"I'm Steve Hagen," he snapped.
"But you're his son?"
"I am."
"But you've never said so."
"No one has ever asked me; and I'm not proud of the fact."
Lois was silent.
"And I'm not running undercover," said Steve; "I'd prefer to forget the
whole thing."
"Then why tell me about it?"
"Because I don't want to operate under a false banner; especially with
you. I've said nothing about it because of the natural objection too
many people might have if it became known that William Wrightwood's
foster son was working among the Guardians. The outfit that has bucked
every attempt of his to be gathered into his own little empire."
Lois looked at Steve with a quizzical glance. "But are you here because
you want to work as a Guardian, or because you want to strike back at
Wrightwood?"
"That's a question that I have asked myself and cannot answer
honestly," he said.
Lois nodded quietly, thinking for a moment. "For too many years people
have been denying the right of a son to cash in on his father's
position," she said. "I see no reason why the reverse should not be
true; we should not castigate a son who wants to do the opposite,
insisting that he follow his father's position."
"Let's forget it," said Steve. "Life is too short to be filled with
bitterness. I'm here and here I shall stay regardless of the inner
motive I--"
The outside alarm blared forth in a series of short and long blasts.
Both of them stopped to catch the code, which called for an alert at
Base One while Base Seven handled an alarm. Seven might need help; so
the personnel of One came tumbling out of their relaxation and made
ready, just in case.
"That's not you, Steve," said Lois. "But it's me. Be seein' you."
"No," he admitted, "but there's nothing that says I can't go along and
help if I want to. I'm unattached when I'm off of my inspection job.
A little action will make me feel useful; I'm tired of arguing with
techs about crystallized joints, frayed insulation, and unstandardized
measuring equipment."
Lois nodded cheerfully and headed for Morehouse's office; Steve headed
for his quarters to prepare for the possible recall alarm.
5
It came, that recall alarm, a half hour after the first. The men
at Base One tumbled into the ships and ripped into the sky, Steve
following the flight closely in his inspection ship. The whole crew
went anxiously, cheerfully, for the recall alarm meant that the
threatened ship might possibly be saved.
The flight from Base One arrived on the scene forty minutes after
taking off. The ship was in subspace, ripping along without drive at
three or four hundred times the speed of light, still encased in the
warp.
But it was spacewarp held up and maintained by the conjunction of
warp-planes forced edge to edge by surrounding Guardian ships. The
rescue crew had gone to pick up the people who had flown the ship in
life-craft; the swampers and barriers were sticking close to go to work
if the hard-held warp failed. A mishap on the part of one pilot holding
the warp would fracture the englobement; this was as fatal to the life
of the spacewarp as puncture is in the flank of a toy balloon.
Base One's flight came swirling in and caught the orders from the
Guardian director in charge. Base Seven was used up; every available
ship for the job was holding the warp, it was Base One's job to enter
the warp and close down on the generator room, to fasten tractors to
the free-running ship and slow it down below the speed of light before
the warp broke.
As many as could latched onto the ship and applied their drives. The
ship slowed and the warp-holding ships slowed with it, keeping their
distance.
It was tricky business, for there was just enough lack of spacial
homogeneity to make the course a bit rough; it was somewhat like the
job of running a fleet of vessels close together in a heavy sea.
Then the rest of Base One's power ships came in to stand between
Seven's warp-holding craft, and Base One's warp-planes went forth,
entered the hull of the ship, and established a second englobed warp
around the ruined generator. A third warp was thrown about the ship
just outside of the second, and the whole crew took a deep breath.
Now if one broke, the other would be there.
They were safe; the ship was saved, could be repaired and put in
service again.
The tractors slowed the ship and eventually the whole fleet dropped
below the velocity of light and their spacewarp generators thrummed
down to a growling halt. The galaxy changed in color as the ships
entered prime space and the light of the stars was the real light
that mankind had always seen instead of the unreal glow caused by the
central energies of the suns of the universe. For space itself is
warped naturally in the core of a sun, and the energy glows through a
subspace populated only by the phantom cores of prime space stars--and
the few puny bits of sentient brain that warped space artificially.
Technicians breached the ship with their kits of tools to make repair
as the Guardians broke up their pattern and began the trip back to
their bases.
Steve felt gratified; it was the first generator saved by the Guardian
tactics. And it was worth anything, any cost, any sacrifice to realize
that mankind had some control even over mankind's failures.
He followed the flight back to Base, found a magazine, and relaxed.
* * * * *
Steve was awakened from a light sleep by the ringing of the telephone.
Blinking and wondering, he answered it; Lois Morehouse said: "Steve,
you're wanted here."
"Okay, what's up?"
"The usual."
Steve hung up and pulled himself together. Why they'd want his opinion
again he could not understand. It was obvious this time that the
Guardians had done a fine job; nothing was lost. All he could think
of was the fact that he had gone as an observer and had seen the
incident without taking active part in it. That might possibly give
the committee a less distorted picture than the recount of a man whose
attention was filled with the mechanics of operating against the
possible eruption.
He was preparing his account as he entered Morehouse's office, but once
inside, he saw instantly that there was no committee investigation.
Morehouse and Charlemagne were there. Lois was there. And an air of
trouble was there also.