For Texas and Zed

He'd asked, there in the restaurant, where the steak had come from, hoping to hear someone say 'Texas.'

'You got me,' the little girl had said.

'You read anything recently about a planet called Texas?' he asked a runty little fellow in a stand selling printed materials and stat papers.

'Who reads 'em?' the runt asked. 'You wanta read, you buy.'

He bought a couple of stat papers and scanned them. Most of the news he'd heard on the daily report put onto the ship's communications system, all Empire stuff. Nowhere was there a mention of Texas, not even a mention of a trade deal for meat. But he knew that the trading had to be still going on, because he'd had a Texas meacr steak which could not have been preserved from the first shipment.

He hit a couple of bars and listened to the talk there, strange-sounding places and the typical language of the fleet, walked, feeling lonely, toward the brothel where Jakkes had disappeared, made a fantastic discovery.

Aboard ship Gunner Basics didn't have access to blinkstat machines. But there, on the corner, was a sign saying 'Public Blinkstat.' He had to go into a bar to get the proper coinage for the machine and then he sent a blink addressed to his father via First Leader Jum Anguls, Ursa Major Sector. He waited for acknowledgment and got it, acknowledgment meaning only that the stat had been started across the parsecs toward the addressee. He had no assurance that there was even contact between the First Leader and the Texicans, but he was hungry for some word from home. He wanted to know how his father was feeling and how Billy Bob was holding out and, although he had not dared ask in the stat, he wanted to know about Emily. He left the column of the enlisted men's mess and his name and rank with blinkstat central in case there was a return message before his ship lifted off Luyten Three and then wandered the streets, hitting a few more bars but limiting his drinking, talking with fleeters, comparing tours of duty, getting around to asking, always, if anyone had heard any news about a planet called Texas.

Texas didn't exist.

'Texas? What sector?'

'I don't know,' he had to say. 'Had a buddy from there. Trying to locate him.'

'Never heard of it.'

Liberty was, in many ways, worse than duty, and the Luyten liberty was the first of many on isolated outplanets where the fleet touched down. And they were much the same, all the planets, chosen for their lack of livable land area, suited only for the fleet workshops, peopled by parasites who reached into the pockets of the fleeters, whores, gamblers, opportunists, perverts, retired fleeters making a credit on their ex-buddies. Liberty was loneliness and frustration, because each of his attempts, for a period of eighteen Months, to reach or make contact with his father brought nothing in return. Each time he'd send his blinkstat, at the cost of a week's pay, and each time he'd wait in vain for an answer. It was as if Texas had ceased to exist.

Gradually, however, he ceased to be a loner. His acceptance by Blant Jakkes threw him into association with others and he came to find that not all Empireites were scrungy. Some of them were fairly decent fellows. Talking with his fellow crewmen, listening to their descriptions of their home worlds, gave Lex an embryonic feeling of being a part of something and helped to nurture his growing, if grudging, admiration for Empire. For the Empire was, truly, huge. Rambler, the converted Cassiopeian, talked of his home and the far-flung alliance of star groups on the other side of the line and Lex felt a glow of pride to be a member of a race which could, in so short a time, conquer so much of the galaxy.

He was sorry to leave the old Rearguard when transfer orders came, sending both him and his best friend, newly promoted Weapons Chief Blant Jakkes, to a fleet port on the far edge of the core sector to be assigned to a wheezing Vandy with a lonely sector of space to patrol. There at the core the worlds were few. The dense star fields glowed brightly, with no space debris in the relatively small areas between old suns, and the only reason for patrolling it at all was to forestall a Cassiopeian scouting sweep into Empire from the rear.

After the spaciousness of the Rearguard ship, the small Vandy was cramped. Worse, her age and condition seemed to dictate at least one cooling failure per day, so that the crew was constantly grumbling, out of uniform, sweating, panting, cursing the day they were ever assigned to T.E.S.Grus .

However, no one cursed the oldGrus more than her skipper, Fleet Captain Arden Wal, hero of the Battle of Wolf's Star, goat of the Texas incident. Having lost two first-line ships, Captain Arden Wal was fortunate, he realized, to have any ship at all. But he had been passed over for promotion and had narrowly escaped being shipped back to the central Empire to fly a desk. He'd been saved from that fate by discovering theGrus on the way to the ships' graveyard, claiming her, seeing to her outfitting personally and calling on a long-overdue favor from an Admiral on the Emperor's staff.

There were days when he regretted his good fortune of getting another ship. Like the day when the blink computer misfired and sent them out into space so close to a huge core monster of a sun that the paint began to melt on the hull and the coolers whined with overwork and threatened to fail and bake them all and the generator seemed to take forever to charge for a quick, cooling blink to anywhere except almost in the Hades of that bastard sun.

When it was over and the coolers stopped complaining, Wal went storming down the corridors and ladders to chew on his navigator a little and, on the way, passed crew's quarters where he saw one helluva big man out of uniform, sweating, his chest bare and drops of perspiration forming on his well-developed muscles.

'Fleeter, you're out of uniform,' Captain Wal barked. 'When I come back, don't be.'

Lex put on his T-top and swore a little, but snapped to attention when the Captain came back to stand in the hatch and look in with grim approval on his face. 'Sure it's hot, fleeter,' Wal said, 'but we're all hot, carry on.'

It was later, after the duel, that each of them was to discover that they had something in common, a chase into Cassiopeian space which had cost Wal a ship, a promotion and his career.

Since the blink computer proved to be accurate only to plus or minus one tenth of a unit, the patrol was, at times, a nervous one and the word got around and the crew began to sweat each time there was a charge building up in the generator, because one tenth of a unit is a not inconsiderable distance. There, near the core, one tenth of a unit could put them back into range of a star or send them close enough on a straight-line blink to a mass to warp the generator. Between blinks, the tech crew labored with the computer, but it was past its prime and it was all they could do to keep it operating within that plus or minus one tenth unit range.

Off duty, Lex wandered into navigation and listened to the techs swear and peered over shoulders to see that the computer was a relatively primitive, fairly simple model out of the past, the kind kids practiced on back on Texas. Lex didn't follow the technical jargon being bantered about, but he knew a little about computers, especially the kind he and Billy Bob used in school, on the sly, to predict the possibility of Lex's sweet little girl friend's capitulation to more than a sneaked kiss. He soon realized that the computer was a shotgun model, designed to do far more complicated jobs than run a blink vector, and that some of its brain was superfluous to its present function. Moreover, the malfunction seemed to be in one of the superfluous sections.

'You might try bypassing this sector,' Lex suggested to the Chief Tech, a man who occasionally drank with him and Jakkes.

Empire techs did things by the book. The Chief looked at him blankly, asking silently what Gunner knew about 'chinery, and turned back. The next blink showed an error of just under one quarter light-year and left them a week's run at mini-blink speed to the appointed station, making the opposition Cassie a little nervous. Lex was on the bridge at his gunnery station when the communication came through.

'You're consistently giving us false information,' the Cassie sent.

'Computer failure,' theGrus sent,

'Let us hope that your errant computer does not send you into our space,' the Cassie sent.

So another element of tension was added, for the patrol route was along the line, close in, and the Cassie opposite was a new Vandy type with all the latest gear. There hadn't been a duel in the core sector in decades, but as theGrus limped and missed, limped and missed, the communications from the Cassie became more and more curt.

'He thinks we're up to something,' Jakkes said. 'We're going to have to fight him sure as hell.'

'We haven't even got the latest screen on this old tub,' said the Tech Chief, who was drinking with them. 'And he's got us outgunned.'

'You think he'd take us in a fight, then?' Lex asked.

'No doubt about it,' Jakkes said.