October

Issue 37

    The other five members of the Serengeti Six raised our glasses toward Tequesta to celebrate her victory in our annual tournament. She had patiently gauged the breaks of a 28-foot putt on the 18th hole before knocking it dead center into the cup. She had walked off the green with a one-stroke victory.

    "Speech, speech," said Maddox Faulkner.

    Several members seconded the request. Tequesta slowly stood up, then raised her hands to quiet the commotion. Her smile brightened the room.

    "The cadets at the academy study you guys, the famous Serengeti Six. The trios who always play a round of golf on the same day every year, no matter where they are in the galaxy. The six has always had members who distinguished themselves as Spacehawks. The class is only one credit, true but—"

    "We're only one credit?" Faulkner said.

    "Yes, but now that you have a female member, no doubt the Academy will change it to a two credit class." She raised her glass. "We may be headed for Shangri-La tomorrow, but this is pretty close to paradise for me."

    "Hear, hear," the group shouted.

    She sat back down and turned to me. "I've always wondered about Shangri-La. You think it's all it's cracked up to be?"

    "We'll soon find out," I said.