"We're almost there, my boy." The big, gray-haired man who would be
Lieutenant Dale Hunter's superior--Strategic Service's Special Agent,
George Rockford--opened another can of beer, his fifth. "There will be
intrigue already under way when this helicopter sets down with us.
Attempted homicide will soon follow. The former will be meat for me. You
will be meat for the latter."
Rockford was smiling as he spoke; the genial, engaging smile of a fond
old father. But the eyes, surrounded by laughter crinkles, were as
unreadable as two disks of gray slate. They were the eyes of a poker
player--or master con man.
"I don't understand, sir," Hunter said.
"Of course not," Rockford agreed. "It's a hundred light-years back to
Earth. Here on Vesta, to make sure there _is_ an Earth in the future,
you're going to do things never dreamed of by your Terran Space Patrol
instructors there. You'll be amazed, my boy."
[Illustration]
Hunter said nothing but he felt a growing dislike for the condescending
Rockford. Only a few weeks ago President Diskar, himself, had said: _For
more than a century these truly valiant men of the Space Patrol have
been our unwavering outer guard; have fought and died by legions, that
Earth and the other worlds of the Terran Republic might remain free--_
"I suppose you know," Rockford said, "that there will be no more than
four days in which to stop the Verdam oligarchy from achieving its
long-time ambition of becoming big enough to swallow the Terran
Republic."
"I know," Hunter answered.
Jardeen, Vesta's companion world, was the key. Jardeen was large and
powerful, with a space navy unsurpassed by that of any other single
world. A large group of now-neutral worlds would follow Jardeen's lead
and Jardeen's alliance with the Verdam People's Worlds would mean the
quick end for the Terran Republic. But, if Jardeen could be persuaded to
ally with the Terran Republic, the spreading, grasping arms of the
Verdam octopus would begin to wither away--
Rockford spoke again:
"Val Boran, Jardeen's Secretary of Foreign Relations, is the man who
will really make Jardeen's decision. I know him slightly. Since my
public role is that of Acting Ambassador, he agreed--reluctantly--to
come to Vesta so that the talks could be on a neutral world. With him
will be Verdam's Special Envoy Sonig; a wily little man who has been
working on Boran for several weeks. He seems to be succeeding quite
well--here's a message I received from Earth early this morning."
Rockford handed him a sheet of the green Hyperspace Communications
paper. The message was in code, with Rockford's scribbled translation
beneath:
_Intelligence reports Verdam forces already massed for attack in Sector
A-13, in full expectation of Jardeen's alliance. Anti-Terran propaganda,
stressing the New Jardeen Incident, being used in preparation for what
will be their claim of "defensive action to protect innocent worlds from
Terran aggression." Terran forces will be outnumbered five to one. The
urgent necessity of immediate and conclusive counter measures by you on
Vesta is obvious._
Hunter handed the paper back, thinking, _It's worse than any of us
thought_, and wondering how Supreme Command could ever have entrusted
such an important task to a beer-guzzling old man from Strategic
Service--a branch so unknown that he had never even heard of it until
his briefing the day before he left Earth.
He saw that they had left the desert behind and were going up the long
slope of a mountain. "The meeting will be on this mountain?" he asked.
Rockford nodded. "The rustic Royal Retreat. Princess Lyla will be our
hostess. Her mother and father were killed in an airplane accident a
year ago and she was the only child. You will also get to meet Lord Narf
of the Sea Islands, her husband-by-proxy, who regards himself as a rare
combination of irresistible woman-killer and rugged man-among-men."
"Husband-by-proxy?" Hunter asked.
"The king worshiped his daughter and his dying request to her was that
she promise to marry Lord Narf. Narf's father had been the king's
closest friend and the king was sure that his old friend's son would
always love and care for Lyla. Lyla dutifully, at once, married Narf by
proxy, which is like a legally binding formal engagement under Vestan
law. Four days from now the time limit is up and they'll be formally
married. Unless she should do the unprecedented thing of renouncing the
proxy marriage."
Rockford drained the last of the beer from the can. "Those are the
characters involved in our play. I have a plan. That's why I told Space
Patrol to send me a brand-new second lieutenant--young, strong, fairly
handsome--and expendable. I hope you can be philosophical about the
latter."
"Sir," Hunter said, unable to keep a touch of stiffness out of his tone,
"it is not exactly unknown in the Space Patrol for a man to die in the
line of duty."
"Ah ... yes." Rockford was regarding him with disturbing amusement. "You
are thinking, of course, of dying dramatically behind a pair of blazing
blasters. But you will soon learn, my boy, that a soldier's duty is to
protect the worlds he represents by whatever actions will produce the
best results, no matter how unheroic those actions may be."
* * * * *
"Attention, please." It was the voice of the pilot. "We are now going to
land."
Hunter preceded Rockford out of the helicopter and onto the green grass
of a small valley, across which tall, red-trunked cloud trees were
scattered. Pale gray ghost trees, with knobby, twisted limbs, grew
thickly among the cloud trees. There was a group of rustic cabins,
connected by gravel paths, and a much larger building which he assumed
would be a meeting hall.
"Hello."
He turned, and looked into the brown eyes of a girl. Her green skirt and
orange blouse made a gay splash of color, her red-brown hair was
wind-tumbled and carefree about her shoulders, in her hand was a bouquet
of bright spring flowers.
But there was no smile of spring in the dark eyes and the snub-nosed
little face was solemn and old beyond its years.
"You're Lieutenant Hunter, aren't you?" she asked in the same low, quiet
voice.
"Princess Lyla!" There seemed to be genuine delight in Rockford's
greeting as he hurried over. "You're looking more like a queen every
day!"
Her face lighted with a smile, making it suddenly young and beautiful.
"I'm so glad to see you again, George--"
"Ah ... good afternoon."
The voice was loud, unpleasantly gravelly. They turned, and Hunter saw a
tall, angular man of perhaps forty whose pseudogenial smile was not
compatible with his sour, square-jawed face and calculating little eyes.
He spoke to Rockford. "You're Ambassador Rockford, here to represent the
Terran Republic, I believe." He jerked his head toward Princess Lyla,
who was no longer smiling. "My wife, Princess Lyla."
"Oh, she and I have been friends since she was ten, Lord Narf."
"And this young man"--Narf glanced at Hunter--"is your aide, I presume.
Lyla, did you think to send anyone after their luggage?"
A servant was already carrying their luggage--and cases of Rockford's
beer--out of the helicopter. Hunter followed the other toward the
cabins. Narf, in the lead, was saying:
"... Ridiculously primitive here, now, but I'm having some decent
furniture and well-trained servants sent up from my Sea Island
estates...."
* * * * *
The cabin was large and very comfortable, as Rockford mentioned to
Princess Lyla.
"I'm glad you like it," she said. "Val Boran and Envoy Sonig are already
here and we'll meet for dinner in the central hall. I thought that if we
all got acquainted in a friendly atmosphere like that, it might help a
lot to...."
"That reminds me"--Narf glanced at his watch--"I promised this Boran he
could have a discussion with me--Vesta-Jardeen tariff policies. I
suppose he's already waiting. Come on, Lyla--it will do you no harm to
listen and learn a bit about interplanetary business."
For a long moment she looked at Narf silently, her eyes thoughtful, then
she said to Rockford, "If you will excuse us, please. And be prepared
for Alonzo to come bounding in the minute he learns you're here."
She walked beside Narf to the door and out it, the top of her dark hair
coming just even with his shoulder.
"And that," Rockford said as he settled down in the largest, softest
chair, "was king-to-be Narf, whose business ability is such that all his
inherited Sea Island estates are gone but the one Lyla saved for him and
who owes a total of ten million monetary units, to everyone from call
girls to yacht builders."
"And she is going to marry him?" Hunter asked. "Marry that jackass and
let him bankrupt her kingdom?"
Rockford shrugged. "You may have noticed that she doesn't look the least
bit happy about it--but she is a very conscientious young lady who
regards it as her most solemn duty to keep the promise she made to her
father. For her, there is no escape."
"But--"
"Your first duty will be to cultivate a friendship with her. I'm going
to use her, and you, to get what I want."
"_Use_ us?"
"Yes. One of the most rigid requirements of a Strategic Service man's
character is that he be completely without one."
* * * * *
* * * *
Rockford was asleep in his chair an hour later, three empty beer cans
beside him. Hunter watched him, his doubt of Rockford's competence
growing into a conviction. Rockford had spoken knowingly of his
plan--and had done nothing but drink more beer. Now he was asleep while
time--so limited and precious--went by. He hadn't even bothered to reply
to Hunter's suggestion that perhaps he should call on Val Boran and
counteract some of Envoy Sonig's anti-Terran propaganda.
Hunter came to a decision. If Rockford was still doing nothing when
morning came, he would send an urgent message to Supreme Command.
He went outside, to find a servant and learn how mail was handled.
* * * * *
"_Rook out!_"
Gravel flew as overgrown feet tried to stop, and something like a huge
black dog lunged headlong around the corner and into his legs. He went
to the ground head first over the animal, acutely aware as he went down
of the fascinated interest on the face of a not-so-distant servant.
"I sorry, Rootenant."
He got up, to look down at the doglike animal. There was a concerned
expression in its brown eyes and an apologetic grin on its face. He
recognized it as one of the natives of the grim starvation world of
Altair Four. The Altairians had emigrated to all sections of the galaxy,
to earn a living in whatever humble capacity they could fill. Many were
empathic.
"I run too fast to meet, Mr. Rockford, I guess. Are you hurt,
Rootenant?"
He pulled a cloud tree needle out of his hand and looked grimly down
into the furry face. "In the future, try to look where you're going."
"Oh, I rook, awr right. I just not see. My name is Aronzo, Rootenant,
and I stay here awr the time and guard everything for Princess Ryra. I
prease to meet you and I wirr run errands for you, and do things rike
mair your retters, for candy or cookies, which I are not supposed to eat
much of, but Princess Ryra say not too many wirr hurt me--"
"Mail letters?" Hunter's animosity vanished. "I'm sorry I was rude,
Alonzo--all my fault. I may write a letter to my dear old mother
tonight, and if you would mail it for me in the morning--"
* * * * *
Rockford left ahead of Hunter and it was a minute past the appointed
time when Hunter reached the meeting hall. He heard Narf's loud voice
inside:
"... Boran must have stopped to watch the sunset. Told him I wanted
everyone here on time--"
The low voice of Lyla said something and Narf said, "Not necessary for
you to defend him, my dear. I made it plain to him."
A new voice spoke from behind Hunter:
"It seems I have annoyed Lord Narf."
He was a tall, black-eyed man, with the dark, saturnine face of an
Indian. There was a strange, indefinable air of sadness about him which
reminded Hunter of the sombre little Princess Lyla.
"You're Val Boran, sir?" he said. "I'm Lieutenant Hunter--"
Inside, Narf sat at the head of the table. On his left was Lyla, then
Rockford. On his right was a spidery little man of about fifty, his
slick-back hair so tight against his skull that it gave his head the
appearance of a weasel's. His lips were paper-thin under a long nose,
like those of a dry and selfish old maid, but the round little eyes
darting behind thick glasses were cold and shrewd and missed nothing. He
would be Verdam's Special Envoy Sonig. Hunter appraised him as a man
very dangerous in his own deceptive way.
A servant showed them to their places at the table. Rockford and Val
Boran exchanged greetings. The moment everyone was seated, Narf said,
"Dinner tonight will--"
"Excuse me," Lyla said, "but Mr. Sonig hasn't yet met--"
"Oh ... the young fellow there--" Narf gestured with his hand.
"Rockford's aide. Now, ring the chime, Lyla. Those forest stag steaks
are already getting cold. I killed the beast myself, gentlemen, just
this morning; a long-range running shot that required a bit more than
luck...."
The dinner was excellent, but no one seemed to notice. Narf was absorbed
in the story of his swift rise to eminence in the Vestan Space Guard.
There were humorous incidents:
"... Can't understand why, but I seem to attract women like a magnet.
I'm strictly the masculine type of male and I approve of this but it can
be a blasted nuisance when you're an ensign going up fast and your
commander finds one of your blondes stowed away in your compartment...."
And there were scenes of tense drama:
"... Made a boyhood vow that I'd never settle for anything less than to
always be a man among men. Seem to have succeeded rather well. When I
saw the crew was almost to the snapping point from battle tension I knew
that as commander I'd have to set the example that would inspire."
Hunter recalled Rockford's words of a few hours before: "_Narf got to be
commander, finally, but only because he was the son of the king's best
friend. His record is very mediocre._"
Princess Lyla tried three times to start a conversation of general
interest and was drowned out by Narf each time. Sonig's pretense of
being spellbound by Narf's stories was belied by the way his eyes kept
darting from Rockford to Val Boran. Val's own attention kept shifting
from Narf to the silent Lyla, whose downcast eyes betrayed her
discouragement. She watched Val from under her eyelashes, to look away
whenever their eyes met, and Hunter wondered if she was ashamed because
Narf had given Sonig the seat of honor that should have belonged to Val.
Of course, Narf's own position at the head of the table was actually
Lyla's.
[Illustration]
"... So there's no substitute for competent, unwavering leadership,"
Narf was saying. "Received a citation for that one."
Sonig nodded appreciatively. "Your military record well illustrates the
fact that the tensions of danger and battle can bring forth in a
competent leader the highest kind of courage. But it seems to me that
these same circumstances, if the leader is frightened or incompetent,
can easily produce hysterical actions with disastrous consequences. Is
this true, your lordship?"
Rockford was watching Sonig intently and Hunter saw that there was an
eager anticipation in Sonig's manner.
"You are quite right," Narf answered. "I've always had the ability to
remain cool in any crisis. Very important. Let a commander get rattled
and he may give any kind of an order. Like the New Jardeen Incident."
A frozen silence followed the last five words. Hunter thought, _So
that's what the little weasel was fishing for...._
Rockford quietly laid down his fork. Val's face turned grim. Lyla looked
up in quick alarm and said to Narf:
"Let's not--"
"Don't misunderstand me, gentlemen," Narf's loud voice went on. "_I_
believe the commander of the Terran cruiser wouldn't have ordered it to
fire upon the Verdam cruiser over a neutral world such as New Jardeen
if he had been his rational self. Cold-war battle nerves. So he shot
down the Verdam cruiser and its nuclear converters exploded when it fell
in the center of Colony City. Force of a hydrogen bomb--forty thousand
innocent people gone in a microsecond. Not the commander's fault,
really--fault of the military system that failed to screen out its
unstable officers."
"Yes, your lordship. But is it possible"--Sonig spoke very
thoughtfully--"for a political power, which is of such a nature that it
must have a huge military force to maintain its existence, to thoroughly
screen all its officers? So many officers are required--Can there ever
be any assurance that such tragedies won't occur again and again, until
a majority of worlds combine in demanding an end to aggression and war?"
Rockford spoke to the grim Val:
"I know, sir, that your sister was among the lost in Colony City. I am
sorry. For the benefit of Mr. Sonig and Lord Narf, I would like to
mention that the Verdam cruiser fired upon the Terran cruiser over
neutral New Jardeen in open violation of Galactic Rule. An atmospheric
feedback of the Verdam cruiser's own space blasters tore out its side
and caused it to fall. The Terran cruiser never fired."
"But Mr. Rockford--" Sonig spoke very courteously. "Isn't it true that
certain safety devices prevent atmospheric feedback?"
"They do--unless accidentally or purposely disconnected."