower chest with both hands. After about a minute, he changed the rhythm a little, continuing the message with his right hand, and hooking his left thumb under the elastic of the boy's underpants and slowly began slipping them down.

The little Klingon boy wiggled his hips around to facilitate the slippage of his underpants until his 7 centimeter wiener popped up erect and free of the cotton of his underpants. Pete wrapped both arms around the little boy and pulled Xar's unresisting body down on top of him fully. He was stroking the boy's thigh almost into his crotch and Xar had slightly angled his leg toward Pete, giving the boylover better access. Pete started kissing him on the cheek and the back of neck, and ran my hands all over the kid's tummy and bare thighs.

" 3;Mmmmm 3; That feels so good. Keep doing what you're doing 3; 3;" Xar said in an almost whine.

So the Nomad kept rubbing his thigh with my right hand, as he slipped his left hand up under the scrotum's never-neverland and brushed his soft underskin and the tiny testicles within the scrotum. Pete gently caressed Xartoz's tummy and chest, and his little nipples. The spacer ran his right hand up under the boy's legs lifting them up so that he could get at the point where the bottom of his scrotum met the beginnings of the ass crack. Then ever so softly and slowly he snaked his hand up and into and over this sensitive patch of skin, lightly using his fingernail to stimulate the Klingon-human Fusion boy.

"Oooooooow! That tickles! No! Don't stop, it feels gooooooood." Xar cooed.

Pete continued his exploring, now reaching for the boy's small testicles and found that his wiener was hard as a nail. And so were his nipples, for that matter. The young boy swiftly did a half roll so that he was facing Pete, his wiener grinding into the gap between the Nomad's thighs below his balls. Pete squeezed that shut instantly, effectively grabbing Xartoz's boyhood with his thighs.

Pete grabbed the boy around the waist and in one quick motion, rolled him back on top, so that his knees were against the Nomad's shoulders as Pete lay in the full-reclined position of the Pilot's couch. He reached up to caress one of Xar's nipples which became quickly even more erect, springing to life, begging for attention. Pete began to systematically rub his hands all over his beautiful companion's little chest and upper tummy, using the skills of psi-massage taught at the Pedophylic Institute, feeling every ripple in the boy's tight yet silky skin. Xar closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure as Pete's hands explored his sides and the small of his back, while Pete's mind endeavored to set the right psi-environment for the climaxing act of lovemaking. The Terran ran his fingernail lightly down the boy's chest from just under his chin to his belly button and circled it navel several times. Looked up at him and said: "Want me to suck you off?"

"Milord honors me 3;" Xar said his voice regaining its Servitor's aural intonations.

"I take it that means 'YES'," Pete said and put both hands on the boy's fanny and pushed forward, neatly popping the 7-centimeter long penis into his gaping mouth.

Sucking off a Klingon is not quite like doing it to a Terran human, there were slight – though important anatomical differences that made the Klingon penis quite different from the human one, and these differences could easily cause serious injury to a non-Klingon. Circumcision is unknown among the Klingons, this is because the physical construction of the glans. Klingon females, like Terrestrial felines require a lot of stimulation for sex, so the Klingon glans is equipped with retractable spines that become active as the Klingon male nears orgasm. If one is aware of these, and has undergone the training at the Pedophylic Institute, one can safely fellate a Klingon, where a less prepared individual would receive deep cuts on the lips, tong and interior of the mouth.

Pete of course was an expert.

As Xartoz experienced his dry orgasm, confirming Pete's earlier guess that he was closer to ten than fifteen, he growled a long loud snarl in Klingonaase and then collapsed limp against Pete. Almost simultaneously lcars informed him:

"Landing clearance secured, landing ramp 51. Commencing standard powered re-entry pattern. Do you wish auto-pilot planet fall and landing?"

"Negative, notify at 56,000 feet [17,000 meter] and release to manual control."

lcars rather soft beep of acknowledgement was nearly drowned out by applause coming from the rear of the Dream Walker's flight cabin.

"Well done, my TerRot'non friend. There are few of your race who know enough to suck a Klingon off and live to tell of the feat."

Pete grinned at Kah'Quiopat, "Just lucky I guess. If you'll take your exhausted kid, I have to finish getting dressed, we're only a few minutes away from re-entry over Chomacht'Xarr." Pete handed the 85 pound Klingon boy off to Kah'Quiopat, who cuddled him affectionately, and headed for the sleeping quarters and his clothes.

Within a few minutes, Pete was back on the flight deck and settled into the pilot's couch; and only moments after that the truck floated over the native grasses and weeds of the designated landing field as the Nomad every so lightly made adjustments to the antigrav controls.

"There is our slab," Kah'Quiopat's bony finger pointed out the side viewport at a slab of thermoplast coated concrete thirty meters long by ten wide with the interlingo numeric symbol for 51 on one end and Romulan script on the other end. Once on the ground, Kah'Quiopat was at once jabbering into his portable commweb in Klingonaase.

"Can you stay a few hours?" Kah'Quiopat asked after having completed one conversation.

"I guess so, but why? I'm not going to the Slave Co-op."

"My Line brother's youngest is at the time for her First Rite of Ascendancy," Kah'Quiopat began.

"And the restaurant is closed – so you need Dream Walkers systems to keep the ggaahhh – ggaahhh instead of degenerating into a puddle of goo."

"Exactomundo." the Klingon said.

Pete did a double take, but decided to let it pass.

"In return, for this favor, my Line Brother has invited us all to the Restaurant for the Feast of manDril'Shamet-odiee."

"Which is?" Pete pressed.

" 3;er 3; rather like your culture's 'Wedding Reception', or 'bar-mitzvah' 3; it is a huge feast to celebrate life and the renewing of the covenant between the Klingon People and the Dark Lords of Fate and the Komerex Zha."

"Oh – a party."

"Yes, a party.

"Sounds fun," Pete said. "You know the old saying: "Parties make the galaxies whirl; so let's have a party."

"Good, then that is solved," Xartoz piped up and tugged on Pete's hand. "So let's go."

Pete grinned down at the youngster. "I'm not going with you to the Slavers, Xar, I'll just hang around here and catch up on some of the lite maintenance chores I've been putting off 3;"

The young Klingon boy looked genuinely distressed as a jet cab pulled up to the foot of the landing ramp.

"Nonsense!" the seven-foot Klingon said and grabbed Pete in a bear hug, lifting his feet off the ground and walking toward the jetcab. Before he knew it, his objections had been noted and dismissed, and he was being stuffed into a jetcab by Kah'Quiopat and Xar. "We're going to the party first!!

"This is hijacking and piracy," Pete muttered in mock-annoyance.

"You'll feel better once we reach the House of Kultarc. Kultarc knows I like boys and always has a few good-looking pre-teens around for me. Inon'Zor, God of Boys, always stalks the hall, making your blood boil," Kah'Quiopat pronounced. "Now let me see if my boy has done his homework 3; Xar, recite!"

"Chomacht'Xarr, largest city on Kolandan-Cor, was home to the planet's starport," the young Klingon boy began. "It has a population of 180,000 human, 205,000 Romulan and a hundred thousand citizens of other Stellar Nations, including the Komerex – all brawling and cheating each other in various commercial ventures 3;"

"And the Orions?" Kah'Quiopat prompted. "Speak of them."

"In 2140 ad TerRot'non standard calendar, the Romulan Praetor Irillious Tarkas found himself in a very uncomfortable position. A failure of the Romulan homeworld's weather modification uv-shielding, together with a massive solar flare on Remious in 2135 had left hundreds of thousands of Romulan embryos severely damaged genetically. Tens of thousands were destroyed at birth, but others were members of powerful families who opposed Irillious Tarkas and accused him of using the d'Sora ritual to thin the ranks of his opponents in the Senate."

Kah'Quiopat beamed, "Very good, Xar. Now, what is the d'Sora?"

Xartoz took a deep breathe and continued: "The d'Sora is an ancient Romulan ritual left over from the tribal days of Romulan civilization when resources were scarce, and tribal elders had to make sure that only the most healthy and strong of the following generation were nurtured. Babies were examined in exhaustive detail, and if any physical deformities or flaw was found they were killed without hesitation or mercy. Again at age five – by which time it was assumed any mental defect would have become apparent the d'Sora was again repeated, and finally at age ten.

"In modern times, most defects are reversible via medical technology, but the Romulans still practice infanticide against children dubbed 'substandard'. The d'Sora rarely finds the need to terminate any child today, but that was what Irillious Tarkas was doing, and in great numbers – and it was threatening to plunge the planet into Civil War."

"And how did the illustrious Irillious Tarkas deal with this?" Kah'Quiopat asked.

"He invited the Orion Syndicate's slavers to set up a centralized slave market here on Kolandan Cor. Then to sweeten the deal, he gave into their hands all the hundreds of thousands of 'defectives' that the d'Sora had marked for death. This solution allowed Irillious Tarkas to satisfy the Priest of the Romulan Way, because although the defectives were not outright killed, neither were they using the precious resources of the Romulan People. And it satisfied his enemies in the Senate also, because Irillious Tarkas turned a blind eye to parents who went to Kolandan Cor to retrieve their children."

"And today?" Kha'Quiopat prompted again.

"Several stellar nations, including the Komerex, the Centauri Republic, and other lesser known peoples, both humanoid and exotic maintain slave operations here now. Chomacht'Xarr has become home to the largest co-op slave market in this quadrant of the Galaxy, with state pavilions operated by the Romulans, and Orions in addition to various private business interests from the Corporate Sector, Terra and a dozen other stellar nations who maintained smaller concessions, but with a wider variety of 'merchandise' than the Orion Syndicate and state run pavilions which were mainly designed as dumping grounds for undesirables."

Kah'Quiopat beamed with parental pride, "Very good, Xartoz. And now only one last question – what has drawn us to the Romulan pavilion today?"

"I was weak in our prolonged travels – and implored you to find me a companion," Xartoz said a little embarrassed to be the cause of all this, but still anxious to meet his new playmate. He had already picked out several Triad games like one-on-one Parrises Squares.

"And here we are at our destination," Kah'Quiopat proclaimed. The robocab pulled up in front of the non-discript building in the middle of a light industrial district in the Klingon zone of Chomacht'Xarr. Chomacht'Xarr's Klingon sector village was Klintzhai-kine, it had its own constabulary, administration and a wide variety of Klingonaase cultural establishments. Among these was of course the Temple of Kahless, for centuries the seat of the priesthood – who administered the Rites of Ascension for Klingon adolescents, and Kultarc's restaurant.

At the front of the building were a set of double doors, composed of mirrored semi-transparent titanium crystal thousands of tiny point source leds of red, yellow, green and blue embedded in the crystal itself made up the establishment's sign. It said in the curious triangular, almost hindu Klingonaase:

HOUSE OF KULTARC – FINE KLINGONAASE CUISINE

Pete paid the robocab off over Kah'Quiopat's objections, and they got out in front of the restaurant. Two Klingon soldiers who had been half concealed in the shadows, snapped to ceremonial attention doing the curious imitation of the Emporer's Own British Legions 'At Attention two step' and bringing their bat'telh's to momentary challenge position. Pete instantly and in a single smooth gesture withdrew his sword from its scabard and rendered the folioga're salute before laying his sword lightly against each bat'telh and returned it to its scabbard.

"Mahje TerRot'non," the senior Klingon warrior grinned. "You know our ways then?"

"Indeed Milord. My grandfather taught me, he served with the d'harr Master Kor on the Maggon Front in the Kinshaya wars." "batLh kaplahh suvwl'loDnl," the senior warrior said, a greeting that roughly translated to 'welcome honoured brother'.

"gJlage," Pete pronounced, and the Klingon held the door open for the TerRot'non and his two Klingon companions.

The House of Kultarc was an establishment that specialized in a combination of Terran Oriental food [some of it very close to klingon dishes, and much sought after by some as an exotic meal] and Klingon cuisine. One could eat strait Oriental, strait Klingon, or indulge in the risky behavior of blending the two, either with the restaurant's recommendations, or solo.

Tonight, the restaurant was set up buffet-style. The air was thick with KahJaNah incense smoke and less potent, but more pervasive the sweet aroma of burning starweed from the miGar swamps of the homeworld itself. The hall was filled with Klingons and surprisingly several dozen aliens, of which the TerRot'nons were the most pervasive. The Organian Prophesy that one day Human and Klingon would sit at the same table and break bread and brag of their bravery in battle had pretty much come to pass, except for the tiny splinter group calling itself the Imperial Klingon States who still held that all humans were servants of Fek'larr herself; and that by mixing with them one would never get to StoVo'Kor to serve with the real Kahless {not the genetic impostor the Priesthood had put upon the throne in 2371} in the Black Fleet.

It all seemed chaotic to Terran eyes, the lighting was dim, the music loud and the guests even louder. Once or twice, a knife fight between Klingons armed with ceremonial Lev'eks broke out; here and there through out the crowd a shout would go up as old comrade-in-arms met again and rushed forward and executed the traditional warrior's greeting, the headbutt. They had only been in the restaurant for a few minutes when Kah'Quiopat spotted by Kultarc, Va'Lonnah, and her familial entourage. The tall, lanky Klingon gapped Gete and Xartoz by the shoulders and pulled them back into the surging crowd around the bar.

"Heh!" Kah'Quiopat chuckled, "Watch this!" And he slipped off into the crowd before Pete or Xar could say anything. Pete looked questioningly at the Klingon boy, who simply shrugged his shoulders. It was not long before they got the answer to all of their questions. As Kultarc and his daughter Va'Lonnah passed near suddenly there was a commotion. Va'Lonnah was caught in a mighty bear hug. Squirming around in the grip Va'Lonnah saw a familiar face. "Uncle Kah'Quiopat! What are you doing here?" she asked and threw her arms around him. "I'm so happy to see you."

"I'm here delivering a shipment of fresh ggahhh from Syftilious Minor to your father for the restaurant 3; and he told me of your Rite of Ascension 3; couldn't stop yammering about it!" Kah'Quiopat grinned. "Now I want you to meet someone," Kah'Quiopat motioned Pete and Xar over.

"This," Kah'Quiopat said "Is my protege and my good Terrot'non friend, the Star Nomad Freebooter, Pete Reynolds."

"So, Terrot'non," Kultarc rumbled, "you have managed to impress the Captain of my household guard, Montazar-djinn. He says you ware a sword and appear to know how to use it."

Meanwhile Xartoz and Va'Lonnah disappeared for a moment and were discussing issues involving the First Rite of Ascension. Xartoz himself had gone through the ceremony less than a year ago himself.

Pete turned slightly to view the man standing partly behind Lord Kultarc, it was the guard who had challenged him at the entry. "Yes, Milord. The Terran tradition of edged weapons goes back at least 4,000 years and the Star Nomad nations are keeping them alive."

"Ah, then you are skilled only in the ceremonial, traditional ways of the sword?"

"No, Milord," Pete said. "I hold the rank of advanced learner, in the Order of Excalibur."

Silence fell over the hall, first in the immediate circle around Kultarc and Pete; then spread outward swiftly like a ripple in a pond.

"Excalibur, the legendary blade of Arthur," Montazar-djinn said softly and reverently.

"Then you know of it," Pete began, but was cut off by Kultarc.

"Yes, Terrot'non. Although it was a half century before formal contact with your race, the Klingon Secret Service watched the entire of your Arthur's war with the Shadows – those we call the Kinshaya – and were mightily impressed. Your Arthur surely had the heart of a Klingon Warrior. You should have seen the way he went down on the surface of the last Shadow fortress built on an asteroid of pure neutronium, leading his marines with that sword ever swinging and dispatching dozens, nay hundreds of the enemy."

"His Majesty was always a showman as well as a warrior, those images were meant to rally the people in the darkest hours of the war we almost lost," Pete said. "It was he who organized the modern Order of Excalibur."

"It would honor me greatly if Milord Reynolds would consent to a few sparing rounds against my humble self," Montazar-djinn said.

"The honor is mine, Milord," Pete said, drawing his sword and assuming the on-guard position. The Klingon captain snapped his bat'telh up into attack position and an impromptu group of yelling and cursing Warriors formed a ring around the combatants ten meter wide.

As quick as a cobra's strike Montazar's bat'telh swung out at Pete's midsection. Using a step similar to one a matador might use to sidestep a charging bull, the young Terran managed to get out of the bat'telh's way and in addition was able to execute a two-step attack, bringing his sword up and slashing outward and to right, catching a bit of the metal-mesh undercoat of the Klingon's battlesuit. There was a ringing clang and several broken links fell to the floor of the ballroom.

"n'Chrag bLa'QoQuis TerRot'non!" <First blood to the Terran Conqueror> Pete's friend Kah'Quiopat raised a shout of triumph.

The Klingon warrior's stance changed to a higher level of alert as he realized that he had under estimated the Terran's skill with his oddly-shaped sword. There were no primary or secondary cutting radii or multipoints, as on a proper weapon like the bat'telh, just a razor sharp strait length of durillium with a single point on the extreme end. The Captain redoubled his effort.

Pete gave ground steadily in front of the Klingon's furious attack. Now he faced a delicate situation: how to disengage gracefully, without kicking the Klingon's butt – which he was pretty sure he could do. However it probably was not a good idea to do it in front of his employer – afterall, Pete was not after a job as Captain of the Household Guard. On the other hand, it would not do to give up too easily, THAT would dishonor the Captain in a way loosing to Pete would never do.

The Captain lunged with a battle yell, swinging the bat'telh in a wide arc that Pete was bearly able to parry as he fell backward. Suddenly his problem of honorable disengagement was solved for him as his foot slipped on something and the Nomad went sprawling.

Before the trucker was able to recover and bring up his guard, the Captain's bat'telh was at his neck.

"ReCharr! BatlQuois," <Victory to the Klingons> the Captain roared.

Pete, sprawled flat on his back, released the grip on his blade and uttered the ceremonial phrase: "I yield to you, Milord Montazar."

"Well fought, TerRot'non," the Captain of Kultarc's Guard panted. "I was seriously worried for a minute there as you pressed your first attack. How do you compensate for the weight of the blade in this unbalanced configuration?"

"It's not really unbalanced," Pete said, and the two warriors retired to an unoccupied anteroom to discuss the fine points of sword play, Terran style.

<< FOUR >>

Va'Lonnah Kultarc was the equivalent of a twelve year old human girl, she stood now at the climax of the First Rite of Ascension, only a short walk through the gauntlet of painsticks – a preparation for the Second Rite's even more rigorous painstick ceremony – remained. The Klingon girl was dressed only in a bikini bottoms, which left large areas of her skin {including her small, but well shaped titties} bare tempting targets for the painsticks. She paused on the raised dais and looked out into the crowd, as usual there were many outworlders there – afterall, how else could they ever hope to observe one of the core rituals of Klingon culture? Her parents were also there of course and her brothers and sisters, as the youngest, her completion of the First Rite of Ascension closed the cover of one book of her parents' lives.

Va'Lonnah proudly stepped off and into the gauntlet stage which had been erected in the rear of the grand ballroom of her father's Restaurant to host the Rite of Ascension. Torches replaced electric lights and a central bonfire where rare spices and KahJaNah incense burned and filled the ballroom with aromatic smoke to excite and stimulate the senses. Before her was the jbechrup may' vllos komerexZhai, the path of heroes. Physically it consisted of five slightly elevated stages, the start station where she was now, and four others where she would be "examined" by the Inquisitors of Kahless

"DaHjaj SuvwI'e' jiH. tIgwIj Sa'angNIS. – Iw bIQtIq jIjaH." the young girl said proudly, as she stepped down off the starting dais and took the two steps to the first of the raised platforms.

"Zammar-KHAN!!" the two Klingon warriors, one male and one female, warring the red and silver sashes of the the Holy Guards of the Temple of Kahless shouted as she stepped up on the first stage.. They stepped forward and applied the painsticks to Va'Lonnah's bare flesh.

There was a sharp intake of her breathe as the painsticks made contact and delivered their electro-sonic charge. The girl had allowed herself to forget the intense shock of pain caused by the neural disruption caused by the weapons. For the First Rite of Ascension, the painsticks were set at their lowest potency, 1/1000, but even so the pain was brain numbing.

"jBechrup may' vllos," Va'Lonnah said defiantly as she stepped off the first stage advanced to and mounted the second stage. The Temple guards applied their painsticks, this time to her ribs, just under her petite breasts, causing her nipples to stand erect. "This battle is now mine," Va'Lonnah said. "I crave only the blood of the enemy! HlHlvqa"

Resolutely she advanced to the third stage, where the painsticks were wielded by acolytes of the Temple of Kahless. The neural shock of the previous two stages were beginning to cause her to zone-out, and the girl desperately tried to regain the concentration she needed to complete the Rite.

Reverence, that was the third principle of Ascension, Va'Lonnah fought against the waves of pain that were assailing her mind by diverting her focus, just as she had been taught in Elementary Warrior's training [which all Klingon children underwent in their preteen years]. Yes, Reverence, just as the First principle was Purity, and the second Obedience.

"May'pequ' moH!" Staggering somewhat now, Va'Lonnah stepped onto the fourth stage, and this time the shock of the painsticks was not as agonizing, not as jarring. They seemed far off annoyances now, like t'gart flies buzzing around her mind in the summer heat and humidity. Brilliance, that was the fourth principle. Now only Honor, the highest principle remained, all she need do was take one more step, withstand the assault on her person by the painstisks of all the previous eight inquisitors simultaneously; and then take one final step to claim the bat'telh and red and silver cloak of citizenship that would then be hers by right of conquest.

Almost on autopilot, the twelve year old girl took that final step and was instantly assaulted by a fusillade of eight painsticks wielded by the inquisitors of the Rite of Ascension. They seemed to keep the painsticks applied to her for an unbearably long time, though she knew that the Rite called for five seconds.

A wave of vertigo swept over her as the inquisitors removed the painsticks and quietly withdrew, leaving her alone on the honor stage with the rack that bore the bat'telh and the cloak. Va'Lonnah fought down the vertigo and advanced on the cloak.

The assembled crowd of offworlders and Klingons roared their approval as the twelve year old wrapped her now shivering body in the cloak; and spun the bat'telh around in the Royal salute before letting it's unedged side come to rest against the firm flesh of her upper arm. Instantly her parents and friends were surrounding her, she leaned gratefully against her father, who leaned over and whispered: "Very well done, Baby Girl."

"Daddy!" she hissed at him, but the older Klingon only grinned his wildest, most affectionate smile. It hit her then, the revelation that no matter how far she managed to scramble up in the <Komerex-zha>, she would always be 'Baby Girl' to her father. Then the crowd of well-wishers flooded in on the young girl and she disappeared into the throng.

"Well," Pete said, patting his belly. "That was quite a work out, even to watch! I'm starved. What'da'ya say, Xar? Ready for some grub?"

"And how. It feels like a week since I had anything decent to eat."

"Then lets hit that buffet line like the Klingon Imperial Marines 3;"

"OOO-RAHH!"

It was here that Lord Kultarc broke in. "My friends, you do not need stand in a line like common Pah'Toks. Come to my table and my servitors will do those menial chores."

"My Lord is kind," Pete said and so he, Kah'Quiopat and Xartoz went to sit at the head table with the House Holder, his senior staff and guests. By now, news of Pete's amazing display [for a TerRot'non!] of skill with the sword had traveled and those few who had not witnessed the sparing match between Pete and the Captain of the Household Guard were now attempting to get a look at this amazing TerRot'non.

They were no sooner settled into their seats, but the appetizers, both Klingon and Oriental began to be brought by the servitors. Pete was not too surprised to find that Xartoz had no formal experience with real Oriental food, which requires the customer to feed himself with chopsticks. Va'Lonnah on the other hand surprised Pete a little by announcing that she really loved Oriental food and could eat most TarRot'non dishes. But considering her background growing up in the Restaurant trade as she had, perhaps it should not have surprised Pete as much as it did.

There was no doubt about it, the supper was an experience to remember. Kultarc's House was a large establishment, more akin to a spaceship hanger than a restaurant,being a hundred-sixty meters wide and two hundred fifty long. The restaurant had a large enclosed courtyard within its middle which reproduced the terrain on Klintzahi, the Klingon Homeworld where the famous Battle of Qo'Qliss Gorge where Kahless became 'The Unforgettable' by defeating Molor and his armies – easily outnumbering those who stood with Kahless ten to one. Kultarc's put on a spectacular opera based upon this most famous battle in Klingon history for the entertainment of its dinner guests. The courtyard stage was seventy-five meters wide, by a hundred fifty long. Now that the Rites of Ascension were completed, the shutters over the 10 meter high crystalline windows facing the rocky ground of the courtyard had been removed and the actors were getting set up for their nightly performance.

Va'Lonnah had come and sat with Pete, Kah'Quiopat and Xartoz. In honor of Pete's membership in the Order of Excalibur, he had been Designated the Dragon King, and assigned the Dragon Throne at the West of the Great Table. The Dragon Throne was a large, ornate chair, carved with the likeness of a Klingon Dragon's head and wings overshadowing the throne itself. The Great Table itself was twenty meters long with seating for thirty and two meters wide. At it's midpoint along the North oriented edge was the Obsidian Throne of Kahless, which by tradition was a part of evert High Table because of Kahless's promise to return one day. The Householder's throan was a step lower than the Obsidian Throne and the seat of the Householder's power. The right and left along the East-West axis were the Dragon Throne on the west and the Throne of the Narg'stam which anchored the east. The Narg'stam was a fearsome creature which was a nightmare composed of bits and pieces of other creatures. If a Terran were to name these creatures they would be predominantly Owl and Bear, and thereafter the Narg'stam had been given the name "OlwBear" by Terran tourist guides to the Klingon Reaches. The Klingons swore they had existed in the Time of Kahless, but so far no evidence had ever been produced. The Terrans routinely wrote off the Narg'stam as a Klingon Boogie-creature that now the Klingons were having fun with at Terran expanse.

The south was open and faced the wide crystalline windows of the courtyard where the Battle of Qo'Qliss Gorge was even now beginning in earnest.

"Let me order for you boys," Va'Lonnah said to Kah'Quiopat and Xartoz, "I promise you'll not be disappointed."

"Not Chitlin's!" Xartoz said in mock horror.

Va'Lonnah laughed, "I think we'll stick with TerRot'non Oriental cuisine for my escort this evening. My Lord Pete? Are you up for some experimentation with Klingon food?"

Pete grinned. "Yes, My Lady. I've had Klingon foods before. Order as you would like this evening, I am capable of handling my order."

"Good!" Va'Lonnah said and signaled to one of her father's servitor in the traditional Klingon way – she put her fingers to her mouth and emitted an ear-splitting three tone whistle – a perfect imitation of a Star Fleet bo'suns pipe.

The servitor, who also turned out to be Va'Lonnah's bat'telh and edged weapons instructor. Like Kah'Quiopat he was at least seven feet tall. Klingon's tend to be about the same stature as terrestrial humans, and so a seven foot tall one, and dressed in an apron and warring an old-style cook's tall hat would stand out in virtually any crowd anywhere in the galaxy.

"Kalt'Amitai! What are you doing here?"

"Louk Necktch?" he growled – roughly translated "What do you want?" The Klingons are very abrupt in their verbal conversation. There are a lot of exclamation points and capital letters. Such Federation nice touches as 'please', 'thank-you', 'you're welcome' and so on as a rule do not exist in Klingonaase. Only strength, ritual aggressiveness and honor count in your conversation.

"Interlingo, please," Va'Lonnah said, "To honor the Lord Pete." Kalt'Amitai smiled, "My lady does not need me as weapons instructor any longer; so now I serve where I can. Now, in the Restaurant. "Ca'bongah!" he said and handed her a menu.

"Kalt'Amitai! you embarrass me in front of my guests! Nar-deez nuqdaq – 'oH pah'toc Qe'QoQe' 'kha-FECK," Va'Lonnah said, standing up. Pete glanced at Kah'Quiopat, uncertain if he should also rise. Kah'Quiuopat shook his head slightly and the Nomad relaxed. He knew a great deal of Klingon ways in the battle culture, but this was mostly the realm of the Klingon female – This was part of the ritual of fine dining – Klingon style.

Kalt'Amitai had given her the abridged tourist menu. [To tease her probably,] and she was telling him, in strong. aggressive language that she was not amused and knew the difference between an abridged menu and the real thing. Did he take her for a dishonorable person? Or a Pah'tok <fool>? Had she not just endured with honor the First Rite of Ascension? And she did not feel like being insulted on this day. "Nacht dass Qo"Qo'Qe desarr pah'TOK!" She ended with an extremely rude Klingonaase insult.

Pete wondered briefly if he should make Va'Lonnah aware of the fact that he had spoken fluent Klingonaase since his twelfth birthday, as his foster great grandfather was Imperial Klingon and knew little Interlingo. No, he thought, she had obviously switched languages to avoid embarrassing her old master-of-arms in front of Pete. Nothing positive could be served by setting the factual record strait.

Kalt'Amitai flashed an impressive set of filed incisors and grunted: "Mahje!" {Good}.

Mahje indeed, Pete thought, so it had been an attempt at humor, there were not many stand-up comedians in Klingon society. What Klingons found funny, most people barfed at.

From a giant pocket in the front of his cook's apron, Kalt'Amitai produced another scripted and handed it to Va'Lonnah with a flourish.

Va'Lonnah studied the menu and spat out an order. Then Kalt'Amitai looked at Pete.

"Ggaahhh, dragon steak, prune juice," The spacer snarled in his best Warrior's Speak. The dragon steak Pete had before many times, its similar to venison, except a lot more sweet, verging toward pork.

Kah'Quiopat grinned. "I thought that you had a bad opinion of our ggaahhh."

"I will reserve my judgement until I try it. I've just hauled 60,000 kilograms of them 90 light years and through a half dozen warp gates to get them here," Pete said.

Ggaahhh were live grub worms about as thick as a pencil and perhaps 30 cm long when full grown. They turned out to be quite tasty, even to a Terrestial pallet – tasting rather like dark turkey meat after having been refrigerated and smeared with mayonnaise. In other words if you could get past the idea of eating 'slimy worms' they're really were very good. No wonder the Klingons have devoted an entire continent on Klintzai to them [Klintzai is the home world 3; Qo'noS {pronounced 'Kronos'} which is often mistaken for the Klingon homeworld. It is only Klintzai's major moon, it is true that the High Council meets there and there are several major industrial and military centers there, but Klintzai is the original home world of the Klingon race.]

The prune juice is, as far as the Klingons are concerned, the terRot'non {Terran} drink that separates the Federation wimps from the Warriors. A fast and easy way to impress any Klingon crowd in a bar is to order prune juice. It has the same effect on their taste-buds as drinking pure tabasco sauce mixed with kerosene would have on a human's. So far, the average Klingon is not aware of the fact that prune juice is only mildly cloying to Terrestrial taste-buds.

"Jilegh, TerRot'non," and he turned to Xartoz.

"Va'Lonnah knows much more about the Oriental food that I do," Xartoz said. "She said she would order something good."

"A wise choice, young master." Kalt'Amitai turned back to Va'Lonnah

Va'Lonnah ordered two entrees, pollzos al-feugo – literately 'chicken on fire' which was kinda like shish kabob with chicken, instead of Lamb. She also ordered Yom Kang Koon – beef spareribs with fried rice and a special Klingon sauce. They also had a sampler platter of the different Oriental dishes available at the registrant and of course egg rolls, Tom Yum Koong soup, and Chow Mein.

Xartoz liked the Tom Yum Koong soup, and had a few spoonfuls of the Targ's head soup that came with my dragon steak. He announced that mixing the two was very good indeed. Va'Lonnah and Kah'Quiopat also discovered that they both loved the fried shrimps and chicken kabobs and the chow mein.

Probably the highlight of the evening was watching Xartoz attempting to manipulate chopsticks. Thereafter there were two versions of the events at the House of Kultarc that night. In Pete and Kah'Quiopat's version they had a wonderful time trying to teach David how to eat with chopsticks. Pete held the boy's hands in the proper way and guided them a few times. Kah'Quiopat just sat back and roared with laughter, he loved it being so close to the young Klingon boy. Xartoz, on the other hand, was of the opinion that Pete and Kah'Quiopat were laughing at him {ok, so they were laughing, but it was pretty funny!} and trying to embarrass him. This was because although both Pete and then Va'Lonnah tried to help, and Xartoz tried valiantly to grab pieces of spare-rib or shrimp with the chopsticks – he was largely unsuccessful, and Kah'Quiopat steadfastly maintained it was humorous to watch the little boy trying to pick up a chunk of chicken or some other tidbit with the sticks.

Halfway through the meal, Xartoz abandoned the chopsticks – claiming his hand grew too cramped to hold the sticks – he abandoned them for a fork, and then took a much more direct approach, using one of the chopsticks to spear the food and eating that way.

After dinner, and just as the final Battle between Kahless and Molor was about to begin in the courtyard, Kah'Quiopat slipped up beside the Dragon Throne and lightly touched the Star Nomad. "You're in trouble," the Klingon said.

Pete sighed, "That's no military secret. What now?"

"It seems that your skill with a blade has generated a lot of interest in the Klingon Community here on Kolandan Cor. There are a lot of young warriors who want to try their luck against you."

"Aww, Crom! I don't want to get involved in a full tournament. I have to be at Starbase 288 tomorrow to pick up a consignment for ds9," Pete said.

"Now don't worry," Kah'Quiopat said. "I begged the ride here, I'll get you out of this, the only thing is we have to get out of here right now, while our good friend Lord Molor," Kah'Quiopat gestured toward the courtyard/stage, "keeps everyone else occupied."

"What about the ggaahhh?"

"Not to worry, one of Kultarc's trucks is already on the way and will meet us there."

"And Xar?"

"Haven't you noticed? He and Va'Lonnah are having too good a time to know we are even gone. If this takes longer than I think, Kultarc will look after him until I get back."

"Well, I guess it is time to leave 3;"

The jetcab was waiting at the curb in front of Kultarc's and in ten minutes had arrived at the landing field. The truck and unloading crew from House of Kultarc was already at the landing pad when the jetcab carrying Pete and Kah'Quiopat arrived. Kah'Quiopat immediately took charge of the unloading, urging the servitors to work harder for the Honor of their employer .. to work harder and faster for the sake of their lousy hides, which he, Kah'Quiopat would skin off them with a dull knife if they were not finished in thirty time cycles so that Pete could raise ship.

The servitors grumbled, but knew their jobs. Well with in the thirty minute limit that Kah'Quiopat had set, the stasis crates containing 60,000 kilograms of ggaahhh had been transferred from the Tomahawk's hold and onto the ground truck from Kultarc.

"Well, my TerRot'non friend, I did not get a chance to take you to the Kolandan Cor slave emporium this time – but next time 3;" Kah'Quiopat said.

"Well, maybe," Pete said slowly, "But I might beat you to it. The time I spent with Xartoz reminded me that being a boylover mean more than just having a set of philosophical ideals, it also includes being with a special kid, hopefully to be a positive influence in his life. But for now, I guess this is good-bye."

"You have got to come to Risa with me soon," Kah'Quiopat said

"Maybe next Empire Day 3;"

The lanky Klingon boy lover folded his long legs into the waiting jetcab and with a last wave was gone. Pete collected all of the paperwork from his visit to Kolandan Cor and stuffed them into his 'incomming-active' file in the flight safe under the pilot's acceleration couch.

Pete settled himself into the pilots station and adjusted the acceleration harness and began the pre-flight checks. Minutes later the Tomahawk was raising on its antigrav pads and preparing to leave Kolandan Cor.

<< FIVE >>

The Badlands was a wide expanse of space within which was a huge molecular cloud composed of superdense nebular hydrogen, helium and an exotic mix of gases such as dichronium-oxide, and triple ionized sodium. The cloud's physical dimensions are 6.28 light years by 21.4 light years by 5.9 light years, and within it's volume lay both Bajor Prime and Kardasia Prime. These two stars form a loosely coupled binary starsystem separated by a semi-major axis of over 53,000 aus. This binary is just slightly off center by 1.05 light years with Kardasia being slightly closer to the exterior wall of the nebula.

The natural action of each star's solar wind over billions of years has pretty well cleaned out a sphere of space around each star with a radius of 120 aus, even within such a dense stellar environment. In spit of this solar wind however, the inner solar systems of both stars are dusty in the extreme, making it difficult for unpowered craft to maintain a newtonian orbit.

At distances greater than 120 aus from either star, and throughout this peculiar nebula that makes up the badlands, the normal space-time environment becomes chaotic. Normal space-time is flat to several dozen decimal places and has a densely woven rigidity. In the badlands however, space-time is – lumpy – with 'hills' and 'valleys' of gravitational potential, causing extreme gravitational sheer in most places through out the badlands – rendering ftl drives inoperative. In addition, the normally tightly woven fabric of space-time is much looser here, resulting in slits in space-time allowing rifts opening into raw subspace and even hyperspace to exist simultaneously with normal space.

Ion storms of long duration are common and like their tiny planetary cousins, ball lightning, roam freely through space. Another phenomenon common to the badlands is the linkage of a dense field of asteroids ranging in size from sand, through small mountains to continent-sized masses. Bound together by a super-electrostatic field, billions of times more powerful than ever seen before in nature, these asteroid fields are constantly exchanging charge back and forth in the form of hundred thousand kilometer long lightning bolts. The average charged asteroid field is roughly globular and perhaps a half au or smaller in radius.

As if the normal space environment were not chaotic enough, both the hyperspace and subspace domains are littered with tachyon cross currents, plasma-ionic storms, and temporal anomalies that make the ftl approaches to the two planets nearly as hazardous as the normal space approaches are. After years of warp surveys, fourteen separate narrow passages through the chaos of the badlands disrupted warp space have been charted. Five of these are between Bajor and the exterior of the nebula, four are between Bajor and Kardasia, and the remainder link Kardasia with the exterior of the nebula. Grunn B-761 stood sentinel less than a half light year from the widest and best charted of the corridors leading to Bajor. Soon after the first contact with the then expanding Kardasian Ligature in 2309 the Federation had established a major presence in the system; and by 2371, at the beginnings of the Dominion invasion of the Alpha Quadrant, Starbase 288 was charged not only with the security of the Quetzacoatl warp gate, but with keeping the supply line open to Bajor and ds9, in addition to helping to defend the Bajorian sector from aggression from the Dominion and their warrior drones, the Jem-Hadarr.

Because of the risks, both the abnormal quality of space-time in the badlands and the possibility of being intercepted by renegade Jem'Hadarr even in the corridors, most galactic freight forwarding companies simply would not accept either Bajor or Kardasia as a destination. Grunn B-761 and Starbase 288 had by default become a major center of interstellar transportation in addition to its military duties.

Star Base 288 was built in two sections, one a titanic orbital fortress/drydock station was the military half of the outpost. The civilian half of the outpost was built on the moon-sized planetoid that the military station orbited in a domed over 20-km wide crater which was one of the busiest Federation outposts in the sector. The moon was an airless, radioactive hell because of frequent x- and gamma-ray bombardments caused by flares on the primary star,

Pete and Dream Walker neutralized warp at the base's outer marker buoys, and Pete reached up to the overhead commweb system and dialed in Starbase 288's hailing frequency.

"Star Base traffic control, this is civilian truck Dream Walker, itc registration nk-8476f, request clarence to ground facility."

"Star Base 288 Traffic Control to nk-8476f, you are cleared to the inner marker and then contact ground approach control for assistance."

"Roger, Controller, Dream Walker out."

The rest of the approach to the crater city was nothing more than standard ops. Over a ten minute period, the Dream Walker decelerated from 0.998c pre-warp velocity to a few kilometers per second sub-orbital velocity, decelerating at some 51,000 gees using Dream Walker's powerful matter/anti-matter electrogravitic superchargers to augment the Tomahawk's electroplasma ion drive. Switching from ion drive to scramjet as the truck penetrated the outpost's airlock forcefield, Pete swooped in low over the ground of the crater, most of which was devoted to farming. The "guts" and commercial sectors of the outpost were dug deep into the crater walls.

Pete pointed the Dream Walker toward one of the many fifty meter wide by ten meter high entry ports to the portion of the outpost within the crater walls. Within a few minutes, Pete had found the warehouse complex, just outside of a large shopping mall, where he was to pick up Quark's consignment cargo to take back to Bajor. Dealing with Ferengi could be risky, and there was no doubt that this Ferengi was a quasi-shady character – but he paid well and Pete was always in need of cash contracts, what with the bank always breathing down his neck about the payments on Dream Walker and this and that 3;

After securing the orbital truck in the consignee's loading zone, between the warehouses and the mall, Pete decided to take advantage of the 'special shopping privileges' that the mall offered because it would be 0800 local time tomorrow before he could get into the warehouse to get Quark's stuff loaded. It was 16:30 local time.

"Special privileges indeed," Pete muttered, eyeing the Ferengi Merchants Association seal of approval which was prominently displayed on a large teakwood and brass plaque in the same entrance gallery.

That of course meant: <hold onto to your latinum with both hands> [or all three if you happened to be a tripedian]. Not that the Ferengi would outright cheat you, not often anyway, its just that they lived by the old axiom: 'Let the Buyer Beware!' Ferengi merchants often worked on the gray side of the law – where profits were maximal – but this also meant sometimes they got burned and when this happened the Ferengi's first impulse was to burn the next guy down in the feeding chain, so as not to loose profitability. 'Shit rolls downhill' was another of the hundreds of *Rules of Acquisition* that served the Ferengi as a Bible.

Pete wondered into a general merchandise shop and bought a couple of new vr-chips for his entertainment center, some junk food, and a new comic book. After paying for his purchases, the Nomad Freebooter wandered around the mall some more, munching a cheese-burger made without any real cheese or real beef. Briefly Pete wondered what he was munching, but he'd learned a long time ago not to ask. The burger tasted like a burger, and so he was content.

Eventually he came upon a game room, crammed full of vr-video games and a hoard of kids of both genders, both pre-teen and teenagers, and of virtually every Federation race, dependents of Star Fleet personnel and children of the civilian workers at the base – hence the through mixture of kids in the vr-arcade. Pete stood close to the entrance for several minutes, where he had a commanding view of the whole arcade floor, gazing at the butts and crotches of several preteen human boys and a couple boys he figured who were part Romulan and 13 or 14 years old.

Some of these boys had little tiny butts that hardly showed through their jeans and/or shorts, and some had nice round fannies that filled the seat of their jeans/shorts quite nicely.

"Nice and squeezible," Pete nearly drooled on himself he was so turned on. It was about at this point, when he had spent about a half hour shopping and oggling the kids in the vr-arcade, that he decided that now he was ready for something a little more active and challenging.

Even a one-sided game of tracking would be good now, Pete decided and looked out over the crowds of human, humanoid and xt-alien forms all rushing to get somewhere. There were plenty of suitable 'targets' <boys 8-11> in the crowd and Pete set about picking one.

"Eeenie, meanie, mineie, moe," Pete mumbled to himself as he looked over the crowd, letting his eyes rest first on one boy and then another.

"Catcha a Boy by the toe 3;"

And suddenly, automatically, Pete selected and began tracking his target.

Tracking was one of Pete's favorite games. It could be played in solitary mode as Pete was doing now, or if a willing boy were available it could develop into an elaborate game of hide and seek. It involved the selection of a target – in this case it was a small human boy about eight or nine years old – and then stealthily following [some would say: 'stalking'] the target.

He was dressed in a 'Star Fleet' gold over black Bajorian winter playsuit which clung to his beautiful long, lithe arms and legs, and accented the cutest little round fanny. He was drop-dead beautiful with medium length walnut colored hair with a slight reddish coloration and ice-fire electric blue eyes.

Sometimes tracking leads to active contacts with the subject, sometimes it merely generates fodders for kick-ass fantasy, but normally Pete did not push this mode of contact too far. Afterall Pete being a licensed Boy Lover had his gpi privileges to think of, and tracking can seem like stalking, a practice which could get his license pulled by the local constabulary. Although boy lovers were an accepted [or at least tolerated] part of the sexual community of humanoid populations in the United Federation of Planets, Boy Lovers still had to obtain a license involving soul-deep telepathic probing by a panel of Vulcan and Betazoid telepathic boy lovers whoes job it was to separate out those capable of living up to the ideals of the Children's Bill of Rights – from those who were still considered sexual predators in many parts of the Federation.

This time, however, it appeared that it had led Pete exactly where he was needed. Several times in his past some kind of sixth sense had directed him to younger kids in trouble, and it was becoming clear that his 'sixth sense' was right again. The little boy who Pete had been following discretely now for a half hour was obviously in some kind of distress. The boy had already approached several people, both human and alien adults in the crowds that surged and ebbed around him – but in each attempt he had been rebuffed, with varying degrees of irritation by the adults. Pete lengthened his stride and quickly came up behind the youngster. He was crying. Not bawling, but his face, when he turned to Pete, was streaked with tears and his noes was red and running.

"Got troubles?" Pete asked him.

He nodded, sniffing audibly.

"Maybe I can help," the Nomad said, and put out his hand. The boy gladly took it, and they walked together a short distance to a grav tube. "Are you hungry?" Pete asked, "I'm starving, and we can talk over a couple of burgers as well as out here."

"Yeah," the kid replied. "I'm hungry too. My stepdad says I'm always hungry."

This seemed to do a lot toward relieving the clouds of depression and chaos that had been swirling around the boy all day. The pair finally got out of the grav tube on the 96th level, nearly a thousand meters above the average level of the crater floor. Pete expertly guided his new friend toward a two passenger people-mover and motioned the boy to get in after him.

"Where are we going?" the boy asked.

"I come here, Starbase 288 that is, a lot. I know a fantastic place to grab a bite, its about three minutes by people-mover."

"Okay," the boy said and crawled into the tiny droid controlled passenger conveyance. It resembled a cross between a taxicab and an aircraft. The droid bweeped for attention and Pete pulled out his cashcard and slid it into the receptacle on the droid's neck. "Ninety-six forward," Pete said and the people mover took off with a herky-jerky bounce and jump.

The boy asked, "Are you a truck driver? You're warring a pilot's flightsuit, but its not Star Fleet. That must mean your a truck driver."

"Yep, sure am," Pete was favorably impressed with the boy's deductive intelligence. "I pilot my own rig, I'm an independent – a Star Nomad Free Booter." Pete grinned at the little boy. "My name's Pete Reynolds."

"Bryan. Bryan Shimosauwa," the little boy introduced himself.

"Are you into big trucks Bryan?" I asked.

"Well sort of, I want to go to Star Fleet Academy when I'm 16 3; but I've always been really interested in how big some of those trans orbitals are 3; and I've always wanted to find out what those little itc runabout-like trucks are like," he replied.

"Well, this is your lucky day," Pete said. "My truck is a Tomahawk 3;"

"Kewl!" the little boy said excitedly. "A modified Danube-class. Mark III or IV?"

"Mark IV," Pete said. "My Tomahawk has both standard ion impulse drive and a fwma miniature warp drive. I can make warp six on a good day," Pete fibbed a little. The Tomahawk in stock condition had a warp drive governor that limited it to warp five – but, like most Free Booters, that was one of the first things Pete had pulled off his rig and re-routed the antimatter plasma flow to a more efficient design, more in line with the specs of a Star Fleet runabout. He can easily hit warp eight now; but that was illegal, so he didn't brag about it in public.

"Wow!" the little boy sighed in admiration. "Mark IV means she was built during the Dominion Wars, maybe an auxiliary patrol vessel."

"Maybe," Pete said mysteriously. "Wanna take a look at her after we finish supper? I've got an overnight layover while I wait on a cargo I'm taking on to Bajor 3;"

"Bajor! And Deep Space Nine! Oh wow 3;"

"Yeah, ds9 is my home port, I lease a docking bay and have my corporate headquarters for Reynolds Interstellar Freight Forwarding there."

"Boy, would I like to go there," Bryan said with a faraway look in his eyes.

"It looks like we're arriving," Pete said as the people-mover rolled to a stop in front of a huge transparent-aluminium view wall that ran as far as Pete could see in both directions and floor to ceiling. It was like there was no wall there and one could gaze out over the spectacular landscape of the small moon upon which Star Base 288 was built. This particular view was on the outward slope of the crater that the ground facilities were built into, and so looked out onto the airless super bright landscape of the moon in its natural state. A food court selling a wide variety of both Federation and other exotic alien cuisines was located a few dozen meters away.

"So how hungry are you?" Pete asked.

"What's your limit?"

"Get what you want, I'm flush."

"Number 45 dinner plate and a slab of mud pie," Bryan said. "And give me a 16-oz [½ liter] glass of Terran cow's milk."

Pete surveyed the menu, The Number 45 dinner plate was chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes with country gravy and corn/greenbean side order. "Okay, make it two #45's two mud pies, the milk and a synthale. Also throw in a dozen of those 'down-home' country biscuits," Pete said and again slid his cash card into the cashier's slot. A small door in the counter opened with an autolocator which would direct the servo-droid who would bring their orders as soon as it was prepared. With the autolocator, they could sit virtually anywhere within a kilometer or so of the food court and the servo-droid would find them.

"C'mon, Pete!" Bryan said tugging at his arm. "I wanna sit over by the windows 3;"

"I thought you might enjoy this place. And the view is spectacular."

Bryan picked out a small table with only two seats, both of them at an oblique angle to the huge viewport, they had only just settled in and had a few minutes to enjoy the view of the wild, rugged surface of the moon, when the servo-droid brought their suppers.

Bryan attacked the plate of food like the Imperial Marines assaulting a robotech command bunker – guarded by 'Devastator' Continental Siege Units! When the smoke and fire had cleared, Pete was about half done with his meal, and Bryan was leaning back and patting his belly, satisfied.

As Pete was finishing his supper, Bryan said: "I'd really like to come with you when you take off for Deep Space Nine."

"And I'd love to have a boy just like you – about your size and age, to have with me all the time."

"Really? I thought so, and I'm really glad to hear you say that. Hmmm 3;. Well, let's see. You could have me. Not just tonight, but for always," said Bryan.

"C'mon, Bry, don't tease about that, I really mean it!"

Bryan looked at Pete, with a sad-bemused look on his small, cute face, "So do I. I mean it. Really. Remember when we first met you asked if I were having troubles?"

"Well DHUH 3;," Pete said grinning, but Bryan was not smiling. His face had turned very serious, very fast. "Yes, I remember," Pete said quickly.

Tears began to roll down Bryan's cheeks.

"Wanna tell me about it?" Pete asked quietly.

The small boy sniffed and nodded, slowly digging into an inside pocket of the playsuit, he took out a small iso-linear chip for a pda and held it out to Pete.

Pete took the iso-linear chip and dug out his pda and slid the datachip into it. The pda's small hiRez 5-inch screen lit with the official seal of the United Federation of Planets. This was quickly replaced by a good-quality 2D headshot of a somewhat younger Bryan and then his physical description, "Bryan Shimosauwa. Born stardate: 9006.06 [6 June, 2390, Terrestrial calendar]. Brown hair and Blue eyes, 1.34 meters [4'4"] tall and weighed 28.13 kilograms [63 pounds]." In addition to that hard copy data, there was an excellent holograph of Bryan's full body – which was meant to point out any scars, tattoos or other identifying marks, and instructions to move to the next screen. I keyed the advance icon and Bryan's personal stats were replaced by a talking head of an attractive human woman who said:

"My name is Diane Shimosauwa, I am 31 years of age, Terrestrial Standard, and the biological mother and primary guardian of Bryan Shimosauwa. I am not under duress nor under the influence of any hallucinogens or intoxicating substances; I am of sound mind and make this statement of my own free will. I do declare my intention to transfer guardianship of my son, Bryan Shimosauwa, to the bearer of this document, because I am no longer able to take care of this child properly. This transfer of guardianship shall become in force as soon as registered in any branch of the Terran Imperial Circuit Court. This transfer is final and non-rescindable by either party."

Pete sat in shocked silence for a few minutes as the audio/visual portion of the datachip finished. "Black, black 3; no trades back!" he murmured as the screen displayed the 'end of visual content' icon and the directory of documents contained on the chip appeared.

"What was that 3;?" Bryan asked.

"Huh? Oh! «Black, black 3; no trades back.» That was what we said when I was a kid after a trade, for comics, toys or whatever. It usually meant that the kid who said it first thought he or she got a really good deal and there would be no trade-backs. That's kinda what your mom said at the end, except in grown-up speak."

"Oh," the boy said subdued. "I promise I won't be any trouble Pete, I want to stay with you forever." Then he discreetly put his little hand against Pete's still-bulging dick to get an idea of how big was, then asked in a whispered voice: "Do you like to suck little boy's wieners?"

If Pete were shocked by Bryan's candid question, he did not show it. "Absolutely! Do you like to have your wiener sucked?" Pete asked right back.

"Yes," Bryan whispered breathily without a pause, and leaned his head against Pete's shoulder, "I'm so happy I found you – I'll do you – anything you want," he said, "if you'll do me!"

Pete put his arm around the little boy's shoulders and let his hand rest on Bryan's rounded little boy tummy. "When?" Pete whispered softly into his ear.

"Right now!" Bryan said decisively and began to unzip his playsuit.

Pete laughed and pulled Bryan into his lap and wrapped both arms around him in the patented 'el oso loco Reynolds' bearhug, "Well, maybe we should wait until we're in a little more private area, like my Tomahawk," Pete said. "I think your mom was the one who got cheated in this deal – and I feel like the luckiest man in the galaxy."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" the Star Nomad said. "Now just let's see what else your mom sent along with you on this chip."

The storage area of the isolinear chip was nearly full, Bryan's mom had sent 78 Stellars in Bryan's savings account, his complete medical records and dna/rna scan, birth certificate and Imperial Citizen status indicator with a Terran passport; virtually everything a third party would need if they decided to adopt Bryan legally.

"Pretty complete," Pete said simply. Bryan nodded, sniffing loudly.

"But look," Pete said still reeling at the thought of a parent giving away a child – especially one as good looking and intelligent as Bryan. "Are you saying that your mother wants to get rid of you?"

"Yes," the boy said simply. "Its because I'm gay. She doesn't want me around, and her new boyfriend is a real homophobe! Mom said I should go out today and find someone who would look after me, or she would turn me over to Federation Social Services. I don't want to go to an orphanage, or a gay hostel, Pete! You've gotta let me come live with you!!" Bryan was coming close to tears again, "She doesn't care anything about me and she hates the fact that I'm gay! That's why I can stay out late at night. She'd be glad to see me gone!"

"Wait a minute," Pete interrupted. "You're way too young to say you're gay. That doesn't mean anything until you go through adolescence – a good six or seven years away for you yet – and I don't understand. Your mom gave you away? Your mom sent you out to find a new family 3;?"

Huge crystal tears suddenly cascaded down Bryan's cheeks, and he nodded.

"B-but 3; why?" Pete whispered in astonishment. The trucker was still totally shocked that anyone could do something so hideously cruel to this beautiful kid. The most horrible thing a parent could do to a child was to abandon it.

"My dad was in Star Fleet, and he was killed in an away mission on some planet, I don't even know the name of. That was when I was five. My mom found a boy friend right away. They – they loved each other 3; b-but her boyfriend said he di-didn't want a gay Star Fleet brat around 3; so my mom asked my dad's sister to look after me. That was last year. But she always told me and everyone she knows, that she really didn't want to be tied down with a kid, especially a boy kid. She said I was more trouble than she wanted to have to cope with. Not that I give her any trouble, or got in trouble 3; but finally she kicked me out and sent me back to my mom, and mom said I had to find somewhere else to live 3; 3;"

The word were simply tumbling out of his mouth and he was on the verge of tears as he told Pete this.

" 3;and just having to buy extra food, extra this and extra that, is more than she wanted."

Bryan took a few minutes here to wipe his eyes and settle himself. Pete wrapped his arms around the small nine-year-old in a protective bearhug.

"It's okay, Bryan, now I understand 3;"

"She'd be glad to give me to anybody that wanted me." Bryan said, with his sunshine smile half returning. "Hint, hint 3;," he added.

"And the reason you think you're gay is your mom's new boyfriend said so 3;?"

"Uh-huh."

"Sounds more like mom's boyfriend doesn't like Star Fleet," Pete said slowly.

Bryan held his breath as Pete considered all of the ramifications. This would be more than just having a special friend. In those cases, the boy had lived at home and spent good times with Pete. This would be the same thing as though Bryan were Pete's son, not just a friend. The Free Booter wondered if he were ready to assume such a responsibility?

"So," Pete said seriously to Bryan. "You really ready to do this?"

"Yes."

"Well, then I say, let's give it a tryout and see if we can make it work."

"Really? Cool! Are we going to be gypsy truckers and roam the galaxy in search of cargo and adventure 3; just like Rocky Jones, Space Ranger?"

As far as Bryan was concerned, the transfer of guardianship had already taken place.

Pete laughed, "Well, kinda," he said, "but remember, that's a holovid, and this is real life. Most of the time, it is a hard and dangerous life. On most runs I just bearly get enough to cover expense 3; but I guess I've have had some adventures too."

"Kewl! How long are you going to be around here? To at least 1900? I gotta get some stuff – and settle my affairs here."

"Sure," Pete said. He told the boy that he'd be in the warehouses loading zone until morning, because he had to pick up a consignment going to Bajore. "Go take care of everything, including saying good bye, and getting any favorite toys and stuff. It might be quite a while before we're back here again."

"Kewl," Bryan said. "How'll recognize your truck?"

Pete dug around in his flightsuit's left chest pocket and produced a blank electropass and quickly scribbled in the data required to make the pass valid for his truck. "Here's the data on my truck, just in case there are more trucks out there in the truck park, but right now it's the only Tomahawk 3; and this'll get you through the gate into the loading zone."

The little boy studied the card seriously and then stuffed it into his pocket. "I have to go to my fort first and get some stuff," he said smiling. "But I can be back, ready to go, about 1900 or around there, and then we can have some fun!"

"I'll be waiting," Pete promised him.

The nine-year-old jumped up from his seat and took off.

"Got a lot to do," he shouted over his shoulder. "See you this evening."

<< SIX >>

"Nope," Pete grinned as the nine-year-old grabbed Pete's hand and swung halfway around him. "I told you I had to pick up a consignment from this warehouse," Pete said waving a hand at the block-square three story building behind the concrete ramp.

"WOW!" the boy said in awe. "You were *not* kidding when you said you had a kewl truck!"

"Wanna see the inside?" Pete asked, already pretty sure of what the boy's answer would be. The Star Nomad led the way around to the portside of the Tomahawk-class vessel to where the airlock hung open and the gangway was extended to the ground.

"Sure! I'd love to," Bryan said and followed the Nomad around to the airlock, hauling his suitcase in which he had his clothes and some favorite toys. In his other hand he was clutching a small antistatic bag in which another isolinear data chip was visible.

"See!" he almost shouted, shaking the new isolinear chip in Pete's face. "I told you she'd do it!" There was victory in his voice, but it was overlaid by sadness and doubt. The boy was wondering at that point what it would take to make Pete give him away also.

Pete took the data chip and pulled out his trusty pda and slid the new chip into the input receptacle. The chip actually held very little new material, it was basically a reconfirmation of Diane Shimosauwa's intention to give up custody of Brian to Pete. This time however the format was in the Federation Court codex-F which Federation records computers favored, and it was put into a form so that no further work besides registering it need be done. A shiver ran down the Star Nomad trucker's spine as he realized that now not only did Bryan consider this a done deal, but so did the enigmatic Diane.

"Yeah, I guess we're set." Pete said evenly, slapping the display cover on his pda shut. "Let's stow your stuff in the bedroom for now, and we'll get you settled in proper later."

Bryan nodded and climbed into the airlock and paused at the inner lock, looking in towards the sleeper. I got in right behind him, and closed and locked the outer hatch.

"Go ahead on in and look around!" Pete encouraged him. "It's crowded here in the airlock alcove."

The small boy took an experimental step across the low lip of the airlock's inner hatch and as he did. Pete could see that he was quite impressed. He turned first toward the sleeping area with its full queen-size bed, entertainment center, desk and chair and sofabed, and put his suitcase in a corner, out of the way.

Pete had a dream catcher hanging over the double-wide bed, a leather shield and a bat'telh hung securely on the back wall, and other such Klingon and Native American craft work here and there. Bryan's eyes were as big as saucers when he saw a three dimensional hologram Pete had chosen for the wall screen of the sleeping quarters. It was a 2 meter wide by 1.5 meter [6½ x 5"] tall depiction of two boys about eleven, half dressed and in the '69' position. The boy on the bottom was sucking his companion's wiener with great gusto – while the boy on top was poised a centimeter or two [1"] above the other boy's rock-hard erection with his mouth open and a merry twinkle in his eyes.

"So what do you think?" Pete asked. "Will it make a difference to you that I'm 'not-normal' in a lot of people's opinion?" If the boy were squeamish – or did not have the stomach for the kiddieporn, better that he knew it now, before putting in a lot of useless time with a kid who could not respond. "I see you're fascinated with the holograms and what those kids in them are doing 3;"

Bryan looked at Pete for a minute, as if considering his options, and asked: "Do you really like doing this with little boys?"

Pete grinned and nodded his head. "Sometimes," he said, "with the right boy. It has to be a two-way thing. The boy has to like it too."

"I guess I hadn't thought much about it 3; I was kinda teasing when I talked to you before. But I like you. I'd do it with you. I was a little scared – but not now 3;"

Pete wrapped both arms around the little boy and pulled Bryan's unresisting body down on top of him on the sofabed which was across the way from the main beed and supplied auxiliary sleeping accommodations for the truck. Pete started to kiss him on the cheek and the back of the neck, and ran his hands all over Bryan's tummy and bare thighs.

"Mmmmm 3; That feels so good. Keep doing what you're doing 3; 3;" he said in an almost whine.

So the Nomad kept rubbing Bryan's thigh with his right hand, as he slipped his left hand up under the boy's shirt and gently caressed his upper tummy and chest, and little nipples. Pete ran his right hand up under the legs of his shorts and negotiated the ridge of the nine-year-old's cotton undies. Then ever so softly and slowly snaked his hand into never-neverland and brushed Bryan's soft scrotum and the tiny testicles within.

"Oooooooow! That tickles! *No!* Don't stop, it feels gooooooood," the boy cooed.

Pete continued exploring Bryan's small testicles and found that his wiener was already hard as a nail. As were his nipples, for that matter.

Pete said: "It doesn't take you long to get ready for some fun does it?"

"Nope! I'm almost always ready for this kind of fun. It's just very hard to find anybody to have this kinda fun with though." Bryan replied as he continued to explore the adult's body with tiny expert hands.

Pete had the feeling that this was not his young partner's first time at this. That was a surprise, mostly from the things Bryan had said, Pete had assumed that the vast majority of Bryan's sexual experimentation had been with age-mates or had been touchie-feelie only. Pete had a distinct preference for the 7-11 year-old crowd, and had found that although they may have experimented with playing naked games in their own play group, but it was rare to come across a boy so young who had already been actively sexual with a man. However, the sophistication of Bryan's moves and the way he knew just the right places to touch and stroke to turn an adult on, indicated that he had some experience.

"No, it isn't too easy, is it?" Pete said looking into his new Special Friend's amber/brown eyes.

"Let's go to bed," Bryan said. "I want you to cuddle me." To Pete's surprise he could see Bryan was almost in tears.

"Okay," Pete said. "I guess we might as well head on over here to the Ponderosa – the main bed – and have some real fun, don't you think?

Bryan nodded and Pete scooped him into his arms. The boy immediately grabbed Pete around the neck and buried his face against his shoulder. Pete took the few steps over to the queen-size bed and sat down on the mattress of the bed.

"Ohh," Bryan said suddenly and wiggled out of Pete's grasp and headed for his suitcase. He quickly opened it, rummaged around for a few minutes and pulled out a rather woebegone teddy bear. "I couldn't go to bed without Bear," the boy said.

Pete grinned at the nine-year-old. It was very apparent in that moment how tiny and emotionally vulnerable the little boy was. Pete made a mental note to always protect his new special friend from the vagaries of the galaxy at large.

Pete told Bryan to stand in front of him as he sat on the double-wide bed, the boy did as he was instructed and Pete motioned for him to raise his hands over his head. When he was standing there grinning with his hands stretched for the sky, Pete began to lift up his tee shirt – slowly, ever so slowly to prolong the moment. Bryan began to laugh outright, perhaps something Pete was doing was tickling him, the spacer wasn't for sure, but it was a happy laugh; the laugh of a little boy who was having an enormous amount of fun and simply could not believe that the Odd Gods of the Galaxy had finally decided to see things his way. It was a lot better side of Bryan than his melancholy self of a few seconds ago.

Pete pulled the boy's tee-shirt completely off, and grabbed him around his waist. In one quick motion, Pete rolled Bryan onto the bed and flopped down beside him. Pete reached over to caress one of Bryan's nipples which became quickly erect, springing to life, begging for attention. Pete rubbed his hands all over the boy's beautiful little chest and upper tummy, feeling every ripple of his tight yet silky skin. Bryan closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure as the Nomad's hands explored the little boy's sides and the small of his back. Next, Pete removed Bryan's sneakers and socks one at a time, tossing them into a corner; then ran his fingernail lightly down Bryan's chest from just under his chin to his belly button and circled his navel several times before pressing on it lightly.

"<Beep!>" Bryan imitated the computer's request for attention signal.

"Wooaaahh, 3; What was that!?" Pete teased.

"Borg-unit-Bryan-on-line, ready-for-orders 3;" the boy said in a robotic monotone.

"Uh-oh! Pete said in mock terror, "a Borg! Gotta shut it down again." He began tickling Bryan all over his upper body. The nine-year-old shrieked with laughter and managed to stammer between bouts of near hysterical laughter:

"Borg-unit-Bryan-off-line-in shut-down-moodddee," he stretched out the last word as though power had suddenly been interrupted to a voice synthesis circuit. Even Bear, who was now observing the entire scene from the bookcase headboard of Pete's queen-size bed looked relieved to see the departure of Brorg Bryan.

Pete unbuckled his belt and unzipped his flightsuit, quickly wiggling out of it and tossing it haphazardly in a corner, and then returned to the serious, but pleasurable experience of stripping Bryan naked. Slowly; then, he slide the shorts down Bryan's long slender legs. A shiver ran through Pete as he pulled the pants totally free of Bryan's legs and looked at the nine-year-old laying there in just his undies. The white cloth of his underpants contrasted with the light brown color of his suntanned skin. His penis, now unconfined by the constriction of his shorts, had caused the material of his underpants to tent out quite impressively for a nine-year-old. The 34-year-old Star Nomad could see the outline of the nine-year-old's erection under them and could almost swear that he saw it throb and pulse with each heartbeat of the boy.

Pete knew that his own dick was beating in concert with his heart. Pete stood up and quickly stripped down the rest of the way to his own shorts and then laid down beside the small boy. Pete reached out and gently rubbed the tiny bulge in front of Bryan's underpants. Bryan jumped a little as Pete's hand first made contact with the bulge. It made him squirm and sigh in pleasure. At last, Pete could wait no longer and he rolled Bryan over on his tummy. Pete sat up beside him and grasped the elastic of the boy's underwear, slowly pulling his underpants down to mid thigh level, exposing the two perfectly formed hemispheres of his small fanny.

Wriggling around and kneeling at the foot of the bed with Bryan's slender legs between my own, Pete began to knead the soft warm flesh of the little boy's fanny like bread dough, inter spacing this with tickling the crack between the cheeks of Bryan's rump. Then Pete turned him over, watching as Bryan's wiener, now unconstrained by the weight of the boy, sprang up at attention, like the flagpole at Mt. Suribachi. Bryan's penis was as beautiful as the rest of him, hard, excited, a flawless shaft and perfectly formed circumcised head. There it stood, almost 6 centimeters [2½ inch] of boyhood perfection, standing proudly at a sixty-five degree angle pointing toward the ceiling. It was the prettiest piece of boymeat Pete could have imagined. The spacer pulled Bryan's underpants all the way down and allowed them to drop to the floor beside the bed.

"Now what?" Bryan asked innocently, laying beside the spacer totally naked and smiling.

"Wait and see," Pete said mysteriously and wriggled out of my shorts also.

"Wow!" Bryan said, looking intently at my 17 centimeter [6¾ inch] dick which was also fully erect.

Pete reached over and gently grasped Bryan's erect wiener. An electric thrill ran up his arm from the fingers to set off shivers of excitement in the Nomad's brain. He could see from Bryan's reactions that his touch had done similar things to the nine-year-old. Pete gently began to masturbate Bryan by rubbed the skin of his penis up and down over the boy's exposed glans. Bryan moaned and shifted his hips into a position that was easier for Pete to continue to masturbate him.

At last Pete placed his lips on the tip of Bryan's hot meat and slowly pushed down his mouth over the shaft allowing his tongue and lips to feel every millimeter of this wondrous boydick as it slipped into my mouth. Bryan moaned a little as he felt his penis enter. As slowly as he had inserted Bryan's wiener into his mouth Pete now pulled away, applying suction all the time and causing a loud pop like a champaign cork when Bryan's Penis slipped out. Pete began licking on the inside of Bryan's thighs. Pete could see goosebumps forming and felt the little boy shiver. Pete licked his way all around Bryan's tiny testicles and nuzzled the shaft of the boy's wiener as he licked at its base as well.

<I love the smell of a little boy> Pete thought. <– an odor that was like no other perfume in the world, fresh, innocent and yet lusty; like talcom powder and woodchips.>

Pete began licking Bryan's balls, two perfectly formed nuts in a soft hairless sack. Pete licked the boy's shaft and he shivered again. Pete, being a boy lover, had sucked plenty of little boy's wieners before, but Pete nearly attacked this one with abandon, because it had been so long since he had ben with a boy. Bryan was awesome. Pete loved the feel of the hard velvety smooth shaft in his mouth, and the knowledge that he was imparting pleasure to his young companion also. The Nomad was waiting for the boy's impending orgasm as he felt the slender dick throb and expand. Pete swirled his tongue around the blunt knob of the kid's shaft and concentrated on the smooth silky glans of the circumcised penis. He could feel Bryan respond as the boy started bucking towards him, forcing his face against Bryan's belly as he swallowed the nine-year-old all the way down to the root.

"Uhhh," Bryan moaned.

Bryan went into a frenzied passion of lust. His long legs twitched, lost strength and he could feel an explosive feeling rise up from his nuts and exploding through his wiener. Pete felt the jerking of the young boy's penis as he experienced an intense pre-adolescent orgasm. Bryan had a dazed look on his face as he leaned against the spacer, his legs still wobbly from his earth-shattering experience just a moment ago.

Bryan lay on his stomach, still trying to catch his breath from his best-yet orgasm. Finally after about a minute, the naked boy sat up on the edge of his bed and looked over at Pete. "Now it's my turn to repay you. Our deal was if you did me, I'd do you," the small nine-year-old said.

"You don't have to," Pete said. His own dick was so hard he could have pounded nails with it, but the last thing he wanted right now was for Bryan to feel forced into something because of ill advised promise made in a food court on top of the crater rim.

Bryan looked at Pete and said "No, I really mean it, I want to do it to you now."

"If you're sure 3;"

"Don't be silly," Bryan smiled sweetly up at me, "I've done this before, how'da'ya think I made enough latinum to hang around the arcade? That place is expensive!"

Pete lay back on the bed and in an instant Bryan was on top of him, waving his pretty little fanny in the Nomad's face. Pete's dick was as fully at attention as it had been throughout the last few minutes. Bryan gasped the adult's hard meat in his young hand and began stroking softly. He was watching the Nomad's dick slide up and down in his hand. He started slowly, taking two or three seconds to complete a single stroke. Then he began to accelerate the pace, it was wonderful and Pete felt his juices building to the climax.

Pete's enormous load fired almost to the ceiling, eventually splattering down on his chest as Bryan kept milking the spacer's dick for all he was worth.

The boy grinned at Pete mischievously and said: "Now that it's unloaded 3;" Bryan took as much of the 34-year-old's shaft into his mouth as he could and then with a strong suck slowly backed off of it. Pete was in a trance and there was nothing to wake him out of it. He began to pump up and down on it while using his tongue to circle the head, particularly focusing on the tender underside of it.

When Pete was finally spent, Bryan took his lean young body to the bathroom, brought back a hand towel moistened with warm water and wiped Pete clean. Then he tossed the towel aside, reached up and turned out the reading light and then lay down beside the adult and put his head on Pete's chest. The spacer could feel the softness of Bryan's hair on his nipples as he snuggled in next to the adult.

"Thank you," Pete said and brought his face close to Bryan's. He softly kissed the young boy's lips and was again somewhat surprised by the passion of the boy's response.

Bryan looked up at Pete and sighed. "That was incredible, Pete!"

"I'll never forget it for as long as I live." Pete said truthfully

"Me either," Bryan agreed, and took Bear down from the shelf overhead.

The three dozed off in each other's arms, exhausted and exquisitely happy.

<< SEVEN >>

Although the Pedophylic Institute on Raise, which was charged with the task of licensing and administering the Federation's small population of licensed pedophyles, would soon be celebrating its bi-centennial, there were still hundreds of pockets of humanity spread throughout the universe that still hated and feared boy lovers, and would do their best to 'rid the galaxy of their kind,' reminiscent of the pre-space Terran witch-trials.

The planet Raisa was a well-known vacation destination and pleasure planet. It's humanoid population were very close to Terrestrial humanity in overall appearance. They were also renowned throughout the galaxy for their open and easy attitudes about virtually all kinds of sex. Although there were small tribal societies that mirrored the Raisian complete sexual freedom, Raisa had accomplished this in a planetary society. It was because of this that Raisa had become the headquarters of several sexual-freedom movements across the galaxy. Among these was Boy Lovers Interstellar which sponsored the Pedophylic Institute.

The ufp had nearly 13 trillion humans in it, and of them, nearly 5% of the human race was gay, and about 10 percent of 'those' people were classed as pedophyles. But, the odds were still against [20 to 1] any individual gay kid having gay parents. Pete knew less about how it worked for girls and so restricted his musings to the male half of the spectrum. The important thing to remember was that boylovers have their mirror image, the girl-lovers, in fact, Pete mused, <perhaphs we are all really just 'kid' lovers; because he would have no real objection to a cute little eight or nine year old girl climbing into the rack either.>

Parents normally love their children more than life itself and will do virtually anything to advance their child's chance at survival in the complex society of the galaxy at large. With this in mind, normal parents who find that they have a child who is gay, or has gay tendencies will normally seek out someone like Pete to help with their child's growing experience. With a boy as young as Bryan, the 'sex' part of the relationship was pretty benign, consisting of 'touchie-feelie' masturbation and some lite oral sex.

In a 'normal' relationship, a boylover serves as a friend and mentor in addition to a lover to the boy. The licensed pedophyle's job was to act in effect as a third parent, and in fact with a very young boy, like Bryan, it was much more likely that the boy was just going through the phase in his life where he's experimenting with the gay lifestyle and indeed will eventually join the 95% strait human community. In that case, it was also the boylover's job to help his young charge make the transition between the worlds of childhood/early adolescents to young adult.

Sadly, the galaxy is still full of homophobic parents who still resorted to abandonment or worse. Actually most of the galaxy's supply of those people capable of passing the Pedophylic Institute's psycho-electronic psi screening worked at shelters for abused or abandoned gay kids. Running away by children was still frowned upon by the Galaxy's human society – and it is still a criminal act to entice a boy or girl to run away, but it was still all to common that a child who was or thought he was gay was tortured both physically and emotionally at home in far too many cases.

Bryan's story was a case in point, where fear, misplaced religious 'values', or sheer ignorance and an inappropriate relationship with a boyfriend had over-ridden a mother's natural love for her offspring and set Bryan adrift. Pete felt honored to be in the right place at the right time to be of help.

Pete sat up and swung his big hairy drumsticks over the side of the bed. Careful as he was the motion was enough to wake up Bryan.

"Sorry," Pete said. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Where'ya going?" Bryan asked, fumbling briefly for his teddy-bear. His voice was tinged with a small amount of apprehension. He squirmed around in bed and put his head Pete's lap, "I've never had as good a time as I just did," the boy said.

"It felt great to me too," Pete said, and he suddenly realized that from Bryan's point of view he had just taken an enormous risk in offering himself to the spacer. If it turned out that Pete did not to want him, the trucker might alert the authorities – thereby complicating any hope Bryan had of getting away from his mom and her boyfriend.

"Not to worry," Pete said comfortingly, "I just want to check up on a couple of things up front. He stood up, butt naked, and walked to the front of the control cab and sprawled in the pilots acceleration couch. He could hear Bryan's bare feet slap-slapping behind him on the neolyte tiles of the corridor and then lost as they entered the plush carpeting of the control cabin. The nude kid jumped into Pete's lap.

"Ahhhh–-" Pete sighed. "Perfect, a boykid, naughty, nine and naked, just the way I like 'em!"

Bryan snuggled deeper into Pete's lap, grinding his nude butt against the adult's semi-erect dick. "What're we gonna do?" he asked again.

"Like I said, just check a few things," Pete repeated. "Computer," Reynolds said in his 'official' voice that the computer recognized was the Nomad inputting data or commands.

"lcars on line, ready," the computer said.

"Establish qlr link with Memory Alpha."

"Working," the computer replied and within a very few seconds said "Link established, two way digital; video datalink unavailable, insufficient bandwidth."

"OK. Search records. Keywords: Starfleet, mission records, Shimosauwa, personal logs."

Bryan's eyebrows shot up at that, but he remained silent.

"Establish temporal limits," the computer prompted.

"Uhhhh 3;"

"Unrecognized command syntax, restate."

"Stardate 3/6501.01 to present," I said clearing up the ambiguity. That was the trouble with voice recognition computer input, you had to be very precise.

"Working 3; Records located, 196.518 megabytes of unclassified data, 32.950 megabytes of classified data."

"Download unclassified data, path = secondary_core:\/:D://SHIMOSAUWA."

"Specified directory does not exist, create directory?"

"OK."

"Download in progress, estimated time: 00:21:49."

"OK. Auto disconnect when finished."

"Confirmed." lcars said.

Bryan elbowed me and squirmed his bony body around to look at me, "Why did you do that?" he asked.

"Well, you said your father died when you were five, and you couldn't remember much about him, I thought you might want to know a little bit more about him – its my way of saying thank you for choosing me to help."

Bryan's eyes were shining with moisture as he said: "Thank you, Pete."

"One think puzzles me a bit. You are a really bright kid. You never tried to get this data?"

"Dhuh!," Bryan said. "I'm a kid. They let me use kid computers at school, If I go to the library they let me use the kids odn computers, I can't get on the adult nets. I tried and tried, but I could never beat that double encrypted algorithm that Star Fleet uses to separate out the kids odn from the adult systems," Bryan had a full head of steam now. "I swear, it'd be easier to get into the Tel Shiar's central records than to get on any of the adult nets from a kid's odn-computer."

"I guess I tend to forget it's a bit different for kids," Pete said.

"Most grown-ups do," Bryan said. "At least you listen 3;"

"We're going to have a hell of a day, tomorrow," Pete said. "I want you back in bed and in dreamland asap!"

"Awww 3; but its only one-twenty."

"Nope! Bed time, now."

"Aren't you coming?" Bryan asked.

"I've still got a bit of work to do, but I'll be along soon. Now no more begging, scoot!"

Brian hugged his teddy close to his skinny chest and started toward the sleeping quarters. After Brian had returned to bed, Pete limbered up the tactile computer input 'keyboard' so as not to disturb Brian and still work with the ship's computer.

"lcars on line and ready." the small 36-cm high-rez communications screen on the auxiliary control bay to the left rear of the flight deck, lite with the display.

"Access station files, keywords: Shimosauwa, Diane. Personal logs, public data," Pete tapped out on the touchplate.

"Working 3; files located, 87 MB of public data."

"Download and save. Path = D:/SHIMOSAUWA/auntee_grazelda. Make Directory"

"Working, time to completion is 00:00:49."

"OK." And so Pete waited for the 49 seconds it took to reveal all that was public about Ms. Shimosauwa. After lcars had completed the transfer, he brought up her bio sheet first. It turned out that Bryan's mom was a highly placed para-legal secretary for some hyperpower law firm on New Chicago, posted here at starbase 288 because the tiny moon-sized planet also had extensive dylithium crystal deposits which several Federation mining conglomerates were mining, she was here to make certain that her firm's client was not being snookered by the evil competition.

The upshot was that she knew how to draw up transfer of custody papers on children either being released for adoption or foster care that would stand up in any court in the Federation or ancillary stellar power who recognized the Federation's Legal Code as being valid and would <stick>.

Pete shut down the commweb link to the Star Base computer and made sure the intruder alarms were active and then yawning headed for bed. Pete began to daydream about starting another long term relationship with a boy. My last such experience had been over ten years ago and half a galaxy away, and Bryan was very like Douglas. I foresaw many years of good times.

<< EIGHT >>

Bryan groaned and opened one eye, squinting up at me. "Uhhnnhh! It is way too early to get up!" the nine-year-old declared. Pete reached over and began to rub Bryan's tummy, and gradually began working my way down his nude pelvis toward his wiener.

"C'mon, I have to get the truck pulled around the back of the warehouse and get our Frengi friend's consignment loaded."

"What're Ferengi like?" Bryan asked.

"You must have a few here at Star Base 288," Pete said.

"Yeah, but they mostly hang around the Corporate Towers," Bryan said. "I've seen them though, kinda short, with really big ears, and a kind of decoration thing that fits around the back of their head. But I mean – what are the like – as people?"

"Hmmn," Pete said. "I'm beginning to think this is just an act to get some more time in bed."

"No, cross my heart."

"Well, the Ferengi are business oriented first and last. It makes them think that anything but profit is not worth the effort of having. Besides you'll get to see plenty of Ferengi close up when we get to ds9. Now c'mon, get up."

Bryan opened his sleepy eyes, looked up at Pete, and smiled a big contented smile. Then he asked, "Do we have time for some fun first?" Bryan and Pete helped each other get dressed, with of course the prerequisite amount of tickling and wrastling.

"Not this time, I'm afraid," Pete answered, "We gotta get things going pretty quickly. I gotta get this truck around to the loading dock right away so I can have the cargo loaded soon as possible. I don't want to get stuck in a line waiting on the loading crew to get to us. And I've been thinking 3;"

"Oh please, Pete," the little boy begged. "I want to stay with you forever. Last night when you were telling me that «black, black no trades back» meant that the person who said it thought they got the best deal 3; I want you to think it was a good trade too!"

Pete laughed, "I do, Bryan, I do. Probably more than you realize right now you're a god's gift to me."

"Then you'll say it?"

"What?"

"Black, black 3;"

"Oh. Okay! BLACK, BLACK, NO TRADES BACK!"

"I promise I won't be any trouble to you, Pete."

"Bryan, I'm sorry I didn't 'say' it last night. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, I'm so happy to have you here with me. When I said I was thinking, I only meant to say that if you're coming with me, we'll need to make a stop at the Orbital – and get you a vacuum suit. There is nothing onboard small enough to seal around you."

"Then you really do want me to stay with you?" Bryan asked.

Pete smiled and pulled the little boy into his lap and wrapped both arms around him in the patented Reynolds 'el oso loco' bearhug.

"Well, at least until you're a grown up yourself and ready to be on your own. I think your mom and her krack-head boyfriend were the ones who got cheated in this deal – and I feel like the luckiest man in the galaxy."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" I said.

"I love you, Pete," the nine-year-old said.

"Okay then," Pete said, grabbing Bryan's hand and starting toward the flight deck. "I think we can get this settled right here, the Courts should have a branch here on a starbase. Are you sure you want this? This is just one step away from being adopted, you know."

"Yes," Bryan said seriously. "I'm sure."

Pete took a deep breath, "Okay," he said, sitting down at the auxiliary control station and switching on the commweb. The 14" HiRez 2d screen glowed to life with Pete's 'Dancing Bears' screen saver.

Bryan laughed, "Teddy Bears!" He roared with laughter.

"Hey! Hey!" Pete said in mock annoyance, "Let's watch what you're making fun of, 'Teddy Bear Boy'."

Bryan playfully punched Pete in the shoulder and the Nomad grabbed him and pulled the nine-year-old onto his lap in front of the commweb screen.

"Computer."

"lcars active and on line."

"Search local directory, keyword: Terran Circuit Court, records."

"Located."

"Establish contact."

"Working," lcars said.

On the screen was an older woman with an extremely stern countenance, "Court records," she said.

"I have a document to file with the court."

"Yes, sir. There is a 15 Stellar fee."

"I understand. Computer effect transfer."

"Thank you, sir. And the document you wish to register?"

"Computer, upload isolinear chip contents."

"Working," lcars intoned as the megabytes of data were transferred from the truck's main computer to the Court's download buffer.

"Yes," the records clerk said. "I see. Are you Pete Reynolds?"

"I am," I said, butterflies in my belly.

"And the boy I see behind you is Bryan?"

"Yes 3; I am," Bryan squeaked.

"Alright, these papers seem in order. Do you swear and/or affirm under penalty of perjury, that the data contained in these computer records are accurate and valid to the best of your knowledge?"

"I do."

"Transmit your right thumb print, please."

Pete pressed his thumb against the computer's optical scanner and was rewarded a few seconds later by the whirr and click of the small hard copy printer under the acceleration couch.

"Thank you, Mr. Reynolds, I have transmitted your notarized documents to your computer. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thank you," Pete said and the clerk terminated the link. The trucker grinned and held up my thumb in the ages old sign of success.

"That's it?" Bryan asked. "Am 3; am I really your little boy now?"

"Yep, all signed, sealed and legal." Pete said.

Bryan crawled into my lap and laid his head on Pete's shoulder; Pete automatically put his arms around the boy and hugged him.

Pete stood up from the Auxiliary Control station, hefting Bryan over his shoulder, so that the boy's head hung down over his back. "C'mon, young'un," he said. "We have to get around to the other side of this warehouse and nestled up against one of the loading docks before they are all occupied."

Pete settled himself into the pilot's acceleration couch while Bryan settled into the navigator's. Pete reached up and flipped a series of five bright fluorescent yellow switches on the overhead panel and was rewarded with the whine of the fusion reactor's bootstrap apus beginning their pre-ignition start up cycle. Pete waited while the computer went through its own internal post and immediately loaded and started the Dream Walker's preflight diagnostics. As the computer continued the preflight, the dozens of colored indicators on the 'Christmas Tree' [the engineering primary status indicator – so called because of its many red yellow and green indicators] went from red, with its tiny nogo decal on it through yellow, hold, and finally on to green go.

Slowly, as more and more systems answered the computer's sequential polling the fusion reactor which was the truck's main power plant from parking stand-by to full load. The engineering christmas tree panel on the engineer's side overhead slowly began to have more and more green go led indicators on it than amber and red, It had taken lcars less than two minutes to go from total shutdown to reactor full load, and within another 30 seconds the trucks was ready for main engine start up.

Pete opened the safety covers on five bright red toggle switches on the outboard side panel marked engine-arm-fire and flipped them into the arm position and the howl of the truck's huge turbochargers became very medicable, even here in the shielded cabin; as they began to suck air to compressed into liquid nitrogen and oxygen, to be used as coolant and oxidizer for the Tomahawks powerful scramjet engines that would take it from ground level to suborbit. As the last of the indicator lamps illuminated in the arm position, Pete flipped all of the toggles down into the fire position.

The truck's scramjet came explosively to life, before settling down into the somewhat muted roar of the turbochargers. Within a few seconds, the nuclear-electric ion drive was also ready to begin its start up menu, however Pete ignored it allowing the Impulse drive to remain on standby as he would not need it moving the truck a half kilometer to the other side of the warehouse.

As soon as the engine intermix ratio was flight grade, Pete engaged the antigravity pads and eased back on the collective and pushed lightly but steadily on the port side foot pedal. The truck responded by lifting a few meters off the concrete slab it had been parked on and drifting to the left. Bryan whooped loudly as the truck slowly drifted like a hot air balloon over a cider-block wall that separated the warehouse's loading zone proper from the main parking lot. The main lot was virtually deserted this early in the morning, so Pete floated the truck on its antigrav pads over to the edge of the concrete loading dock on the side of the warehouse and settled it within a few centimeters of the still closed roll up doors of the dock. Having positioned the Dream Walker, Pete now switched off the antigravs and let the five hundred tons of interstellar vessel settle on its hydraulic lifters.

Pete reached up and took the headphone and mic high-noise environment headset off a hook on the outboard back rest of the acceleration couch and settled it on his head over his left eat and with the mic in front of his lips. He gave the mic a flick with his index finger which generated a loud THWACK! sound.

"nk-8476f – itc Dream Walker to Wallobee and Associates Import/Export. I'm here to pick up consignment g-00/02186-127b76-af7c33 – Quark Enterprises, Deep Space Nine, Bajor Prime Starsystem."

Pete winked at Bryan and sat back and waited.

"nk-8476f," the speaker crackled. Welcome to Wallobee and Associates, I have Mr. Quark's consignment ready, if you'll now give me the password to release it to you?"

"Rom is an idiot!"

"Yes, Dream Walker, that is the authenticated password."

"We're at your Number 5 loading dock, I'm opening the cargo hatch for you now."

"Confirmed, Dream Walker, the cargo is in transit."

Pete looked over at Bryan, "Wanna go back and make sure they do a good job? The cargo bay is just beyond those double blast door in the ward room."

"Oh-KAY!" Bryan said excitedly – happy at being given his first official job onboard. Bryan ran back to the cargo hold, just as two stevedores came through the cargo bay outer hatch from the loading dock, each guiding an antigrav forklift with a scu {Standard Cargo Unit} called a 'connex' on it. Each connex was 2 meters tall by 2 meters wide by a meter and a half deep [6½ x 6½ x 5 foot] and painted a dull rust brown color. Each of the stevedores secured the connex he was responsible for and them they and the antigrav forklifts disappeared through the cargo hatch. As the Chief Stevedore closed and locked the hatch from the outside, Pete was already revving up the scramJets and engaging the antigrav pad. Bryan returned from his first chore and hurriedly got into the acceleration harness. Dream walker again drifted lightly on its antigravs until it was sitting at the edge of the small landing field's active runway. The two sat together there like that for a time before Bryan asked:

"Now what?"

"Well," Pete began, "believe it or not, if you are going to go star wandering with me we have to get you outfitted correctly and safely. For example there is the question of vacuum armor in case we ever ran into something too big for the navigational deflectors to handle and we lost celss."

"Hmmn. I hadn't thought of that. Vacuum armor for kids must be pretty rare."

"Well, not really," Pete said. "You know the bigger Starfleet ships all carry crew dependents, including kids, so they all have to have emergency equipment, but we'll have to go 'upstairs' to the main base complex to get it, I think."

"Wow! That means we're going into space, right?"

"Yep, that's a roger," I said and indicated the navigator's acceleration couch, "Git yer skinny li'l butt ov'r dare and strap in," Pete said in his best hill billy voice.

Bryan laughed and scrambled over the mid-hump instrument cluster and wrapped himself in the acceleration harness, which quickly autoadapted to his small frame. Pete pulled his harness down over his shoulder and snapped the harness's stainless steel plug into the floor receptacle and felt it tighten across his chest and shoulders.

The Star Nomad ran through the pre-flight checks quickly and fired up the ion-impulse drive. Pete turned his head to glance at Bryan, "Navigator?" he said.

"All clear forward and up."

The flight computer agreed and Pete pulled back on the cyclic and opened the drive's throttles wide. The scramjet's five gees of acceleration was filtered down through the ships Relative Inertial Field generators to a mere three quarter gee push back into the acceleration couches as the ground quickly dropped away. It had been found early in history of inertialess drive systems that it was still wise to let a small fraction of the inertial forces through to the pilots of small craft who tended to fly much more by vision and other human senses than by instrumentation.

Fifteen thousand feet [4,500 meter] over the artificialy fertile croplands of the enclosed crater that formed the ground half of Star Base 288, the Tomahawk shot through the last wisps of artificial atmosphere and then through the electrogaravitic forcefield that marked the outer boundary of the habitable area of planetoid Grunn B-761, and into the vacuum of space, angling toward the starbase's orbital operations complex, still visible only as a tiny smudge of reflected sunlight some 10,000 kilometers [6,200 miles] away.

The great odyssey had begun!

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