“That was my first gate.” Besh.

Except for the JAG and three laconic officers, Rude and Marq were the sole occupants of the Marcel Onones building in West Admin. It was 0900 hours, and Marq yawned, stretching out over his unfinished form. Rude made quick work of his release form, and laid aside the pen. Massaging tired dry eyes, Rude glanced at his friend, thankful a living body occupied the chair beside him.

Quietly, Rude said, “Sleeping will cost you four years.”

Marq answered in a small whining voice, “I'm so tired, I can't see.”

Rude said, “It's a single page. Fill it in and sign it. We can get a room when we get to town.”

Marq sighed theatrically and sat up. Shaking his head, he held the page at varying distances, blinking heavy eyes. “No use,” he said. “The brain is shutting down.”

Rude placed the page on the table and guided Marq's hand to a check box. “Check here,” he said. Then, placing Marq's pen at the bottom line, he said, “Sign here.”

They stepped into the JAG's office and saluted. An old man sat behind the desk. Bushy white eyebrows gave him the look of authority. “Sit,” he said.

Rude placed both pages before the JAG and let Marq sit first. Marq tried very hard to remain alert before an officer with the power to say yes or no. Rude sat straight and patient as the elder spread the two pages before him. He cleared his throat and speared the two men with an official glare.

“First,” said the elder, “let me commend the heroes that sit before me. You have my respect. Second, I am required to give you these.” He shoved a sealed letter before each man. “Read them, and we'll go from there.”

The JAG struggled to his feet and left the office. Marq ripped open his letter while Rude took a more precise approach. Marq read aloud, “The Consortium Armed Forces of Terra recognizes your valor under fire, blah, blah, blah. In accordance with blahblahblah; a four-year contract. No thanks!” Marq folded the page and jammed it into the torn envelope.

Rude unfolded his letter and read aloud, “The Consortium Armed Forces of Terra recognizes your valor under fire, and has assessed your service exemplary, meriting a four-year contract with officer ranking, and a cred bump equal to one and a half the current pay.” Rude skipped to the bottom and read the signature. “General Morgan Bruce.”

Leaning over Rude's letter, Marq asked, “You're not going to accept are you?”

Rude folded the letter into the envelope and tucked it into his pocket. “No,” he answered. “I've got better things to do.”

Marq replied with a sleepy smile, “That's what I'm saying.”

Cleaning their rooms and collecting personal possessions was a snap; Marq walked away with a small draw bag of things he owned while Rude carried only the clothes he wore. Walking through the gate was a snap; Marq and Rude turned at the bus to give a one-finger salute. The thirty-minute bus ride dropped them in Sandy View, a base town that catered to military men on leave. Rude chose the first motel they walked by, a seedy joint with letters missing from its name. West Virginia Street Motel read wet virgin street mote.

Refreshed after a long sleep and a big breakfast, Marq and Rude took a Viper to the coast. Marq nabbed the window seat, and said, “Man, I hate these rattletraps.”

Rude replied, “If all these civvies can do it, a couple of seasoned vets can manage.”

It was noon when they were dropped at the outer hub on the outskirts of the Povre. Rude walked to the roof railing and looked across the city. Tower apartment buildings stretched west like weeds in a garden. Rude saw nothing he recognized as Marq leaned on the rail beside him. Having never seen the expanse of the Povre, Marq was duly impressed.

“Wow!” said Marq. “So, what's our next move?”

Rude leaned on the railing, then answered, “Well, of course, you can do whatever you like, but I have to catch a Viper north to the Palabar District.”

Marq said, “I'm your shadow; where you go I go. What's in Palabar?”

“I need to find my P. I.” Rude turned and leaned his back against the rail, watching the busy transit hub. “My mission is the same, find my son, and find my wife. She deserves a burial.”

Marq said, “That last part will be a little tricky; you know, sneaking past guards with shoot-to-kill orders.”

Rude sighed and said, “I know, but I don't care. You don't have to be a part of that.”

Smiling into Rude's face, Marq said, “Life debt. I'm your man.”

Rude warned, “Be sure.”

Marq replied, “You can't get rid of me that easy. Besides, you're the only one I know.”

Rude stood and stretched. He said, “Let's catch that Viper. We'll get a private car, and snooze. It'll be late when we arrive.”

The price of a private car was brow-raising steep, but the ride was smooth. They took an in-flight meal and napped. They roused, and snacked, and napped again. Marq sat up to look across the dim car to Rude, at peace in his fold-down bed. He turned in his bed and opened the window. He peered deeply into the shroud of night. He was bored.

He turned back to Rude and asked, “Are we there yet?”

Streetlights turned night into day. Happy citizens dashed in all directions chasing whatever dulled the edge of monotony. Children laughed and played in the street, dodging the occasional skid. Vendors, still open, called attention to their wares. Overhead, a municipal Skorrie stopped at a second-story platform to take on an older couple before speeding away. There was no distinction between nightlife and daylife in the Palabar District. Marq was the proverbial child looking through the store window to see candy he had never tasted.

“So, you know where this guy lives?” asked Marq.

“I know,” answered Rude.

“You just walking for the hell of it?” asked Marq. “'Cause, we could have called a skid.”

“We'll get there,” said Rude.

Marq complained, “You said that five blocks back. And, these blocks are big.”

Rude said, “We've eaten, we've slept, we've been on our backsides all day. Why complain?”

Drawing out the name, Marq whined, “Rude.”

Rude replied in happy imitation, “Marq.”

“All I'm saying,” said Marq, “is, are we there yet?”

“We're getting closer,” said Rude.

Marq asked, “You'd tell me if we're lost? Right?”

Rude laughed and pointed. He said, “It's in the next block.” He gave Marq's shoulder a friendly slap.

As they came to an intersection, a large man stepped from the shadows and hailed, “Yo! Besh!”

“Here he is,” said Rude to Marq. “Let me take care of business.”

Dressed as an old-style P. I. in a Khaki long coat and fedora, the man walked up and took Rude's hand in a tight squeeze. “Been a while he said. Wasn't looking for you, but I'm glad you're here; saves me the trouble.” He held up a finger and fished around his inner pockets. At length, he produced an envelope and passed it across. “I've looked everywhere. My resources are tapped. I can't keep taking your creds; doesn't feel right. So, half your creds are on a Card Blanque, and I've included the address of some friends. I hope they can help.”

“Oh,” said Rude, receiving the envelope.

The P. I. Turned and noticed Marq, who said, “Man, you look just like the P. I. in the streams. You know, the one who opens with, 'Death, it's a living.'” Marq presented the quote with dramatic flare and laughed into a blank face.

“Never watch the stuff,” said the P. I., turning back to Rude. “I'm sorry. I hope you find your son. So, I got to go. Look up my friends. Say Sammy sent you.” He shook Rude's hand and left.

Marq watched the man leave; he turned and looked at Rude staring at the envelope with a blank expression. “What now?” he asked.

Rude looked up, shook his head, and looked back at the envelope. He carefully opened it and shook out a single page, then answered, “I guess we're going to Symalton; some group called the Shades; someone named Ume Seht.”

Marq asked, “Where's Symalton?”

Rude tucked the note back into the envelope, took the Card Blanque, and placed it in his bill with his severance card. He looked into his friend's eyes and answered after a deep sigh. “East,” he said. “But first, we'll find a room. In the morning, I have somewhere I need to go.”

“That's good,” said Marq. “'Cause I was thinking you might say, let's take a Viper east.”

Rude laughed it off. “No,” he said. “I wouldn't do that. Let's find a street marquee.”

Marq asked, “So, where we going tomorrow, my man?”

“Got to visit a tree,” said Rude turning back the way he had come. “It'll be out in the country. A private farm. There'll be a large field with a Tampa tree right in the middle.”

Following, Marq replied, “Sure, man. Buried treasure. Right?”

Rude said, smiling, “You'll like what's there. I promise. On the way, I'll explain some things.” He threw an arm around his friend's shoulder and smiled into his face, saying, “Tonight, it's a couple of rooms, and a good meal, courtesy of the P. I.”

Marq smiled back, saying, “You're talking my language.”

The next day started early. A skid ride took them outside the Palabar District. Open land stretched away into a haze, and Marq gaped. Rude smiled at his friend's reaction and inhaled deeply.

Slapping his chest with both hands, Rude said, “Smell that air.”

Marq sniffed and replied, “Kind of smells like dirt.”

“Yeah,” said Rude. “That's the point. It's the country.”

Marq threw his draw bag across his shoulder in a braggadocios manner and said, “Okay. No complaints. Lead the way; your shadow is fed and happy. By the way, how far to the tree?”

Rude pointed northeast, and began walking, speaking over his shoulder. “Oh, about five kilometers.”

“Now, you see,” said Marq, catching up. “You could have lied. Just over that hill is a great panacea.”

Rude laughed and inhaled freedom.

Having walked an hour in silence, Rude turned to Marq and asked, “Are you sure you want to go with me?”

Marq had been in his own world when Rude's question took him by surprise. “Well, yeah, man,” said Marq. “I mean, I'm your shadow.”

Rude said, “I want you to be certain. The way I go may not be easy. If you go with me, there's no going back.”

“Gotcha,” said Marq. “Best buds forever. Right?”

Rude sighed. He wondered how Marq would receive the things he had to say. He looked around at the tangled shrubs and open prairie, deciding the procrastination must end. “Alright,” he said. “You ready for some explanations? I've been keeping some things secret.”

“I knew it,” said Marq in mock accusation. “Yeah, man. Who else you gonna tell?”

Rude was encouraged by his friend's reaction. He opened with a smile and a nod. “First,” said Rude, “my name's not Rudakh Yavle. It's Benjamin Edward Shuller.”

With a bouncing nod, Marq smiled at his friend. “An alias, right? That's cool. I never told anyone my middle name.”

“Oh,” said Ben. “What's your middle name?”

Marq was all in. “You ready for this?” he asked. At Ben's nod, he said proudly, “Anat. It's Egyptian.”

“That's a good middle name,” agreed Ben. Then, he pressed on. “For many years, I went by the name Besh. It's an acronym using the initials of my name; B, E, and SH.”