The Lotus Eaters

Anno Condita 470 Anno Domini 2524 Observation Deck, UEPF Starship Spirit of Peace, Solar System

To an outside observer, had there been any, the ship would have appeared brighter than day. Some of this was the refection of direct sunlight from the ship but still more was the reflection of that sunlight off of the huge sail that propelled the ship between the jump points and braked it at the end of the journey. In contrast, the Earth ahead of it was mostly swathed in night, only one thin crescent to the right side lit by the sun, and a larger area to the left lit by the moon's reflection. A corona of sunlight framed the sphere, except for a small part covered by the moon.

On the night side, the side from which the Peace approached, a few cities and resorts of the elites could be seen by their artificial glow. Outside of those, at this distance, not even major continents and oceans were visible except through image enhancement.

At least none of the cities are burning, thought Captain Marguerite Wallenstein, as she watched the approach from the observation deck. As subsequent messages had made clear, once Peace passed the rift, one of the reasons she'd been recalled to Old Earth was precisely that; that the reverted areas, those areas over which the Consensus, Earth's high governing body and the successor to the old UN Security Council, had lost control, were growing even as the barbarians within them grew more aggressive.

Relaxing back into the seat reserved for the High Admiral of the United Earth Peace Fleet, a position the Captain hoped to assume very soon and permanently, Wallenstein crossed long, shapely legs, while her fingers unconsciously toyed with mid-length blonde hair. One might have thought her to be perhaps twenty-five years of age, and a young looking twenty-five at that. In fact, she was several times that, courtesy of the anti-agathic treatments that were Old Earth's last scientific breakthrough and the right only of the upper castes, Class Ones and Twos, who replaced themselves but slowly and were critical to the management of the planet. Even at that, Class Twos didn't get the full treatment and could only be expected to live about two and a half centuries. Class Ones? Not one who had received the full treatment had yet died to natural causes.

Wallenstein was only a Class Two, something she also hoped to rectify with this trip.

Tall, generally slender and even svelte, Marguerite Wallenstein, Captain and Admiral pro tem, fell just shy of true physical beauty, with a nose a bit too large and eyes that, while of a very lovely blue, were just slightly too small. Despite these minor flaws, however, she managed to exude an earthy sensuality that, coupled with a willingness to use her body to get ahead, had seen her through difficult times in the UEPF. Indeed, that eager willingness had seen her to her present, exalted, permanent rank.

For any superiors who might have been less than enchanted with her nose or eyes, Wallenstein's breasts were simply magnificent, which magnificence had been considerably aided by low, shipboard gravity. Hard work and genetic predisposition had seen to the maintenance of a narrow waist and shapely rear, ship's gravity notwithstanding. For that matter, she could have had her nose and eyes surgically altered. Why she hadn't remained a mystery even to herself. Perhaps it was simple pride.

A speaker mounted to the wall of the observation deck announced, "Incoming intelligence update, Admiral."

Unseen by the officer, Wallenstein nodded and said, "Record for my later review."

She doubted the update contained anything new. Mentally Wallenstein ticked off the areas lost that she knew of. Southern South America . . . lost . . . Buenos Aires sacked and burned and the new front line of civilization is Montevideo. Canada, at least most of it, is under glaciers. The Great Plains between the Rockies and the Mississippi? Held by horse riding nomads ethnically mixed between what used to be called "Native Americans," blacks, Asians, and whites, but culturally more similar to Genghis Khan's Mongols . . . those, or Attila's Huns. Southeastern Asia has revolted, restored Roman Catholicism, and massacred the punitive force the Consensus dispatched. And outside of Cape Town, Southern Africa is in anarchy. Northern Europe is ice. Revolts brewing in Central America . . .

She almost shivered in anticipation. It was pretty clear at this point that the Consensus did not intend to space her. The bastards need me now, all right. I wonder if I could get away with . . .

Wallenstein's reveries were interrupted by a call from the observation deck's speaker, "Final approach run impending . . . shorten sail . . . stand by for braking . . . Admiral to the bridge . . ."