A Tale from the Space Academy

		                          J's Hut
            	                           By Mea
                              
       The Space Academy.  This was a place where the best and the brightest
of the Galaxy Alliance youth could learn, train, and study to one day become 
future leaders in the universe.  The students represented the best of 
the best, for many of the Academy graduates had gone on to become noted 
explorers, pilots, generals, leaders, and so on.
       Which is not to say that any of them was even remotely perfect.
                        =    =    =    =    =    =    =    =    
       "Move, I wanna see!"
       "Hold on, hold on!"
       "Hurry up!"
       "Can you see mine?"
       "Will you guys MOVE!"
       "I'm afraid to look."
       "Come on, it can't be that bad."
       The group of cadets crowded around the bulletin board trying to catch 
a glimpse of their mid-term test flight scores.  Like any group of students 
waiting for grades, they were a group filled with excitement, trepidations, 
and impatience; the score sheet had barely had time to settle before the 
masses crowded in.
       "Mira!  I see yours!"
       "What is it, Lisa?  Tell me! Pleeeease!  I can't get near it!"
       "Looks like... Ninety-seven point forty-five!"
       "Can you see his?"
       "I'm looking- Hey watch it!- I think I see it..."
       "What is it?
       "Hold on, let me get out first."
       The straight-haired brunette carefully wove her way out of the crowd
of people and rejoined her friend at the edge of the mob.
       "So?" Mira asked eagerly, "what did he get?"
       "Aren't you even going to ask how I did?" Lisa asked in mock hurt tones.
       "Sorry, I've been thinking about the bet.  How did you do?"
       "Ninety-two point sixty-three."
       "Hey that's good.  I couldn't see for sure but it looked like there 
were a lot of seventies and eighties on there."
       "There were.  That second leg of the course got a lot of people."
       Mira frowned. "It did?  I thought it was the best part."
       Lisa laughed.  Her friend Mira was one of the top pilots and 
definitely the fastest learner  in their class (at least when it came to new 
air and space craft).  There were few to rival her skills with a ship.  One 
of them was...
       "Lance.  He wasn't here.  Think he knows his score already?" Mira 
asked her friend.
       Lisa shrugged.  " I don't know.  They were just posted.  Maybe he 
decided to wait."
       Mira stopped and looked at her with eyebrow raised.  "This is Lance 
we're talking about here.  So, you saw his score; tell me what he got!"
       "I don't know if I should..."
       "LISA!  All right, fine.  I guess I'll go back there myself and-"
       "Ninety-seven..." Lisa began.
       Mira held her breath.
       "...Point..."
       She crossed her fingers and winced.
       "...Fifteen."
       "YES!! I WIN!!"
       Both girls burst into giggling squeals.
       They stopped only when they noticed they were being stared at. They
looked up to see a familiar face looking at them with a raised eyebrow, 
which made them both start laughing again.
       "Hi Sven," Mira managed to gasp out at last.
       "Hello," the dark-haired cadet answered cautiously.  Part of him was
worried that he might be part of a joke the two were sharing.  "Vhat's so 
funny?"
       "Nothing," the two of them answered together, getting more giggles.
       "Oh-kay," he nodded, and took a small step backwards; there were some
things he just didn't want to know.
       "Sven, have you seen Lance?" said Lisa between giggles.
       He thought a moment. "Does this have someting to do with a bet I 
heard about?"
       Mira grinned.  "Yup."
       "Lance bet that he'd get a higher score than her on the flight test," 
Lisa supplied.  "The loser takes the winner out to dinner."
       "Oh," said Sven.  This was hardly surprising; Mira and Lance had a 
history of competing against each other since the day they had met at the 
academy. They seemed to swing between dating and trying to outclass each 
other.
       "So, have you seen him?"
       "No, I don't think...Vait, there he is.  Over there."
       They looked to where he was pointing; the crowd around the board had
thinned, leaving a few people milling around, and one person in a brown
leather jacket staring darkly at the posted results.
       Slowly, he turned and looked at them.
       Mira grinned her broadest and wiggled her fingers in a wave.
       He grimaced.
       "I think he's seen the scores," Sven remarked.  "Maybe ve should go?"
       "You're right," Lisa agreed.  "Mira-"
       "Don't worry, I'll tell you everything that happens."
       "Promise?"
       "As soon as I get back, Lisa, I'll give you every detail.  Promise."
       "Okay, see you in Trig."
       After waving her goodbyes to her friends, Mira casually sauntered 
over next to Lance.  She could almost feel his annoyance, but after the arrogant 
way he'd made the bet in the first place, she found it nice to see 
his ego taken down a peg.
       "Good score," she said.
       He grunted a response.
       "You know, I bet it was that third checkpoint that got you," she 
continued, savoring the moment. "If you don't hit that _just_right_ it can 
completely throw you off for the next turn."
       "youwin." he muttered.
       "What was that?  I don't believe I heard that quite right."
       "You.  Win," said Lance evenly, then his face broke into a smile.  
"Didn't think I could say it, did you."
       "I did wonder.  Good flight though."
       "Hm.  Not good enough."
       "Serves you right, Mr. 'I-know-this-course-better-than-my-own-sock-
drawer'.  The bet was your idea, so looks like you're going to have to live 
with it."
       "Okay, okay, okay.  I said it. You won.  Dinner's on me."
       "So, when should I expect my newly-won dinner, hmm?" she smirked.
       "How about Saturday.  I'll pick you up at seven."
       "Tomorrow?  That's pretty quick.  You have something in mind?"
       "Oh, believe me," he said, smiling a devious smile, "I've got a GREAT
place in mind..."
                        =    =    =    =    =    =    =    =    
       "Lance, how did you find this place?"
       "I got lucky."
       "Define lucky."
       The "place" Mira was referring to was a hole in the wall called 
"J's Hut" several miles from the edge of the city.  It was also the place 
Lance had taken her for dinner. 
       A layer of greasy haze lay over the room like a thin blanket, coating
everything in a thin layer of grime.  A few tables were set haphazardly 
around the room set with chairs, many of which had makeshift repairs on 
their legs and back. Towards the back, there was a faded, worn pool table 
(classic, not 4D) and an even more worn dart board that hung on a wall
covered in gouges, not all of which came from darts.  A burly bartender 
(Mira assumed this  must be "J") halfheartedly tended the battered bar, and 
behind him, an old chalkboard listed the menu, such as it was, barely 
legible through layers of chalk leavings.  It looked as if nothing in the 
place had been cleaned since the First Galactic Expansion.  That included 
the clientele, two dozen or so customers that fit the atmosphere so well, 
she wondered if they had found the place or had been built with it.  Now she 
understood why Lance had insisted on casual clothes; if they'd been
dressed nice, they wouldn't have had a prayer of blending in.  Even though
the patrons seemed to be ignoring them anyway, she was sure the two 
of them stuck out like a pair of sore thumbs.
       "We agreed the loser takes the winner to dinner," Lance said smugly,
"We never said where."
       She wanted to glare at him, but that would give him too much 
satisfaction. Instead she pressed onward in the conversation.
       "You never answered my question.  HOW did you find this place?"
       "Saw it once when I was going into the city.  You know, I always
wondered what it was like in here."
       "You just can't stand losing, can you."
       He flashed a wide grin at her. "I learned from the best." 
       "Oh shut up."
       "We can still leave if you want."
       "No, I'm not letting you off that easy." It was true he wasn't the 
only one who hated losing.  "We'll eat here.  And I'm going to have fun even 
if it kills me."
       "Better be careful, the food might."
       She ignored his latest joke and peered at the chalky smears that made
up the menu.  The writing was barely legible through the smudges, she had to 
squint to make out each item.  
       "See anything you want?" Lance asked.
       "Number two looks okay.  If I'm reading it correctly."
       "Sounds good.  I'll order for us.  I'll see if the pool table's free 
too.  Be right back."
       He left her by the door and strode over to the bar.  Half of her 
wanted to just turn around and march out of there, but like she said, she 
wasn't letting him off that easy, and that meant at least staying through 
dinner.  Instead of walking out the door, she made her way to the pool 
table.
        Lance was talking to the bartender; who he seemed to be getting
along with pretty well.  After a moment, he turned and waved an "okay" about 
the pool table, so at least they'd have something to do.  Her pool game was 
a little weak; she didn't get much time to practice at the academy, and 
she'd never played before she got there, but like most of the pilots, it 
seemed to come naturally, even though most of them could probably beat the 
socks off of her.
       Mira gazed at the double rack of pool cues.  There were about a
dozen, most of them appeared to be in decent shape as she examined them 
closely.  Only one of them was obviously warped (and looked like it had 
taken a few years of abuse anyway), so she started taking them down, one at 
a time and checking them for straightness, until she found one she liked.  
By then, Lance was coming back with a pair of small plastic baskets with the 
food inside.
       "Here you go, one number two," he said, setting it down on the pool
table.  "Hope you're hungry."
       "Thanks," she said, and reluctantly picked up the sandwich from it's
nest of potato chips in the basket.
       "Let me get a cue, and we can get started.  Say, loser buys the
winner the next dinner?"
       "Do I look that stupid?  No, wait. Don't even think of
answering that."
       Lance smirked and went over to the rack.
       She took a bite of the sandwich.  Surprisingly, it was good; warmed
just right with a hint of mustard (she liked mustard), and bread toasted 
just enough to be crisp, but not break into crumbs when you bit it. Everything 
tasted fresh too; she'd half expected it to be older than the 
academy, but she was obviously wrong.
       She briefly debated about telling him as she watched him decide on a 
pool cue when she noticed something.
       It was odd; Lance barely looked at the cues until he came to one with 
a double green stripe in the end, took it down, checked it over once, then 
returned to the table.
       In the few times they had played before, he'd take each cue down, 
check it for straightness, and move on to the next until he found the one he 
liked.  This time, he knew exactly which one he wanted almost before he 
started looking, and the only way he could do that was if he'd been here 
before, not just once, but many times.  Enough times to know which pool cue 
he liked without trying them all.
       She thoughtfully chewed on her sandwich.  Why had he lied when he 
said he hadn't been here before?  Was it he didn't want anyone to know he 
frequented this place?  It seemed silly... well, maybe not to him.  She'd 
never claimed to understand him, so maybe, just maybe...
       Maybe to him, this place, J's Hut was HIS place, his corner of the 
universe that no one else knew about where you could go to get as far away 
from everything in life.  But that would be silly, since he brought her 
here; it would stop it from being HIS place.
       Wouldn't it?
       "You ready?"
       She snapped back to the present.  "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."
       He motioned to the table.  "Ready?"
       "Sure.  Go ahead, break."
       With a little appropriate flourish, he chalked up his cue, took aim, 
and sent the white ball on a collision course with the small cluster of 
colored sphere. Technicolor numbered orbs careened across the green canvas, 
eventually slowing to a halt, but not before a bright yellow one disappeared 
down one of the side holes.
       Lance looked over the arrangement on the table and carefully took aim
again."
       "Five ball in the corner pocket."
       He launched the cue ball across the table, where it knocked into a
green-striped ball, sending it leisurely rolling across the table to nudge 
the precariously balanced five into the gaping pocket.
       "Nice shot," Mira remarked.
       "Thanks." 
       The reply was a reflex, Lance was completely engrossed in his next shot.  
There was something about pilots and pool, the former always seemed 
to excel at the latter.  Maybe it had to do with spacial geometry; the fact 
that you had to be aware of forces and vectors if you were to fly out there, 
and some of those instincts carried over into the game.  It was all vectors 
and paths and angles that wove into a simple game.
       Lance's third shot sent the blue 2 across the table where it 
leisurely bumped off the edge of the side pocket.  He gave a small snort of
disappointment, and stepped away form the table, which meant it was Mira's 
turn.
       Mira surveyed the table form several angles; there was the 11, but it 
was so close to the edge, she'd probably scratch. Maybe the 13, though she'd
probably end up sinking his 4 in the process.  The 15 looked like the easiest 
shot, but even it wasn't great.
       She leaned over the table, drew the cue back, and practice aimed once 
or twice.  "15, side pocket."
       "From there?"
       She didn't look up.  "Got a better idea."
       "Maybe. Try aiming for the 10, like this," he leaned over her to
direct her shot. As he did, she could feel his breath brush her cheek, 
sending an almost electric charge through her skin.  If felt like the room's 
temperature had just jumped ten degrees with the closeness of his body.
       "You know," she said in a low voice, "If I didn't know better, I'd 
think you were trying to distract me."
       "Why would I do that?" he asked quietly.
       "I don't distract easily."  She turned enough to look deep into his 
brown eyes, eyes you could get lost in.
       "You didn't answer my question," murmured Lance. 
       "And you didn't answer mine," she said softly, drawing herself a 
little closer to him.
       "It's just a game."
       "It's never just a game.  Not with us."
       "...I know." 
       Their eyes closed, she could almost feel his kiss when...
       "WA-HOO!"
       Mira jumped; they both did, and the world snapped rudely back into
focus.
       A pair of scruffy-looking men had come in, each obviously way past drunk, 
and were swaggering their way up to the bar talking loudly about the car race 
they'd just come from.  The rest of the patrons were ignoring them.
       "...and I don' care WHUT anyone says," the first drunk continued, 
"that Emmerson boy in number 27 is the MAN!  Ain't no driver gonna beat him 
THIS season!  Where's th' BEER!" he added, pounding on the bar for emphasis.
       Lance and Mira looked at each other; the moment had not only been 
killed, it was already six feet under.
       Mira quickly composed herself.  "Off number 10, huh.  Right. 
Number 10."
       Focusing was hard, but the shot wasn't: cueball off the 10, 10 of the 
15, 15 down the hole.  Even so, she still had trouble centering herself 
completely, and missed her next shot.  And it still felt warm inside.
       She picked up her sandwich as she watched him get ready for the next
shot; what was she thinking?  They'd never been able to get along for any 
length of time, yet for some reason, whenever he was around, she couldn't 
think of anything else BUT him.  This was crazy; he was completely wrong for 
her, he never took anything seriously, he was always trying to play an 
angle, always had some snide remark... he was positively infuriating!  But 
sometimes, when it was just them, she'd see something, she couldn't put her 
finger on it, something...something...
       Something big was standing beside her.
       She turned to find herself facing a gap-toothed grin belonging to one 
of the two drunks.
       "Hey, beautiful," he slurred.  "Howzabout a purdy little thing like 
you joinin' us for a couple uh drinks."
       "Sorry," she replied, "I only date within my species,"
       "Tha's all right Hon, I don't even believe 'n God m'self," the grin 
widened, exposing gums that hadn't seen a toothbrush in years.
       "That's too bad, guess you're going to have to have fun without me."
       "Aww, c'mon!  Yur the purdiest little thing in here, why doncha come
celebrate wi' us?"
       "I can think of a lot of reasons..."
       "...Like she's with me," Lance finished for her, putting his arm
protectively around her shoulder.
       Lance to the rescue, she thought, who'd believe it?
       "Yur with him?" the drunk asked.
       Mira nodded.
       "Well, you gotcherself quite a catch there, boy!" he said, giving 
Lance a hearty thump on the back that nearly knocked him over.  "Yessir, 
quite a looker.  GrrrRAARR!" he leered at Mira and licked his teeth.
       At this, Mira rolled her eyes and took a bite of her dinner in 
disgust.
       "Y'know, I wuz watchin' you play.  Yuh seem purdy good at pool, boy,
but how're yuh at darts?"
       "Darts?"
       "Yeah, darts. Like whatcha play with that dartboard over there."
       Lance thought a second.  "I've played once or twice.  Why?"
       Mira nearly choked on her sandwich; once or twice?  She'd seen Lance
play against Cliff at least once a week for the past cycle (Cliff won a lot, 
but the games were always close).  Okay, technically it wasn't the same as 
the board here since their board was electronic and this one obviously 
wasn't, but still...
       "Good!  Lessee how good yuh are.  Loser buys a round to the house."
       There was WAAY too much betting involving food around here, Mira
thought, but decided to stay quiet.
       "Well, I don't know..." There was a hint of taunting in Lance's
voice, but it was lost on the behemoth.
       "What, yuh not MAN enough?"
       "Well, since you put it that way, what's one game."
       Oh boy, thought Mira, this is going to be a slaughter.
       "Great!  Lemme get th' darts.  Hey you! Where're th' darts?  We wanna
play!"
       As the drunk stomped over to the bartender, Mira leaned in and
whispered to Lance, "Isn't a bet how you got into this in the first place?"
       "Come on, he's so drunk he can't even look straight."
       "True, but maybe, you should let him win," she added.
       "Would YOU let him win?" Lance whispered back.
       "...No."
       "And you think I would?"
       "Just don't say I didn't warn you.  I don't think he's a good loser."
       "I bet he passes out before the game's over with," Lance smirked, 
"Just watch."
       "Like I have a choice," she muttered, settling against the pool table
and their unfinished game.
       At this point, the drunk came back proudly bearing a set of darts 
like an Olympic torch in one hand, and a beer bottle in the other.  He took 
Lance by the shoulder and half lead, half dragged him over to the dartboard.  
He pointed down to a faded white line painted in the hardwood.
       "Tha's the line yuh have t' stand behind t'play.  I'll go first.  
Here're yur darts." 
       He thrust a handful of metal spikes in Lance's direction, which Lance 
took carefully, trying not to stab himself.  Satisfied, the drunk set his
beer on the nearest table and stepped up to the line.
       "Watch this," he said, aimed a dart, and let it fly.
       With a quiet "thok", the dart stuck in corkboard near the seventeen.  
       The next two stuck for eighteen and eleven.
       "Not bad, huh?" the drunk grinned.  
       "Pretty good."
       "Yur turn, boy. Beat that!"
       Here it comes, Mira thought.
       Lance aimed, squinted once, aimed again, and threw.  And again.  And
again.
       "Let's see," Lance remarked smuggly, "that's a twenty, another
twenty, and, looks like a bull's eye.  That's good, right?"
       He heard a bottle break against the floor beside him and turned in 
time to dodge the fist launched at his face.
       "Hey! Take it easy!"
       "Yur makin' fun uh me!" the drunk slurred, fury burning in his 
already bloodshot eyes, "NOBODY duzzat t'ME!"
       He swung again.  Lance easily dodged it, but he could tell that there 
was a crowd starting to gather to watch the two of them, finding this far 
more exciting than their drinks.
       Mira called to him.  "I warned you!"
       "I know!" he answered, blocking the next punch and quickly
counterpunching his attacker, much to the crowd's approval.
       Mira shook her head and tried not to get shoved by the cheering (and
mostly drunk) crowd as they watched one of their fellow drunks stagger after
Lance.  There was no question in her mind that he'd make short work out of 
the drunk, academy training or not.  Hopefully, this would be over quickly.
       ...Except the drunk's friend was trying to sneak up behind Lance with
a pool cue.
       So much for fair play.
       She was behind him in two strides, and tapped him on the shoulder.  
       He turned.  "Whut?"
       "This was supposed to be a FAIR fight."
       Then she socked him across the jaw.
       He fell into the crowd, which jeeringly shoved him back at her,
giving her another shot, and basically signaled a general free-for-all brawl 
among the spectators as J's Hut exploded in chaos.
       Glasses sailed across the room, smashing into walls (and 
occasionally, people) and rained sparkling shards of glass and showers of 
liquor over the room. Chairs and stools quickly took on new lives as 
kindling and splinters.  And all around people threw themselves into the 
brawl not caring who they hit.  In no time, Lance and Mira found themselves 
fighting back to back.  
       "You didn't plan this, did you?"  Mira yelled over her shoulder.
       "No!" he yelled back, "There hasn't... there hasn't been a fight here
in months!"
       "Terrific."
       "Incoming!"
       A bottle breezed by her head.  "Thanks."
       "Thank me later."
       "Right."
       They had certain advantages over the rest of the rabble.  
       One: they were still sober.  
       Two: they were back to back, which meant no one was getting a cheap 
shot on them from behind.  
       And three: they were probably the only ones there with any kind of
formal hand-to-hand training (though the other people likely had lots of 
INformal hand-to- hand experience).
       Which is why they were winning when the authorities finally showed up.
                        =    =    =    =    =    =    =    =    
       [Knock Knock]
       "Just a moment!"
       The door opened and the smiling face of Mira's roommate Ginger poked
around.
       "Lisa!  Hi!"
       "Hi Ginger.  I came to see Mira.  Is she here?"
       "Not yet."
       Lisa frowned.  "They're not back yet?"
       "Nope.  Hey, come in.  I've got popcorn."
       She reluctantly followed Ginger into the dorm room.  Ginger was
obviously in for the evening, dressed in an oversized T-shirt that reached her 
knees with a picture of a cat on it, and a pair of pink fuzzy slippers.  She 
took a large bowl of popcorn from the pinker side of the room and offered it 
to Lisa.
       "You're not worried?" asked Lisa, taking a handful.
       "No, of course not.  They're probably having a great time and lost
track. Don't they just make such a perfect couple?"
       "A perfect couple of what," Lisa muttered under her breath.
       "You don't think so?"
       Lisa wanted to say Yes, that's exactly what I think.  She decided 
against it because part of her agreed with Ginger; when they were together 
there was a kind of chemistry.  Sometimes it was like nitro and glycerin, but 
other times, there was a real magic there.  If only they weren't so STUBBORN...
       The phone rang.  Ginger picked it up.
       "Hello..? Oh hi!  We were just talking about you... Sure, what's a
roommate for?.. okay... She's right here if you want to tell-... You're
WHERE?!?!... No, I-... But how did-... Okay.... How much?... Mira, I'm going 
to have to tell Commander Pastors about this... He's going to find out 
anyway... uh- huh... I know, but maybe he'll cover bail...  Uh-huh... I 
know... Okay, I'll tell them... Bye."
       She slowly hung up the phone and looked at Lisa.
       "I don't think their date went well."
                        =    =    =    =    =    =    =    =    
       "A barroom brawl," Commander Pastors' voice said coldly as he stared
down at the two cadets in his office who tried not to squirm under his gaze.
       They weren't sure if he wanted an answer from them, or was he just
stating facts, his tone was somewhere in between.
       "A barroom BRAWL," he said again, this time changing emphasis.
       "yessir," Lance and Mira mumbled together.
       The commander leaned back in his chair and looked them over.
       "Frankly, I am appalled.  Behavior like this is completely unacceptable
to the Academy." He paused to look down at the reports on his desk. "And 
this... I don't care which of you started it, and I don't care who just 
happened to be caught up in what happened; you obviously were both involved and 
will have to face the consequences."
       Mira noticeable cringed at this; Lance merely looked nervous but hid
it better.
       "Besides this incident going on your permanent record, the two of you
will be spending the next two days in the stockade, and in the meantime, I 
want both of you to write a dissertation for me on conduct becoming a soldier.  
I'll have the details sent to you.  There will be someone to escort you to 
there when you leave my office.  That is all.  Dismissed. "
       The two cadets snapped a salute, turned, and walked out of the office.
       Once in the hallway, Mira's body slouched in depression.  "I can't 
BELIEVE this is happening.  And on my record too!"
       "Uh-huh," Lance grudgingly agreed.
       "I'm never going to get a commission now! I can't... I mean, I can't... 
oh this is awful.  I am so dead."
       "What did Pastors mean by 'which one of us started it'?"
       Mira snapped out of her self-pity.  "What?"
       "I said, what did Pastors mean by 'which one of us started it'?"
       "I don't know. I thought it would be pretty obvious, especially after I
knocked that guy into the crowd."
       Lance stopped walking.  "You said you started it?"
       "Well... yeah. I guess I did.  I mean, everybody were just watching
until I did that.  You were just defending yourself until then."
       "Is that what you said?"
       "Well... kinda." She thought a moment.  "Just out of curiosity, what 
did YOU say?"
       He tried not to smile.  "I said that the guy came after me, I punched 
him, and then everything went crazy... and you were only defending yourself.  
I... did take you there in the first place."
       Mira laughed.  So did Lance.
       "No wonder he couldn't tell which of us started it.  Any normal person
would be trying to blame the other guy.  But not us." said Mira as they
started walking again.
       "Mira, I'm really sorry, it wasn't supposed to happen like that.
       "It's okay.  I kind of figured  Even you couldn't plan a disaster like 
that."
       "Thanks, I think."  
       "Anyway, it wasn't THAT bad.  The food was okay and I'm starting to get
better at pool.  I guess it was kind of fun."
       "...Really?"
       "Yeah.  Until the fight started.  How's your head?"
       He fingered the four stitches on his forehead.  "If anyone needs
someone to play Frankenstein, I'm set, but I'll live.  How's your arm?"
       "Better," she said, wiggling the fingers on her left hand, the same
hand that was now wrapped in a soft brace.  "It's only a sprain.  Should heal 
before we finish our sentence."
       "Yeah.  That."
       "...I wouldn't mind going back sometime.  If you don't mind."
       [blink] "You liked it that much?"
       "Yeah, it... it kind of grows on you."
       "Like fungus?"
       "Ha ha.  I'm being serious you know.  I like your place."
       If he noticed that he referred to it as "his place", he didn't let on, 
though a bit of a smile crept over the edge of his mouth.
       "Well, if you really want to go back, I guess we could try."
       "Think they'll let us back in after what happened?
       "Oh, I think they won't mind," he said, and she knew he was certain.
       They were quiet when they reached the door that lead outside to their
waiting escort to the stockade, almost feeling the impending doom outside. 
The two of them hesitated, neither wanting to deal with their fate just yet, 
but knowing there wasn't much choice.  Finally, Lance took a deep breath and 
opened the door.
       The three guards looked at them stoically and quietly escorted the two
to the waiting transport.  
       Mira thought to herself during the ride: she had a sprained wrist, a 
black mark on her permanent record, a dissertation to write, and two days in 
the stockade, yet, for some reason, she felt good.  Really, REALLY good.  
Maybe she was crazy.  Maybe it was shock that was keeping her from seeing some
aspect of the situation, or maybe...
       She looked over at Lance, his eyes meeting hers, and decided that maybe
life was good, and she'd leave it at that.
       She wondered if the stockade had cable.
  
  FIN