“Take a seat, Colonel. It’s nice to see you again.” He added, pleasantly, “Where in the world have you been?”
Don slumped into the indicated chair and said wearily, “On a bust, sir. The bust to end all busts. Wine, women and song—and I spent precious little time on the latter.”
The commodore chuckled. “I certainly can’t say that I blame you,” he said.
“It was quite a bust,” Don admitted.
“Well,” the commodore chuckled again. “I don’t suppose we can throw you into the guardhouse for being A.W.O.L. in view of your recent decoration.”
There was nothing to say to that.
“By the way,” the commodore said, “I haven’t had the opportunity to congratulate you on your Kraden. Everything seemed to move so fast, I never got around to it. That was quite a feat, Colonel.”
“Thank you, sir,” Don said. He added modestly, “Rather foolish of me, I suppose.”
“Very much so, as everyone in Space Command has said. On such foolishness, however, are heroic deeds based, Colonel.” The commodore looked at him questioningly. “You undoubtedly had incredible luck. The only way we’ve been able to figure it was that his detectors, his sensors, were on the blink. Do you think that is what might have happened?”
“Yes, sir,” Don nodded quickly. “That’s the way I figure it. And my first beaming must have disrupted his fire control, or whatever the equivalent to it is on Kraden cruisers. It was all a fluke.”
The commodore said, “He didn’t get in any return fire at all?”
“That’s the damnedest thing about it. I’m not really sure, possibly a few blasts. But by that time I was in too close and moving too fast. The fact of the matter is, sir, I don’t think they ever recovered from my first beaming of them. That’s the only way I can account for them not blasting me into molecules. All I would have taken was one minor hit.”
“That’s probably it, all right,” the commodore said musingly. “It’s a shame you had to burn them so badly. We’ve never recovered a Kraden ship in good enough shape to give our techs something to work on. It might make a basic difference in the war, particularly if there was something aboard that we could decipher that would give us some indication of where they were coming from and how they get back and forth at the speed involved. We’ve been fighting this war for half a century—in our own backyard. It would help if we could get into
Don Mathers said uncomfortably, “Well, it’s not as bad as all that, sir. We’ve held them thus far.”
His superior grunted. “We’ve probably held them thus far because we’ve been able to keep out enough patrols to give us ample warning when one of their ships sneaks through. Do you know how much fuel that consumes, Colonel? How much uranium?”
“Well, I know it’s a lot,” Don told him, very seriously, very earnestly. “I’ve been studying up on it lately.”
The other nodded wearily. “So much so that Earth’s industry is switching back to petroleum and coal. Every ounce of radioactives is needed by the Space Service. Even so, it’s just a matter of time.”
Don Mathers pursed his lips. “I didn’t know it was that bad. How is the work on nuclear fusion progressing? As far back as when I was a boy they were predicting a breakthrough any day.”
A puzzled frown came over the small man’s face. He said, “Somehow or other the whole project seems under a hex. Accidents are continually happening; key scientists die, or become incapacitated for one reason or the other. One of our top physicists, a Hungarian chap, just disappeared. If we could just develop nuclear fusion, all our radioactives problems would be over.” He chuckled sourly. “And overnight all those artificial settlements on the satellites would become ghost towns.”
A cold, suspicious finger traced its way up the spine of Don Mathers.
The commodore said, “I’m afraid I’m being a wet blanket thrown over your big binge of a celebration, Colonel. Tell me, how does it feel to hold the system’s highest award?”
Don shook his head, marveling. “Fantastic, sir. Of course, like any member of the Space Service I’ve always known of the Galactic Medal of Honor, but… well, nobody ever expects to get it.” He added, with a short laugh, “Certainly not while he’s still alive and in good health. Why, sir, do you realize that for all practical purposes I haven’t been able to spend one pseudo-dollar of my credit since?” There was an element of awe in his voice. “Sir, do you realize that not even a beggar will accept anything from me?”
The commodore nodded in appreciation. “You must understand the unique position you occupy, Colonel. Your feat was inspiring enough, but that’s not all of it. In a way, you combine both a popular hero with an
“Well, yes, sir,” Don said.
The commodore twisted in a movement of embarrassment, and said, “It is with apology that I confess I had completely misjudged you… Donal. Very frankly, I thought you a cop-out, after that second to the last patrol of yours. You have amply proven how wrong I was.”
Don played it very sincere. “I don’t blame you, sir,” he said. “In fact, to some extent you were correct. I was beginning to decide that you were right, that I should be psyched.”
“You proved otherwise,” Bernklau said and then switched his tone of voice. “That brings us to the present and what your next assignment is to be. Obviously, it wouldn’t do for you to continue in a One Man Scout, particularly with your present rank. Space Command seems to be in favor of using you for morale projects and ——”
Don Mathers cleared his throat and interrupted. “Sir, I’ve decided to drop out of the Space Service.”
“Drop out!” The other stared at him, uncomprehendingly. “We’re at war, Colonel!”
Don nodded seriously. “Yes, sir. And what you just said is true. I couldn’t be used any longer in a One Man Scout, and I don’t have the background to command a larger vessel. I’d wind up selling bonds and giving talks to old ladies’ clubs.”
“Well, hardly that, Colonel.”
“No, sir. I think I’ll be of more use out of the services. I’m tendering my resignation and making arrangements to help in the developing of Callisto and the other Jupiter satellites.”
The commodore said nothing. His lips seemed to be whiter than before.
Don Mathers said doggedly, “Perhaps my prestige will help bring in volunteers to work the new mines out there. If they see me, well, sacrificing, putting up with all of the hardships…”
The commodore said evenly, “Mr. Mathers, I doubt if you will ever have to put up with hardships again, no matter where you make your abode. However, good luck. You deserve it.”
XIII
Inwardly laughing, Don Mathers made his way out of the building. He would never forget the way the commodore’s eyes popped when he announced that he was dropping out of the Space Service. Had he made such an announcement a month ago, he would have been dropped all right, all right, right into the laps of a bunch of psych doctors’ laps. But now? Now there was absolutely nothing the brass could do. He was out! At long last, he was out! No more three week patrols in deep space. No more space cafard. No more toadying to officers who ranked him. No more scorn to be seen in the eyes of his chief mechanic when he came in prematurely from an aborted patrol.
No more of the damned military, period! He got his full salute at the entrance to the administration buildings again and stood there for a moment on the curb, waiting for the hovercart he summoned on his transceiver. While he waited, half a dozen passing officers stopped to shake hands and congratulate him. He recognized several of them, but none too well. They were all of different squadrons than his own. However, the way they gushed, you would have thought they were lifelong buddies. It was a relief when the hovercart pulled up and he got into it.
He dialed the living quarters of the Third Division and got out before the non-residents’ dressing rooms. On
