Guardsmen of Tomorrow by Martin H. & Segriff Greenberg, Larry Segriff

standard-objective years old and twenty-two years older than his father.
    “You know, don’t you, that cy-Dennever was right to bring you up on charges.”
    A pause. “Yes, sir.” Reluctantly.
    “The Anarchate was this close to declaring war after your little stunt with their PDBs. You’re just damned lucky their military council decided to switch sides.”
    That was news to Hazzard. “I hadn’t heard that, sir.”
    “Just came through on the last dispatch boat from Kaden. Turns out there was a faction of the Anarchate military that had decided to side with the Alliance because they were strongest and, sooner or later, when the Alliance beat us, the Anarchate would be wiped out by the Alliance’s human-onlies. They figured that if they joined the Alliance, helped them, the Irdikad might be able to find a place in the new regime, even if only as second-class citizens.”
    “Huh. Maybe their decision wasn’t so crazy after all.” It made sense, after a fashion, according to Irdikad psychology.
    “Yes, well, it seems that our winning that battle against those odds convinced them that we were the strongest, and therefore the ones to side with. Although…”
    “Sir?”
    “What they said was, ‘Anyone crazy enough to pull a stunt like that is worthy of respect.’ A rough translation, of course.” He shook his head. “First time a Fleet officer has won a battle and a new ally by being insane.”
    “I prefer the word lucky .”
    “Someday, Dad,” cy-Koenin said with a grin, “when you’re as old as I am, you’ll know that relying on luck just doesn’t always pay off the way you expect.”
    “We make our own luck, son. Sometimes, it’s just a bit harder and more expensive than other times.” He didn’t add that often the price was a little piece of your soul.
    Poor cy-Tomlin …
    “You in the mood for a bite to eat, Admiral? Courts of inquiry make me hungry.”
    “Thought you’d never ask.”
    Together, father and son, they strode from the chamber.

    THE END

BLINDFOLD
    by Robin Wayne Bailey
    Robin Wayne Bailey is the author of a dozen novels, including the Brothers of the Dragon series, Shad-owdance , and the new Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser novel Swords Against the Shadowland . His short fiction has appeared in numerous science fiction and fantasy anthologies and magazines, including Far Frontiers and Spell Fantastic . An avid book collector and old-time radio enthusiast, he lives in North Kansas City, Missouri.

    Chilson Dawes stumbled out of the doorway of Madam Satterfield’s brothel and into the dark Martian night. He stank of alcohol and sex. He didn’t care. He still had money in his pockets, and pale dawn was hours away. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin, drew his cloak about his shoulders, and smacked his lips, thirsty for another drink.
    A burly bear of a man in a worn leather spacer’s jacket leaned near the door. He stubbed out a cigarette with a booted toe. “You’re killin‘ yourself, you know.” A note of weariness softened the gruff voice. “Why don’t you call it a night.”
    Dawes heard the limping scrape of boot soles on the pavement. He groped for an offered arm and clutched it. “Mister Donovan,” he said with a cheerful slur, “when I want a medical opinion, I’ll call a doctor, not a broken-down washed-out wreck of an Irish freighter pilot like yourself.” He patted the hand at the end of the arm.
    “You’re a lousy friend, but like a good old dog always there when I call.”
    “We are a pair, aren’t we?” Donovan said. “So-brothel, bar, or casino?”
    That was the problem with a city like Tharsis. Too damn much to offer. All the sins and vices a man couldn’t get on civilized Earth anymore, pleasures undreamed of for someone with too much money and too much time. Chilson Dawes had both.
    “Just walk,” he said with a sudden, self-pitying melancholy.
    Donovan obeyed. Dawes, with a secure grip on the Irishman’s arm, listened to the sounds around