Starship's Mage: Episode 3 by Glynn Stewart Page A

men and women at the party wore gold-trimmed black military uniforms. He had no idea what insignia Chrysanthemum used for its military, but he suspected that the officers with multiple gold leaves on their collars were high ranking.
    “ There’s a lot of soldiers here,” he observed to Margrave as they paused, allowing a team of waiters to make their way past with a trolley of hot food.
    “The military is important to Chrysanthemum,” the aide replied. “Many of our politicians are retired soldiers, and they have the right to still wear the uniform.”
    “Most Fringe worlds don’t have much of a military,” David observed as they set off again. “What happened here?”
    Margrave stopped, looking at David with sharp eyes. “You don’t know?”
    “ I’ve heard rumors,” he said politely. Most of those rumors were related to the fact that a military junta controlled the government, not how there’d been enough of a military to take over in the first place.
    “Chrysanthemum was founded as a corporate colony,” Margrave explained as they headed into the clamshell of the main Festival Hall. “Our parents and grandparents came here for the promise of a good life. When they arrived, they discovered they were effectively indentured servants.”
    “In the end, we revolted, and drove the corporation out,” he continued. “After ten years of war, we’d formed a true formal military, and one we owed our freedom to.” He glanced back at David. “And since the only Mages we’d known had worn the boots of tyrants, we barred them from our world and began to deal with Legatus.”
    David let that pass in silence. There’d been a number of worlds where Core world corporations had abused the colonists they’d imported. Most, sooner or later, came to the attention of the Hands. The corporations involved tended to cease to exist once the Mage-King’s wandering Judges got involved, but it seemed the law of the Protectorate had missed Chrysanthemum.
    “Ah, President Larson, sir,” the aide greeted his boss as they finally reached a large, white-clothed, table in the center of the main hall. “May I present Captain Rice – he is the master of the ship that brought us Group Commander Mons’ squadron.”
    The man Margrave had led him to wore the same gold on black military uniform as most of the men at the party, but where they had various rank insignias with numbers and material marking their rank, President Larson wore an exquisitely worked rose gold chrysanthemum on a chain around his neck.
    Otherwise, the President of Chrysanthemum was an utterly unimposing man. He was short, barely taller than Damien, and rotund with a receding hairline and a double chin. Something in his ice blue eyes, though, suggested that while the Generals might run the planet, this man was still not to be taken lightly.
    “President Larson,” David greeted the man. He realized that Group Commander Mons was standing at the President’s right shoulder. The Legatan officer’s plain blue uniform had blended in with the crowd around them, and he hadn’t known she was going to be here. He’d need to keep her away from Damien – she would recognize the young Mage and know he wasn’t supposed to be here.
    “ I want to thank you in person, Captain Rice,” the President told him. His voice was soft and highly pitched, almost that of a child. “Your ship should be receiving a more tangible token of said thanks soon. You are welcome to our world."
    Almost on cue, David’s personal computer beeped an incoming communication.
    “Excuse me, Mr. President,” he said politely as he stepped away from the crowd and raised the wrist-computer to his lips.
    “Rice here,” he answered, as quietly as he could.
    “ It’s Singh,” the First Pilot’s voice said sharply. “Our fuel tanker has arrived. Everything is hooked up; and the gas is flowing.”
    “That’s good,” Rice told him. He paused, considering the ex-Navy officer’s likelihood of