“You are making nice improvement, Major,” said the computer in what Hoken thought was almost an encouraging tone. “Three direct hits in 10.6 seconds.”
Because Orian particle weapons produced little to no sound, on the first practice sequence of every session the simulator produced the full “kaboom” of a high-powered rifle so Hoken would know what to expect. To save his ears the pounding, the sound was muffled for the remainder of the practice session.
“Computer, initiate next practice sequence in ten seconds.” Hoken looked to the right, then slowly to the left, then back over his shoulder at the dashboard with one of those glances not intended to see anything although sometimes it unconsciously does. He took a breath and let it out.
The crowds were again cheering. Rennedee had just come into view on Hoken’s left.
Hoken could complete almost one practice sequence a minute, with each session a little different. The only scenario the team hadn’t figured out yet was if there was a heavy rain at the appointed time. That would be a tough one, most of all because Rennedee probably wouldn’t be in the open. But they were working on it.
Problems, interruptions, or just nuisances were introduced at random. The smells of auto exhaust, cigarette smoke or even garbage—all unknown on Oria during Hoken’s lifetime—came and went. There were flies and mosquitoes. What if, just as Hoken was ready to pull the trigger, a bug would land on his forehead or nose or touch an eyelash and cause him to blink? He must learn to ignore them and proceed on with the task. It would be one thing if Rennedee bested Hoken in a hand-to-hand death match. It would be quite another for a gnat to fly up his nose and spoil everything.
A few sequences had real surprises or serious interruptions. Rennedee had just passed in front of the building, immediately in front of and under Hoken, and would be in firing range in five seconds Suddenly there was a human voice, just meters away: “Hey you, what’s going on here. Stop!” Hoken grabbed the revolver sitting on his lap, shot the interloper dead through the forehead, turned back to his left and still got two clean shots at Rennedee. In another episode, one of Rennedee’s bodyguards was able to return fire; but Hoken didn’t flinch. He’d been shot at before; it wasn’t that big a deal. Either the man would get lucky and hit Hoken or he wouldn’t. Hoken still got off three successful shots.
As Hoken put the rifle back in its compartment, he said out loud, “What was that question I was going to ask myself?” He paused and shook his head. “You know, darn it,” he said with a chuckle, “I don’t remember now. If it’s important, it’ll come back to me—hopefully,” he added with a shrug.
Otherwise, Hoken was pleased with his progress. No doubt about it, there was a clear and consistent improvement in speed, efficiency and accuracy. He just felt more confident. By the time he reached Earth, he would be the most accomplished person in the galaxy with the rifle. Originally he thought it was a piece of junk but was quickly appreciating it more and more. And it was all because his grandmother taught him how to practice on the piano.
The Orians, and all of the races in their area of the galaxy, would chuckle at the thought of weightless space travel—of people bouncing off the ceiling and the floor and walls like a human game of Pong, unable to control themselves, helpless as babies, having to take special precautions just to take a leak—and then after a long flight, be unable to stand or even to be confined to bed.
Four hundred years ago, Gungull Ramar, (the Rankin of his day), found the secret of the graviton, the particles that mediate the effect of gravity. It was so simple: dark energy and gravity were one and the same.
Hoken had to exercise to keep fit. Twenty minutes of every twenty-four hour period was devoted to working out. With his seat turned to the rear, and in the same position as when he used the firing range, he could reach a set of fold-out foot pedals. It was like Jack LaLanne in outer space without his dog Happy, the “beginners halt,” and the commercials.
Hoken slipped his feet into the straps and started off. As soon as he began peddling, the computer said “Major, I will say something in English followed by the Orian translation. You will repeat the phrase back to me.”
“I am hungry.”
“I am hungry.”
“I am thirsty.”
“I am thirsty.”
When Hoken did anything, he did it hard. He practiced hard with the rifle, he exercised hard. Ten minutes and Hoken had really worked up a sweat. “That is enough, Major,” said the computer. “Now, ten minutes of upper-body exercise.”
Hoken folded the pedals back down and tucked them away. With the arm stand of the practice firing range pushed back as far as possible, and his seat as far forward as possible, Hoken was able to stretch out completely on the floor. He assumed the push-up position, shifted his weight slightly as he put his left hand behind his back, and counted off the one-handed push-ups in English, “One, two, three…twenty.” After the right-arm push-ups there were twenty left-arm push-ups, fifty finger-tip push-ups, and one hundred regular push-ups. He finished with two hundred and fifty sit-ups. No self-respecting Star Ranger did “crunches,” those were for the television infomercial wussies in their $600 spandex exercise tights.
“Major,” take a five minute break, finish your snack, and we will then review the personnel files of Human #1 and Human #2.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Humans #1 and #2
Hoken was all sweaty after the brief but vigorous workout. He was due for a five minute cool-down, rest period, but felt so strong and things were going so well, he just wanted to get on with it. He pulled his knees to his chest, swiveled the chair around to face forward, and locked the seat with the now-familiar click in place.
“Computer, display file of Human #1.”
“Major, you are scheduled for a five minute rest period, to cool down and have a snack.”
“I understand, but I feel fine.” Hoken quickly corrected himself. “I’m okay,” he said with a smile. “I’ll cool down and have my snack while I listen. Proceed as ordered.”
Colonel Hasemereme and General Ribbert could order Hoken to do something, but the computer couldn’t. “Yes, Sir,” it replied.
Hoken unwrapped one of the green vegetable-flavored bars and took a sip of water while he started to look at the material. No matter what anybody says about Kool-Aid or Tang or Coke or Pepsi or Dr. Pepper or Vess Billion Bubble Beverage Cream Soda or IBC Root Beer or Red Bull or Gatorade or Budweiser or Michelob or the most expensive wine or whiskey or liquor in the Universe, there’s nothing sweeter than a drink of cool water when you’re thirsty.
Human #1 was the Earthling whose body Hoken would possess. Human #2 was the man the Orian military knew with as much certainty as possible that Rennedee would possess. (Rodomontade was feeding them information in real time that so far had all proven to be accurate). It was clear that Hoken needed to know as much as possible about both of them.
On the left side of the dash were the eleven available images of Human #1. There were passport photos, photos related to his service in the Armed Forces, several from visa applications (not Visa the credit card), and recent, surprisingly clear photos from newspapers. Because of his political activities, there was even a short television clip, running in a continuous loop. On the right of the dash were data files, arranged in chronological order
