memory, but your flunkies wouldn’t have it.”
Wallingford nodded. “So young Jakes was telling me. Crazy kid! Actually told me what I could do with his captaincy—not that I’d have commissioned him anyhow, though I expected to have to restore him at the Academy, or some such. But I was grateful when he told me you’d had trouble, so I upped that phony ensign rating you gave him to Junior Leftenant for the duration, with indefinite leave. Then I called in my aides and told them what would happen the next time they pulled a trick like that. I got so worked up I near forgot to call you.
Anyhow, what can I do for you, young man?”
He sat back quietly as Commander Griffith ran through the outline of his arguments, handing over the papers that held a more detailed account. When it was finished, he nodded, and turned to the two boys.
He was still pleasant, but Bob was soon sweating under his cross-questioning. Just what had they seen when they came up to the Ionian and the black ship, anyhow. Under the merciless questions, he began to realize that nothing had been very definite; the view in the screen had been bad; and they’d only come in on the tail end of the whole business. He found himself pouring out his theory that it had all been a fake, and was almost ready to believe it again.
“Good idea,” Wallingford approved. “I like that. Wouldn’t stand up, of course, but no man should ever forget that somebody may just be trying to trick him. Go on, what about your vision under high-drive while you were watching the black ship run away? Sure you weren’t too busy with your theory to concentrate?”
When Wallingford had finished questioning Bob, he reviewed it all again, and then started in on Juan. There he stopped and did a quick double-take. Juan Roman remained as quiet as ever under his questioning, but each question brought forth an answer that took care of it completely, nailed it down, and tied the answer into all that had been said before.
Wallingford held up his hands. “Look, suppose you just tell me everything. Then, if I have any question, I’ll ask them. If you take that long about everything I ask, we’ll never get done.”
When Juan was finished, the Admiral considered silently. “Sounds pretty complete,” he admitted. “Only I understand you didn’t use emergency code. Do you mean to say your father was a merchant captain and you never picked up that information about shipping?”
“I picked it up, yes,” Juan admitted levelly. “But after I got the microphone inside the suit, I thought if I didn’t use it, anyone hearing me would know there was no regular crewman or officer there to send the message. And they would be more concerned and come faster. They would not first stop to ask long details, like who was captain, and what registry, and how long could I hold out. Also, I knew help was coming by the light that flashed. I was not despairing for myself. I was unhappy because help could not come to my father.”
Wallingford shook his head slowly, staring at the boy. He blinked again. “Never would have thought of not using code like that, would you, Griffith? Well, I think I can say I believe your story. But what can I do about it?”
“Stop this stupid attack until we can find out what the race on Planet X is like!” Griffith suggested quickly.
“Maybe. You’ve got a lot of truth and wisdom on your side. None of us, except addlebrains like Jergens here, wants war. If you’re right—and I suspect you are, pretty much—we stand a good chance of being wiped out. On the other hand, maybe we can’t risk peace. A culture superior to ours in strength and weapons might simply enslave us. Besides, it’s strange that with such ships they haven’t tried reaching the inner planets, where their own peace suggestions are thickest. If we can’t trust them—and this is still debatable—then our only hope is a quick attack in full strength.”
“Does that mean I’ve failed?” Bob’s father asked.
“No.” Wallingford considered it carefully. “No, you’ve done all you can. You’ve convinced me I should take this matter up with the staff back on Mars. But I don’t think we can change their minds now, to be honest about it. If the full account had reached them first, they might have gone slower. But they’ve pretty much made up their minds. So have the top circles of the Federation government, and it takes a lot to unmake those minds. The very idea of an alien race in the Solar System—one with ships and weapons—scares them. It’s only recently that we’ve stopped being afraid of our own kind, that we’ve quit fighting amongst ourselves; you can’t expect us to trust any other race yet. Look, I’ll do everything I can, and promise nothing. Fair enough?”
Commander Griffith nodded. “All I expected, really.”
“Good, then that’s settled. Now get out of here, before I get further behind in my work.”
Wallingford chuckled, and reached for the pile of papers in front of him. He looked up, just as the others reached the door. “Dinner’s at seven, young man, and my wife will want to meet you again. Wish I could invite the boys, but we’re cramped for space. I’ll send the car around.” Then he buried his head in his work again.
Commander Griffith was dressing for the dinner when Simon Jakes finally came in. For some reason he seemed uncertain and more awkward than usual. Bob looked up quickly, and was surprised when his father paid no particular attention to Jakes. He adjusted the tie that he could have fixed perfectly with one hand, untied it, and studied his face in the mirror.
“Know how to tie one of these things, Simon?” he asked. “I’m out of practice.”
Simon brightened. “Sure, sir. Here.” His fingers were no longer awkward as he made a neat knot and pulled the ends out to just the right degree.
“Thanks,” Griffith told him. “Oh, yes—thanks for passing on the word I wanted to see the Admiral. We had quite a session, and he’s agreed to take things up with the staff—though he thinks nothing much will come of it. Think I look good enough to dine with him tonight?”
Simon inspected him carefully, and nodded, beaming. “You look good enough to dine with the President, sir!” he answered.
Bob’s father picked up Ms cap and headed for the door, winking quickly as he passed his son. Bob tried to figure it out, and gave up, but it was obviously the right way to handle things. Jakes was whistling as he followed
the other two out to the nearest restaurant. He sat quietly most of the evening, saying nothing about his day and asking nothing about theirs.
They were all in bed when Commander Griffith returned, and still asleep when he left in the morning. Bob found a note that said only the usual, “See you later,” and knew that, his curiosity would have to wait. Probably no business had been discussed anyhow. The three spent the day watching Wing Nine ships having the new acceleration seats installed; spares had been sent along with the Outfleet for them. It seemed to restore Simon to his old self. He watched the preparations of the whole Fleet with unhappy eyes, grumbling to himself.
“Sucker,” he finally said. “Just a natural sucker, that’s me. No reason I shouldn’t be on one, except being a fool! Well, I can still take the Icarius up. Bet I’ll learn more than the whole Fleet.”
“Bet you’ll be shot down before you get there,” Bob told him. “Why don’t you forget it?”
Jakes grumbled a bit more, and then moved off alone toward his little ship, now almost lost on the crowded field. When Juan and Bob started back to the apartment, he was not around, and was still missing by the time Bob’s father returned. But they forgot Jakes as they saw the Commander’s face.
He gave them the news at once. “It’s not all good, but Wallingford had the attack delayed.
Wing Nine takes off tomorrow morning for Planet X, on a scouting mission. We’ll land if we can do so. If that looks impossible, we’ll try to contact X. We’ll try to come back, if that’s cut off. All of that peaceably! But we’re also under orders to attack at the first sign of trouble; experts are souping up our proton guns to about five times the strength right now. You might call us the defusing squad—either we pull out the fuse and keep Planet X harmless—or else we get blown to bits, while the Fleet tries to figure out what they’re up against!”
“But…” Bob started to protest.
His father cut him off. “I think it’s worth the chance, Bob. Wing Nine volunteered for the trip to Planet X.”
“Then you’d better change your mind, sir,” Jakes said from the doorway. They all swung toward him, but he slouched in and refused to meet their eyes. “You know what Planet X is doing now? It’s playing spaceship—it’s on an unnatural orbit, turning itself right off the course plotted for it. And it’s heading in for the orbit of Earth!”
“There’s no such news,” Bob challenged him.
“Not officially,” he admitted. “I spent the whole afternoon buttering up to old Smedley at the observatory here, playing chess to soften him up. He’s a chess fiend—and I’m pretty good at it. Here are his figures and the plotted orbit. They’ll be official as soon as he checks them once more—probably two days from now!”
