Excerpt of Jack Commer, Supreme Commander by Michael D. Smith

"Hello there," Phil replied. "I hope you three are feeling better."

"Yes, quite, thank you. How are you?"

"Well, I just need to clear out this debris here, and make sure the Star Drive components are fully dismantled. Then I'll look over the Augmented Nuke." He grinned, realizing he hadn't answered Dar's question. "I'm fine. Maybe a little shook up by this."

Dar nodded. "I can see." Although Dar tried to keep his next thought below the surface, Phil pulled it out without thinking: It must have been shocking to see your friend Jack behaving that way.

Phil nodded. "Yeah, I guess it was."

Dar shrugged in embarrassment. Normally a Martian wouldn't be ashamed to have his thoughts read––by other Martians. Martians more often than not simply sat facing each other exchanging data by telepathy, with a few ritual words spoken for aesthetic effect. There was always the understanding that all exchanged thoughts were fully understood by each. But a Martian was always surprised when a human being picked something out of his mind without the Martian having been aware of it.

"Take it easy, Dar. The three of you were going through hell back there. I can see you're glad the Star Drive stopped."

"Yes––yes, of course. I know it delays us, but––if it had gone on another five seconds even, I don't think I could have withstood it." Dar spoke with his usual quiet nobility, but the images filling Phil's mind nearly dropped him to the floor. Flames burning out Dar's central nervous system––accompanied by the graph of a hyperbolic curve extending into infinity, mathematically documenting the progression of the pain.

"We had no idea it'd have that effect," Phil said. "Of course I'll recommend we don't use the Drive until we get you safely back to Mars."

"That would be nonsense," Dar said. "I appreciate your concern, but none of you can afford a twenty–one year trip back to Sol at our present speed. If we can get the Drive fixed in Alpha Centauri, of course we'll use it to come home." He peered deeply into the demolished interior of the Resonance Chamber. "Of course, we Martians must be drugged unconscious before we do go back."

"Maybe you're right," Phil said. "But I don't relish causing you this discomfort."

"Speaking of discomfort," Dar said, "I'd like to change out of this Elder's Robe. The only reason I wore it was that I expected to be meeting senior Centaurian officials in a few minutes. But the Robe is intolerably tight."

The history of that particular robe filled Phil's mind. The Emperor's Robe first worn by the legendary K'Naaaar in the Great Polar War of Apocalypse––stolen by the murderous Gluquffln in the Revolts of K'nyuuggh'kk, corresponding to the time of the building of the pyramids on earth––worn by Diuvwaln when he was assassinated during the Great Canal Controversy. Curiously, though no canals were ever built on Mars, despite the controversy generated by Earth scientists in the late 1800's, at about that time the Martians were debating whether or not to build canals on their planet, and Diuvwaln was killed as a result of his support for them.

Then there was one final image: Dar removing the robe in the presence of his young bride, the Empress, on their wedding night. K'sla remained on Mars, awaiting Dar's return ...

As Phil shut down Star Drive subassemblies Dar went on: "Of course I'm deeply concerned about the success of the mission. Jack's correct that an unexpected delay on our part––especially a four month delay––could trigger unpleasant consequences."

Phil nodded. "Yeah, but there's nothing we can do about it now. We confirmed during the Six Minute Check that Station One has already sent out peace feelers––that we have a plenipotentiary personage coming to negotiate peace. Which is, of course, Jack Commer, only they don't know that yet. I'm sure they'll have a fit when they find out it's the head of the USSF come to talk peace. Jack wants to start negotiating, then reveal he's SCUSSF and that because of his recent appointment, the USSF is now for peace."

"It could well succeed. The Centaurians know they're gradually being worn down. And they'll respect a strong negotiator, one from the armed forces."

"I only hope Jack's up for it."

"Are you worried that because he's under stress––?"

"Uh––no, I didn't say that ..." Phil muttered. "What the hell, Dar? Are you learning to read my mind now? Of course that thought's crossed my mind. Jack's been driving himself––and us––crazy the past few months. God knows where it'll all end."

"I only hope he can rise to the occasion," Dar replied. "I'd hate to see him put Plan B into effect."

"God, yes ..." Phil said. Plan B called for the black holing of Alpha Centauri A, Alpha Centauri B, and Proxima Centauri––and the PlanetBlasting and Xon bombing of as many planets among the AC system's other stars as possible.

"And by the way, I cannot read your mind, youngster!" Dar laughed.

"I sure hope not!" Phil grinned. He flushed the rad particles from the Star Drive Waste Collection Subsystem into deep space and then opened that compartment with his wrench. Odd to think that if he'd opened it five seconds before he'd have instantly killed everyone on the ship. The inner metal was still hot to the touch.

And be damned glad that Dar and the other Martians can't pry into YOUR mind, buddy. Just how fast would they figure out this curse of mine––this lust for Amav? And then––every other human on this ship would read Dar's mind in turn––everyone would know! God, even Amav would know! Or does she know already?