Pulsar Race (Starship’s Mage #9.5) - Glynn Stewart

1

It wasn’t much of an apartment. A fifty-sixth floor one-bedroom unit in Serendipity City, the capital of the Xanth System on the planet Anthony, it had solid bones and would probably have been more homey if Mage-Captain (Retired) Ivan Halloway had done anything to personalize the space.

The hawk-nosed Mage ignored the mess and looked out the window over his home city. He’d been back for two months and had yet to decide if he was going to stay in his apartment. His pension, boosted by his promotion to Mage-Captain on retirement, would pay for a larger place, possibly even a house on the outskirts.

But Serendipity was the capital of a MidWorld star system of the Protectorate of the Mage-King of Mars. It wasn’t a cheap place to live, so keeping more of his money in his own account sounded good to him.

Mostly, though, he knew he was being indecisive. Serendipity spread out around him, his hundred-story apartment building one of six in a pentagonal cluster—and one of maybe sixty around the downtown core.

Ivan started at the chime from his console. He wasn’t expecting any calls today, though there were a number of old friends he’d connected with since his retirement. He took a glance at his reflection in the window and then snorted at his own vanity.

He was still the same tall and dark man who had drawn female gazes throughout his teen years and his twenty-five-year career in the Royal Martian Navy. His hair was starting to grow out—another thing he was feeling indecisive on—but it showed no gray.

Whoever was calling probably wasn’t going to care that he was wearing a sleeveless vest instead of a suit or uniform. Ivan tapped on the computer he wore on his left wrist, sighing as he mistyped and started playing the recorded message he had saved—something else he hadn’t decided on.

“Mage-Captain Ivan Holloway, this is Sarah Tapiti at the Xanth Royal Reserve Station,” a female voice greeted him, mispronouncing both his first name—EYE-vahn, not YEH-vahn—and his last name.

“We wanted to talk to you about your reserve status. I have a copy of your muster-out forms, and it appears that you did not fill out the section requesting active or inactive reserve status. By default, that puts you in full reti—”

Ivan cut off the recording. He didn’t want to be reserve Navy. He could see the signs—there was a civil war coming and he wanted no part of it. Hell, there had very nearly been a civil war near Xanth, between the Sherwood and Míngliàng Systems, right before he’d chosen retirement at the end of his fifth five-year commission.

There were so many things a Mage could do with their power and the money that power brought. Ivan felt no need to die for the Mage-King instead of living for himself.

He finally managed to accept the incoming call, stepping back into his living room and directing the video to the wallscreen above his never-used fireplace.

“Hey, Ivan,” the man on the screen greeted him.

“Karl,” Ivan responded. Karl Charpentier was one of his oldest friends. They’d gone through school here in Serendipity together until Ivan had been pulled into the Mage tracks. They’d stayed friends after that, even through both of their careers.

“I see you still haven’t finished unpacking,” Charpentier said with a chuckle. “Our city isn’t going to eat you, you know.”

Ivan shared the chuckle.

“It’s not Serendipity I’m scared of,” he told his friend. “Just habit, I suppose. You can always be reassigned at the drop of a hat in the Navy.”

“Civilian shipping is so much more consistent,” Charpentier replied. “You should consider it.”

“I have three different messages from the Guild in my inbox telling me the same thing,” Ivan said. The Mage Guild’s main job in the twenty-fifth century was matching Jump Mages looking for employment with jump-ships looking for Mages.

Among the many things the Navy had trained him for, Ivan was a fully qualified Jump Mage with the silver polymer runes inlaid into his hands that allowed him to interact with a starship’s jump matrix.

“Plus at least eight other messages asking me to come in for assorted interviews,” he continued. “Everyone seems to find the concept of a fortysomething retired Mage problematic.”

“There’s not that many like you around,” Charpentier told him. “You’re a rare and valuable commodity and everybody wants you to work for them.”

“Including you?” Ivan asked. “What do you need, Karl?”

His old friend was silent for a few moments, pulling long sandy hair back with both hands in a long-familiar nervous gesture.