Transcendental by James Gunn Page A

attitudes and events. Riley would have to compete with all the others. He glanced at Asha and Tordor. Both were looking at him with expressions he could not read, and neither could his pedia.
    “I will entertain questions,” the captain said.
    “How choose?” Tordor said.
    “That’s up to you.”
    “What of those who aren’t chosen?” Asha said. “What will they have gained?”
    “Information from one of their own,” the captain said, “and, as captain, I will keep all informed of developments that affect the group, like conditions if they change or departures from routine or Jumps as they approach.
    “And one is approaching very shortly, and I must leave to prepare the ship. You will be notified before it happens.”
    “What of the crew member who died?” someone called out in an alien hiss.
    “What of Jan?” another whispered.
    “And the other—Jon?” came a grumble.
    The captain was already heading for the hatchway. “I don’t have time for further questions now. Decide upon your representative, and I will talk to that person.”
    After he was gone, all of the voyagers began to talk at once. “Like the Tower of Babel,” Riley’s pedia told him.
    *   *   *
    The passengers shifted into small ad hoc groups, like dust specks on a pond. Only these specks were noisy. The babbling that had followed the captain’s departure intensified. Riley’s pedia picked up snatches of remarks: “… traitor … danger … opportunity … trap … who … who … who…” Riley wondered if his pedia could overload, and what would happen if it did.
    “How choose?” Tordor asked.
    Riley looked at Asha. “Humans have elections. One person—or in this case one being—one vote. The being with the most votes wins. Or if you want a majority rather than a plurality, you have a second vote between the two top vote-getters.”
    “Democracy is not a universal practice,” Asha said.
    “Agreement,” Tordor said.
    “He means ‘consensus,’ I think,” Asha said.
    “But how arrived at?” Riley asked.
    Asha gestured at the other passengers. The noise was getting deafening. “I think that’s what they’re doing. When they’ve reached a decision, they’ll let us know.”
    “No campaigning?” Riley asked. “No promises? No racial slurs?”
    “No bribes,” Asha said. “No buying votes. No promises. No success and no failure. Whoever is chosen gets dismissed the same way, sometimes fatally.”
    “Is choice,” Tordor agreed.
    The process took less time than Riley expected. Within minutes the weasel approached Riley and Tordor. “You,” he said and pointed toward Tordor with his half-grown arm.
    Tordor raised his proboscis in recognition. He looked at Asha and then Riley. “So let it be,” he said. He blew a surprising blast of noise from his long nose. As the other passengers turned toward them and quieted, he said, in language that Riley’s pedia began translating in greater fluency, “Beings, you have chosen me to be your representative, and I will do so to the best of my ability. I go now to begin the process.” He turned to Riley and said in a voice that only he and Asha could hear, “You are the better choice, but the galactics would never choose a human. The memory of the war is too fresh and the belief in the unpredictability of humans too ingrained.”
    He turned and ponderously marched to the hatchway. He pounded on it. It opened, revealing a portion of the passageway outside and a humanoid guard beyond before the hatch closed again behind him.
    Riley looked at Asha. She shrugged. “Galactics seem to have long memories as well,” she said.
    Riley looked back at the hatch. “What does Tordor expect to accomplish?”
    She looked at Riley as if evaluating the implications of his question. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
    “I’m going to talk to the galactics,” he said.
    “That might be misinterpreted. In fact, it’s sure to be misinterpreted.”
    “That’s basic