Of course, such an important personage could be traced down-but the first step would be to consult the Office of Aborigine Affairs over on Governor's Island. That meant a two-hour trip, what with a gondola ride both ways and the red tape he was sure to run into. He told himself that he just hadn't had time.
But now he must take time. "Sir Isaac" might be able to get him assigned, or transferred, to the High Guard, quotas or no. The government was extremely anxious to keep the dragons happy and friendly to the new regime. Mankind remained on Venus at the sufferance of the dragons; the politicians knew that.
He felt a little bit sheepish about resorting to political influence-but there were times when nothing else would work.
"Charlie."
"Huh?"
"Go easy on the spoons; I've got to go uptown again."
Charlie grunted grumpily; Don hung up his apron and left. Isobel was not on the desk at 1. T. & T.; Don sent in his name via the clerk on duty and got in to see her father. Mr. Costello looked up as he came in and said, "I'm glad you came in, Mr. Harvey. I wanted to see you."
"My message got through?"
"No, I wanted to give you back your note."
"Huh? What's the matter?"
"I haven't been able to send your message and I don't know when I shall be able to send it. If it turns out later that it can be sent, I'll accept your note-or cash, if you have it."
Don had an unpleasant feeling that he was being given a polite brush-off. "Just a moment, sir. I understood that today was the earliest that communication could be expected. Won't conditions be better tomorrow-and still better the next day?"
"Yes, theoretically. But conditions were satisfactory today. There is no communication with Mars."
"But tomorrow?"
"I haven't made myself clear. We tried to signal Mars; we got no answer. So we used the radar check. The bounce came back right on schedule-two thousand two hundred and thirty-eight seconds, no chance of a ghost blip. So we know that the channel was satisfactory and that. our signal was getting through. But Schiaparelli Station fails to answer -no communication."
"Out of order, maybe?"
"Most unlikely. It's a dual station. They depend on it for astrogation, you know. No, I'm afraid the answer is obvious."
"Yes?"
"The Federation forces have taken the station over for their own uses. We won't be able to communicate with Mars until they let us."
Don left the manager's office looking as glum as he felt. He ran into Isobel just coming into the building. "Don!"
"Oh-hi, Grandma."
She was excited and failed to notice his mood. "Don-I'm just back from Governor's Island. You know what? They're going to form a women's corps!"
"They are?"
"The bill is in committee now. I can't wait-I'll be in it, of course. I've already put my name in."
"You will be? Yes, I guess you would be." He thought about it and added, "I tried to join up this morning."
She threw her arms around his neck, much to the interest of customers in the lobby. "Don!" She untangled herself, to his blushing relief, and added, "Nobody really expected that of you, Don. After all, it's not your fight; your home is on Mars."
"Well, I don't know. Mars isn't exactly my home, either: And they didn't take me they told me to wait for my draft call."
"Well-anyway, I'm proud of you."
He went back to the restaurant, feeling ashamed that he had not had the courage to tell her why he had tried to enlist and why he had been turned down. By the time he reached Charlie's place he had about decided to go again to the recruiting office the next day and let them swear him in as a duckfoot. He told himself that the severance of communication with Mars had cut off his last connection with his old life; he might as well accept this new life with both arms. It was better to volunteer than to be dragged.
On second thought he decided to go over to Governor's
Island first and send some sort of message to "Sir Isaac"-no use staying in the Ground Forces if his friend could wangle a transfer to the High Guard. It was a dead cinch now that the High Guard would eventually send an expedition to Mars; he might as well be in it. He'd get to Mars yet!
On third thought he decided that it might be well to wait a day or two to hear from "Sir Isaac"; it would certainly be easier to get assigned to the Guard in the first place than to get a transfer later.
Yes, that was the sensible thing to do. Unfortunately it did not make him feel pleased with himself.
That night the Federation attacked.
The attack should not have happened, of course. The rice farmer sergeant had been perfectly right; the Federation could not afford to risk its own great cities to punish the villagers of Venus. He was right-from his viewpoint.
A rice farmer has one logic, men who live by and for s power have another and entirely different logic. Their lives are built on tenuous assumptions, fragile as reputation; they cannot afford to ignore a challenge to their power-the Federation could not afford not to punish the insolent colonists.
The Valkyrie, orbiting Venus in free fall, flashed into radioactive gas without warning. The Adonis, in the same orbit a thousand miles astern, saw the explosion and reported it to PHQ at New London; then she, too, became an expanding ball of fire.
Don was awakened from work-drugged sleep by the ululation of sirens. He sat up in the dark, shook his head to clear it, and realized with leaping excitement what the sound was and what it meant. Then he told himself not to be silly; there had been talk lately of holding a night alert-that's what it was: practice.
But he got up and fumbled for the light switch, only to find that the power seemed to he off. He felt around for his clothes, got his right leg in his left trouser leg, tripped. Despite this he was practically dressed by the time a small flickering light came toward him. It was Charlie, carrying a candle in one hand and in the other his favorite cleaver, the one used both for business and social purposes.
The cyclic moan of the sirens continued. "What is it, Charlie?" asked Don. "Do you suppose we've actually been attacked?"
"More likely some dumbhead leaned against the switch."
"Could be. Tell you what-I'm going uptown and find out what's happening."
"Better you stay home."
"I won't be gone long."
In leaving he had to push his way through a crowd of move-overs, all bleating with fright and trying to crowd inside to be close to their friend Charlie. He got through and groped his way to the street, closely escorted by two moveovers who seemed to want to climb into his pockets.
The nights of Venus make the darkest night on Earth feel like twilight. The power seemed to be off all over town; until he turned into Buchanan Street Don could not have counted his own fingers without feeling them. Along Buchanan Street there was an occasional flicker of a lighter and a window or two with dim lights inside. Far up the street someone held a hand torch; Don set his sights on that.
The streets were crowded. He kept bumping into persons in the dark and hearing snatches of speech. "-completely destroyed." "It's a routine drill. I'm a space warden; I know." "Why turn off the lights? Their detectors can pick up the power pile in any case." "Hey-get off my feet!" Somewhere along the way he lost his escort; no doubt the gregarians found someone warmer to snuggle up to.
He stopped where the crowd was thickest, around the office of the New London TIMES. There were emergency lights inside by which it was possible to read the bulletins being pasted up in the window. At the top was: FLASH BULLETIN (UNOFFICIAL) CRUISER VALKYRIE REPORTED BY CRUISER ADONIS TO HAVE EXPLODED 0030 TONITE. CAUSE NOT REPORTED. LOCAL AUTHORITIES DISCOUNT ATTACK POSSIBILITY, FAVOR POSSIBLE SABOTAGE. FURTHER REPORT EXPECTED COMMANDING OFFICER ADONIS.