"Day after tomorrow. We need to get rid of those two Kristang aboard that troop transport, hit their three sites down here with railguns, load supplies aboard the Dutchman, and leave plenty of time for you to travel out to the wormhole before it resets." He glanced out the open door at his aide, who had been trying to get Brenner's attention. Brenner shook his head. "And before our civilian leadership changes their minds about it. But before you fly up to the Dutchman, you need to meet with civilian leadership of the nations involved, and meet your volunteer crew. Lt. Colonel Chang and some others are already here, the rest are being flown in now."

"In that case, sir, I'd like to request Skippy bring the Thuranin dropship here from Colorado, so I can fly directly up to the Dutchman."

"No problem, Colonel Joe!" Skippy said with enthusiasm. "Prepping the dropship  right now."

"Agreed, Colonel, but I have a suggestion," Brenner said. "Before you go up into orbit, stop by Maine to see your folks. It hasn't been announced yet, but the governments involved are giving up trying to keep a complete lid on what happened. Skippy's existence is still a closely-held secret, and the government, governments around the world, aren't officially acknowledging anything. We can't hide the Dutchman, the damned thing is so big you can see it with a cheap telescope. Rumors have gotten out about people coming back from Paradise, and it's common knowledge that the Kristang aren't in charge any more, especially now that we're evacuating Lyon and Hangzhou. We'd like for you to keep it low-key, and don't say any more than you have to, but you should see your family before you go offworld again."

"It's true, Joe," Skippy added, "we're way past the point where we could hide what happened, if the Kristang ever get here again. It's all or nothing."

I was beginning to dread mornings. When I woke up, and I couldn’t fake sleep with Skippy, I had to face whatever trouble he’d gotten into overnight. That morning, he was especially cheery. “Good morning. Hey, I have good news for you. Colonel Joe, believe it or not, humans may not simply be generic bacteria. I think your species has invented a time-wasting activity that is, to my knowledge, unique in this galaxy. That is impressive."

“Facebook? Cat videos?” I guessed. “Computer solitaire?” Skippy kept saying no. “Oh, come on," my shoulders slumped, "other species must have porn.”

“It’s not porn. It’s fantasy sports.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I kid you not. No other species I know of spends such enormous time and energy on sports, to not play sports.”

“Huh.” I had no response to that. Fantasy sports was humanity’s claim to fame? Was there some sort of galactic patent office, where we could file our invention? I wanted to cash in on this windfall.