after detaching the transports.'
Birrel, as he poured out the drinks, was listening carefully. This was going to be a sticky enough job and he could not afford to fog up any details. But, as he stood listening, he became aware of a curious thing happening to him.
He was shaking a little. A feeling had come up in him that he did not even recognize at first, but it was so blindly hot and strong that it seemed to grasp his whole mind and body, leaving his will no control at all. Standing there gripped by that overmastering emotion.
Birrel heard himself speaking, yet it seemed to him that his lips spoke without any command at all from his mind. He heard himself saying, “I'm not going to have any part in it, Ferdias.'
He had never astonished Ferdias before. He did so this time. Ferdias stared blankly, stopping in mid- sentence.
'You what?'
Birrel carefully set down the half-filled glass. “Your grab for Earth. I'm having no part in it. None.'
And now, as he spoke the words, Birrel knew what it was, that overpowering feeling. It was an anger so deep that it completely possessed him. All the time out there, in the twilight, that he had been talking of logistics and ships and routes, he had been trying to ignore that anger, to thrust it down into his subconscious and forget it. He could not keep it down any longer, it had suddenly broken through and taken hold of him and he was shaking with it.
Ferdias had leaped to his feet. His blank astonishment had been replaced by the look with which he always faced a challenge.
'What's the matter with you, Jay? I've explained that this alliance isn't a grab—'
'You explained to me before,” Birrel interrupted harshly. “Back at Vega Four, remember? You said, ‘I don't want Earth, all I want is to keep Solleremos from grabbing it.'
Ferdias nodded, with a sort of dangerous calmness. “Yes, I said that.'
'Was it true, Ferdias? Or was that just talk for my benefit, so I'd come on this mission full of noble ideas about how we were protecting Earth, not threatening it?'
'Listen to me, Jay…” Ferdias began, but Birrel went on.
'Just as you're talking to me now about friendly alliances and how it's all for the good of Earth when, what you really mean is, that now Sollerernos has been repulsed, we can grab it for ourselves.'
Ferdias almost never lost his temper. But his iron control over it slipped a bit now, and he said, violently, “What's all this talk about truth and lies and intentions? Do you suppose that the game for stars is played according to Sunday school rules?'
'Play it any way you want to,” said Birrel. “I don't mind your lying, if you want stars that badly. But I object to your making a liar out of me. And you've made me one, for the first time in my life. Ever since I got to Earth, I've been telling everyone we had no hidden intentions, telling them that all we wanted to do was help them. All right, I refuse to be a liar any more, if you go ahead and do this, I'll have no part in it.'
Ferdias’ eyes were flaring, but he kept his temper now. He stood looking into Birrel's face and, after a moment, he said, “You're resentful, because you think I didn't trust you with the truth. But there's more to your resentment than that.'
'Isn't that enough?” demanded Birrel. “To send a man on a job and not even tell him where he stands?'
'No, there's more to it than that,” said Ferdias, eyeing him. “You wouldn't blow up like this for that alone. You've worked up an emotion about the old home world, Earth. Haven't you?'
'Oh, hell,” said Birrel, “if you think I care a curse one way or another about this world—'
'Who's doing the lying now?” asked Ferdias, in a voice like a whiplash.
Birrel started to answer, then did not. What Ferdias said was ridiculous, and yet… Was it possible for a man to be snared by nostalgia? Could such trivial things as trees and fireflies, birds and sunsets, a forlorn, old farm under the moon, could things like that reach and touch something in the subconscious of a man, something which he had inherited, but never knew he had? No, it was foolish to suppose so, Ferdias was just talking, and talk was not enough this time. He said, with an edge to his voice, “I'm sure of one thing. I will not give the Fifth any orders to attack or intimidate the UW fleet or Earth.'
Ferdias looked him in the eye. He said flatly, “As of this moment, you're relieved of all command. Brescnik will take over.'
And the blow had fallen and to his secret amazement, Birrel did not seem to feel it at all, his hard resentment and resolve were quite unchanged. He said calmly, “Brescnik's a good officer. He'll obey your orders. But will the Fifth obey him, if he orders potential action against Earth?'
'They're not all as sentimental as you, Jay,” said Ferdias. “They'll obey.'
'Will they? Why don't you ask Joe Garstang?'
Ferdias frowned at him. Then he went to the door and called Garstang in.
Garstang listened and his face, respectful and awed at first, became increasingly unhappy.
'Well?” said Ferdias impatiently.
'I don't know,” said Garstang painfully. “Of course, nobody's going to disobey direct orders. But still—'
'But still what?” demanded Ferdias.
With an heroic effort, Garstang looked into his eyes. “The UW fleet helped us clobber Solleremos, you know. They fought beside us and they more than pulled their weight. Nobody would like turning against them — though of course, orders.” His rambling stopped, and he looked almost desperately around and then added, “Too, the big part of us came from here, I mean away back. Nearly everybody's got some sentiment—'
'Give me a direct answer,” Ferdias ordered curtly. “Would the ranks of the Fifth carry out such orders, if they were necessary?'
Garstang, scared and sweating, looked at him. He said, in a tone little above a whisper, “Honest to God, sir, I don't know.'
Ferdias looked at him for a moment, in silence. Then he went over and looked out the window into the darkness, saying nothing, His face was the face of a man who had fought his way through many foes to the moment of victory, only to find his sword breaking in his hand.
He said after a while, without turning, “I should have foreseen this. Earth is important in galactic politics, because of the psychological influence it has on men's minds. But I forgot that the thing would cut both ways, would affect my own men all the time they were here—'
He was silent, as though the irony of that was too bitter on his lips to utter. Birrel and Garstang looked at him and said nothing. Finally, he turned back toward them. His face was bard, dark and stony, but his voice was composed.
'Very well. The Fifth will take part in the commemoration and then return to Vega as scheduled. You'll forget that I was here.'
For just one moment, his control slipped again and his voice flared. “There'll be another time, and I'll take care…” Then he stopped, and turned toward the door.
Birrel said, “I'll turn over command to Brescnik tonight.'
Ferdias stopped at the door, and looked back at Birrel. He was an ambitious man, a ruthless man, and an unscrupulous man. But he was not a small man.
'You served me long and faithfully, Jay, though you did go weak on me in the end. You'll return to Vega in command, and will resign two weeks later, with full honors. I think that pays any debt I owe you.'
Birrel felt so strong a tug of old loyalty, old comradeship, that he almost wanted to deny all that he had said, to make it between himself and Ferdias as it had always been. He could not quite do it. But he held out his hand.
Ferdias struck his hand away. “The hell with that,” he said, and went out into the darkness.
Garstang, stricken, came to life and tumbled after him.
Birrel stood still. It seemed to him that at this moment he should be feeling crushed, shattered, by the impulsive jettisoning of his life, his career, almost everything that had meant much to him. Yet he did not feel so.
He looked around at the old room and the things in it and at the windows, outside which the trees bent and whispered. What had he to do with this place? How could he have been such a fool? And even more bewildering, he did not feel like a fool.
