Baxter Moon, Galactic Scout by John Zakour Page A

them warp bursting around the universe shooting things up. That’s not the way to make friends.
    Of course we’re not stupid either. We know that certain parts of the universe may not be as friendly and as open to us as we would like them to be. Some parts may even be downright hostile. I remember a class on possible alien cultures once where my professor had a theory that there might possibly be races out there that are so appalled by the way we smell they would want to destroy us. Luckily we haven’t run into any race like that. And quite frankly, to me any race that has evolved to the point of intergalactic space travel and has the capacity to destroy us would probably be smart enough to develop air filters so we wouldn’t offend them so much. Or at the very least hold their breath when they are around us. Still, since the possibility of hostile encounters certainly exists, we don’t go into these missions blindly. Searchers do come equipped with laser cannon batteries in all directions. We may come in peace, but we don’t want to leave in pieces. Searchers obviously don’t pack the pure power of the missile-loaded battle cruises, but they are capable of defending themselves.
    In this case, though, we were heading into potentially hostile territory with our weapons off-line. We’d be motionless and defenseless. I decided it was better not to think about it.
    I went into my room and looked around. It was your basic room, bed, desk, closet, computer screen with a small bathroom on the side. It was Spartan but it served its purpose. Plus, it was mine, just mine.
    I sat down on the bed, just to test its mattress. I was pretty certain that Earth Force regulations required a firm mattress. I was right, the mattress recessed just enough to give in to my weight, no more. It certainly wouldn’t be like sleeping on air. But I was sure GiS would say we are not here to sleep.
    There was a knock at the bottom of my door. It was like somebody was banging the door with their foot.
    “Come in,” I said.
    The door receded into the wall. A little meter-tall bot that looked like a box on wheels, was in the doorway.
    “Greetings, Scout Moon. I am personal assistant bot PA2407,” the bot squeaked in a high pitched sound that matched its diminutive size. “Are you in need of any toiletries? “
    I just looked at the bot. Being a cadet I wasn’t use to having a bot actually wait on me. Sometimes I think our commanders think cadets are lower on the food chain than bots.
    “You know toiletries: soaps, shampoos, shaving cream, a shaving laser?” the bot said, almost as if it was apologizing.
    “I know what toiletries are,” I said.
    “I’m sorry,” the bot said, more apologetically, rolling backwards. “It’s just the last cadet I asked, told me and I quote: ‘No thanks, I have a toilet in the room.’”
    “That must have been Zenna,” I said.
    The bot rolled forward again. “Yes sir, I believe it was. My sensors detected she was female. Once I explained to her what toiletries were, she requested two vials of anti-foot-odor nano-bots.”
    “Yep, definitely Zenna,” I said.
    The bot rolled into the room. A couple of telescoping robot arms and hands folded out of the bot’s sides. Each arm reached into the bot’s storage area. The bot pulled out some shaving cream and a shaving laser.
    “I will leave you additional shaving cream and shaving laser,” it said.
    “I only shave twice a week.”
    “Yes, in real space, but things work differently when warp bursting. As far as my data banks show, you and your crew will be the first adolescents into true hyperspace. Who knows how your bodies will react?” it said. “You humans may play with the time-space continuum but you still do not understand it. It never hurts to look nice,” the bot concluded.
    I wasn’t going to argue. I didn’t have a leg to stand on. Was the bot correct? Would we be the first teens to travel faster than light? I thought for a tic. He probably