“And then,” he said flatly, “suppose I kicked you out in the morning?”
Dian winced, but kept her eyes even with his, her own moist now. “You forget,” she whispered. “You have been awarded the Galactic Medal of Honor, the bearer of which can do no wrong.”
“Almighty Ultimate!” Don muttered in soul defeat. He filled his glass, still once again, motioning to a nearby captain of waiters who was obviously hovering only for his orders.
“Yes, Colonel,” the captain said.
Don said, “Look, in about five minutes I’m going to pass out. See that I get to some hotel, any hotel, will you? And that this young lady gets to her apartment. And, waiter, just send my bill to the Radioactives Mining Corporation.”
The other bowed. “The manager’s instructions, sir, are that Colonel Mathers must never see a bill in this establishment.”
Dian said, worrying over the new drink he was taking, “Don!”
He didn’t look at her. He raised his glass to his mouth and shortly afterward the fog rolled in again.
When it rolled out, the unfamiliar taste of black coffee.was in his mouth. He shook his head in an attempt to achieve clarity.
He seemed to be in some working class type auto-cafeteria. Next to him, in a booth, was a fresh faced sub- lieutenant of the, Don squinted at the collar tabs, yes, of the Space Service. A One Man Scout pilot.
Don stuttered, “Cheers. What spins?”
The pilot said apologetically, “Sub-lieutenant Pierpont, sir. You seemed so far under the weather that I thought I’d best take over. No disrespect, sir.”
“Oh, you did, eh?”
“Well, yes sir. You were, well, reclining in the gutter, sir. In spite of your, well, appearance, your condition, I recognized you, sir.”
“Oh,” Don got out. His stomach was an objecting turmoil.
The lieutenant said, “Want to try some more of this coffee now, sir? Or maybe some soup or a sandwich?”
Don groaned, “No, no thanks. I don’t think I could hold it down.”
The pilot grinned. “You must have thrown a classic, Colonel Mathers.”
“I guess so. Don’t call me Colonel. I’m a damned civilian now. What time is it? No, that doesn’t make any difference. What’s the date?”
Pierpont told him and then added, “You’ll always be Colonel Mathers to me, sir. I have your photo-graph above my bed, and in the cockpit of my Scout.”
The date was hard to believe. The last he could remember, he had been with Di. With Dian in some nightclub. He wondered how long ago that had been.
He growled at the lieutenant, “Well, how go the One Man Scouts?”
Pierpont grinned back at him. “Glad to be out of them, sir?”
“Usually.”
Pierpont looked at him strangely. He said, “I don’t blame you, sir. But it isn’t as bad as it used to be when you were still in the Space Service, Colonel.”
Don grunted at that opinion. He said, “How come? Two weeks to a month, all by yourself, watching the symptoms of space cafard progress. Then three weeks of leave to get drunk in, get laid in, and then another stretch in deep space.”
The pilot snorted in deprecation. “That’s the way it used to be,” he said. He fingered the spoon in his coffee cup. “That’s the way it still should be, of course. But it isn’t. They’re spreading the duty around now and I spend less than one week out of four on patrol.”
Don hadn’t been listening too closely, but now he looked up. “What’d ya mean?”
Pierpont said, “I mean, sir—I suppose this isn’t bridging security, seeing who you are, but fuel stocks are running so low, in spite of all
There was a cold emptiness in Don Mathers* stomach.
He said, “Look, I’m still woozy. Say that again, Lieutenant.”
The lieutenant told him again.
Don Mathers rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth and tried to think.
He said, finally, “Look, Lieutenant, first let’s get another cup of coffee into me and maybe that sandwich you were talking about. And then would you help me to get back to my place?”
He might be drunk, and he might not be up on the inner workings of the Donal Mathers Radioactives Corporation, but he knew damn well that production of uranium had zoomed since its founding.
XVIII
It took him four days, even with the aid of Anti-Ale and some Vitamin B-Complex shots. During that period, he kept in seclusion, not even seeing Alicia.
And during the four days, something that Eric Hansen had said to him came back, and with it some of the things Thor Bjornsen had said.
When he had gotten to the point where his hands no longer trembled, he cleaned himself up thoroughly, ate a good breakfast, dressed carefully, then went into his study. He sat down at the desk and looked into the Library booster screen. He dialed the Interplanetary Data Banks and then Information.
A sharp-looking young man’s face faded in and Don said, “Run off all the video-tapes that were taken of the battle between the Kradens and the four Earth fleets, fifty years ago.”
The young man widened his eyes. He said, “Just a moment, sir.”
His face faded to be replaced shortly by an older man’s. This one wore the uniform of a space admiral.
He said, “Colonel Mathers! What a pleasure to speak to you.”
Don said, “Great. I want to see all of the videotapes taken of the battle between the Kradens and the Earth fleets, half a century ago.”
The other frowned. He said, carefully, “Well, actually, Colonel, we have an edited version, which runs for approximately one hour, that is for public consumption. I imagine you saw it as a cadet at the Space Academy.”
“Yes, I did,” Don said impatiently. “That’s not what I want. I want the complete unedited tapes, every one taken.”
“I assure you, Colonel Mathers, due to the pressures and excitement at the time, those video-tapes were photographed in most haphazard and slipshod fashion. Literally scores of different cameras were trained on the fight at one time or the other.” He gave a small laugh. “Later, some were to find that they had forgotten to put tapes in the cameras. Others found… Well, at any rate, Colonel, they’re a hodgepodge. I’m glad I didn’t have the job of editing them into the coherent story.”
Don said, “Nevertheless, I want to see them all.”
The fleet admiral stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he said, “I am most sorry, Colonel, but some of the video-tapes are restricted, for security reasons.”
Don said, “I am Donal Mathers, as you well know, and I wish to see those video-tapes. Are you suggesting that I am not cleared for highest security? If you do not begin screening those video-tapes for me immediately, I shall get in touch with President Kwame Kumasi of the Solar System League and we will soon find if there is anything in the Interplanetary Data Banks so restricted that a holder of the Galactic Medal of Honor can’t see it. I shall further suggest to the President and to the media that in my estimation you are incompetent.”
The fleet admiral gave up, his face resigned. “Very well, Colonel. However, I have one request. When you are through, please call me again. I will wish to discuss them with you.”
Don leaned back in his chair. “The video-tapes, please. All of them.”
Within moments, they began flashing on the screen. There were hours upon hours of them. Evidently, all four of the Earth space fleets had taken tape after tape. The space admiral had been correct, many of them, probably
