y a micro deep space drive.
My duty officer hit the alarm; I got to the bridge
within ten seconds after the buggy's first pass.

"I checked our status and proximity-to-mass
in vicinity; then my ship's scope analyses of the
buggy's thrust and gyrations. She was obviously
overpowered for mass, especially in the confined
lanes plowed by slow freighters like mine.

"My three-hundred-meter freighter with all storage
bays packed bulkhead to bulkhead with high mass, is
barely maneuverable under the best of circumstances.
Evasive action against some hot shot in a souped up
space-buggy was out of the question.

"It got worse. Not only did the jock ignore my
warnings; he lined up alongside my bridge and
danced on his thrusters. He flipped from relative
vertical to horizontal, then corkscrewed us
lengthwise fore to aft and back. To add insult, he
whirled his buggy on its tail like a damn dervish,
right alongside where I stood on my bridge and
then cut across my bow. That hotshot was one
good pilot, I'll grant him that.

"After a minute or so of that, the buggy circled
my ship, close. The pilot probably liked what he saw,
because he surface-snaked us again bow to stern.
That must have been boring; he peeled away, tore
ahead a quarter-million kay, skewed around, and
came straight at my bow, curdling space. When
collision was just about unavoidable, he did an up
and over. In doing that, he cut us much too close,
snapped off a dozen masts, sensors and nav guides.

"The jock must have gone berserk; he took us on
for full 'chicken'. He shot ahead about a million kay,
flip-flopped, and came at us head-to-head, taunting
us with his collision signals. Our computer showed
him as boosting all the way."

Another long pause. Brad looked directly at Xindral.

"We collided, head on," he said. "That brightly
colored, beautiful little flitter buried itself
deep in our forward cargo bay. My rescue team
went in, but we knew ahead of time what we'd find.
It was there: chunks of metal, shards of bone,
and scraps of flesh splattered on mining gear,
rock-crushers, and other odd pieces of equipment.

"The Space Guard hearings were followed by a
quick trial. The jock was the son of a politician,
so here I am."

Brad looked away, then back at Ram.

"Your turn," he said. "What's the story on how we
became the 'chosen'?"

"The selection was certainly not random," Ram
stood and stretched to his full height as he
spoke. "Despite the b