Page 79 of Star Champion

“Lobbing orange balls into little hoops.” Klark tried for tact. “It may take some time to catch on.”

Duarte laughed. “I’ve watched bajha matches. It’s exciting. But I have not stepped in the ring myself to give it a try. I’d probably end up getting walloped with the shock baton like a piñata gets whacked by a stick.”

Klark did not recognize all the words, but he got the gist. “They’re called sens-swords. More, body hits are not allowed during league play. If they do occur, it’s a penalty. If it’s deemed intentional, the player forfeits the match. I hope someday to have the chance to introduce you to bajha.”

“I’d like that very much. So, tell me…how does bajha relate to your visit to Barésh?”

“A female bajha player of extraordinary talent lives there. She was on my team, but the league banned her from competition last week after they learned she is female.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there a women’s league? Some sports teams on Earth are segregated by gender.”

“Women don’t play bajha at all. Until I saw her in the ring, I quite frankly didn’t believe females had the capability. She has singlehandedly changed that view. I discovered her out of the Barésh street bajha circuit and signed her to my team. She went on to defeat every pro player she went up against. She was undefeated at the time the league sent her home last week. I’m working on getting the decision reversed. Time is running out before the season will be too far along for it to do much good.”

“I would like to see the end of gender discrimination on all worlds. If I can help, please let me know.” Duarte’s interest in the story seemed genuine. He opened his tablet. “What is the name of the woman player? Maybe she could give a demonstration match here in the station. I think we’d all like that. And if the Federation won’t allow women to play, Earth will.”

That was a marvelous idea. The league would be assaulted on all sides. “She goes by the ring name Sea Kestrel. Nico Aves is her manager.” He spelled the names in Basic for the commander, who noted the information. Then the chitchat ran dry, and Klark braced himself for the real reason for this summons.

“You’re probably wondering why I asked to meet with you.”

Not wondering. He already knew. But he chose silence.

“Bezos Station has been tasked with protecting Barésh and other neglected outpost colonies in this region, which includes bringing desperately needed improvements to the citizens. You’re number one on my Do Not Enter list. Are you aware of that?”

“Absolutely not. I was here a few months ago.”

“There are concerns about your criminal record. Why don’t we go over it?”

Duarte’s expression was quite somber. Klark’s forehead prickled with sweat. A cold feeling filled his gut. He would never shake his past. He would never be able to express enough remorse. Never atone enough. He would not be allowed past this gatekeeper, and Jemm would be lost to him. He waited for the bad news, his hands spread on his thighs, the image of stoic neutrality on the outside, and clanging alarm on the inside.

Duarte glanced up. “This is not a short list.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Let’s see, we have obstructing governmental administration, political obstruction, attempted assassination.” Again his gaze flicked up to Klark, appearing to weigh him before he read on, “Racketeering, public intoxication—”

“That’s a lie.”

“Which one?”

“I was never drunk.”

Duarte lined through the charge. “Hijacking, resisting arrest, and, finally, escape.” He set the tablet on his desk and pushed back in his chair. “That’s quite a list.”

Commander Duarte would be familiar with the circumstances of Ché Vedla losing both his promised bride and his ascension to the high throne to the new B’kah heir, Earthdweller Ian Hamilton. Duarte would also know that the finale of Klark’s attempts to defend Ché and their family’s honor played out on Duarte’s homeworld Earth, in downtown Los Angeles, in front of billions on the frontier planet.

Ian clocked him good. The memory of that humiliation pained Klark like the dull ache of an old injury. “All the charges stem from my attempt to sabotage Crown Prince Ian Hamilton’s ascension to the B’kah throne by interfering in frontier politics, and from when I tried to dissuade Princess Tee’ah Dar from marrying him. I did it to defend my family’s honor, but I made a mess of things. I regret what happened. I served time for it. I learned from it, and I am doing what I can to make amends. I saved Princess Ilana Hamilton from an assassination attempt earlier this year. She is now my brother’s wife. I learned of the threat to her safety while serving time for my previous crimes. I escaped in order to save her life. Now, that I’ve been freed, I’ve taken on the fight to end bias based on ridiculously arcane laws that are no longer applicable to modern life.” How had Jemm phrased it? “Antiquated Federation dogma must go.”

Duarte observed him with a vaguely startled expression, as if he had expected a different response. Most people expected Klark to be arrogant and defiant, he supposed. At one time he was.

“Well. Thank you. You’ve answered all my questions.” The commander pushed to his feet, steadied himself, and walked around the desk. A metal web of crisscrossing struts and tiny blinking lights supported his lower body from his waist to his ankles. The parts made quiet clicking and whirring noises with each of his steps.

“I’m still getting used to the thing,” he said, with the slightest of winces. It was clear the apparatus caused great pain, but that discomfort was mostly hidden behind the impeccable bearing of a career military officer. “The medical folks say I’ll be able to remove it someday, once my spinal cord is fully fused. It’s hard being a patient—or, being patient—when you’ve been an athlete all your life. But if it means I’ll heal and be near-normal again, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Something passed over his eyes then, and his gaze became more pointed. “But here’s the thing. You’ve got a helluva rap sheet, Klark Vedla. Despite agreeing with your extremely valid reasons for wanting to be admitted, I’m not supposed to let you in.”

Klark’s spirits sank as his mind spun with alternatives to getting into Barésh. But, the Earth commander continued to speak, and he had better pay attention if he stood a chance at reuniting with Jemm anytime soon.

“My mother passed away from breast cancer a year before first contact with your people. It was an aggressive cancer that didn’t respond well to treatment. Then my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer three years ago—the same aggressive variety. It was going to kill her, no question. She went into the hospital in Chicago on Earth for treatment, and four hours later she walked out—cured. In my family, your civilization’s med-bots are microscopic miracles. I have firsthand experience now. I survived a jet crash last year. My aircraft was in an inverted spin when I ejected. It broke my back and it left me a paraplegic. Thanks to your people, my story didn’t end there.” He patted the bot-web encasing his lower body. “The gift that keeps giving. Why tell you all of this? Because I’m going to let you through today. It’s a thank-you for what your people have done for my people. And for me, personally; for giving an irascible, hoops-playing fighter pilot the ability to walk again. To use an Earth expression, I’m paying it forward.” Commander Denzel Duarte smiled. “Don’t disrespect it.”

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