“Could be,” Abrams said. “In fact, it’s sort of a working hypothesis for me. But it don’t smell right somehow.”
“I aim to warn them,” Hauksberg said. “Informally and privately, to keep pride and such from complicatin’ matters. If we can discover who the reasonable elements are in their government, we can cooperate with those—most discreetly—to freeze the warhawks out.”
“Trouble is,” Abrams said, “the whole bunch of them are reasonable. But they don’t reason on the same basis as us.”
“No, you’re the unreasonable one, old chap. You’ve gotten paranoid on the subject.” Hauksberg refilled their glasses, a clear gurgle through the stillness. “Have another drink while I explain to you the error of your ways.”
The officers’ lounge was deserted. Persis had commandeered from the bar a demi of port but had not turned on the fluoros. Here in the veranda, enough light came through the viewport which stretched from deck to overhead. It was soft and shadowy, caressed a cheek or a lock of hair and vanished into susurrant dark.
Stars were the source, uncountable throngs of them, white, blue, yellow, green, red, cold and unwinking against an absolute night. And the Milky Way was a shining smoke and the nebulae and the sister galaxies glimmered at vision’s edge. That was a terrible beauty.
Flandry was far too conscious of her eyes and of the shape enclosed by thin, slightly phosphorescent pajamas, where she faced him in her lounger. He sat stiff on his. “Yes,” he said, “yonder bright one, you’re right, Donna, a nova. What … uh … what Saxo’s slated to become before long.”
“Really?” Her attentiveness flattered him.
“Yes. F-type, you know. Evolves faster than the less massive suns like Sol, and goes off the main sequence more spectacularly. The red giant stage like Betelgeuse is short—then bang.”
“But those poor natives!”
Flandry made a forced-sounding chuckle. “Don’t worry, Donna. It won’t happen for almost a billion years, according to every spectroscopic indication. Plenty of time to evacuate the planet.”
“A billion years.” She shivered a little. “Too big a number. A billion years ago, we were still fish in the Terran seas, weren’t we? All the numbers are too big out here.”
“I, uh, guess I’m more used to them.” His nonchalance didn’t quite come off.
He could barely see how her lips curved upward. “I’m sure you are,” she said. “Maybe you can help me learn to feel the same way.”
His tunic collar was open but felt tight anyhow. “Betelgeuse is an interesting case,” he said. “The star expanded slowly by mortal standards. The autochthons could develop an industrial culture and move out to Alfzar and the planets beyond. They didn’t hit on the hyperdrive by themselves, but they had a high-powered interplanetary society when Terrans arrived. If we hadn’t provided a better means, they’d have left the system altogether in sublight ships. No real rush. Betelgeuse won’t be so swollen that Alfzar becomes uninhabitable for another million years or better. But they had their plans in train. A fascinating species, the Betelgeuseans.”
“True.” Persis took a sip of wine, then leaned forward. One leg, glimmering silky in the starlight, brushed his. “However,” she said, “I didn’t lock onto you after dinner in hopes of a lecture.”
“Why, uh, what can I do for you, Donna? Glad to, if—” Flandry drained his own goblet with a gulp. His pulse racketed.
“Talk to me. About yourself. You’re too shy.”
“About me?” he squeaked. “Whatever for? I mean, I’m nobody.”
“You’re the first young hero I’ve met. The others, at home, they’re old and gray and crusted with decorations. You might as well try to make conversation with Mount Narpa. Frankly, I’m lonesome on this trip. You’re the single one I could relax and feel human with. And you’ve hardly shown your nose outside your office.”
“Uh, Donna, Commander Abrams has kept me busy. I didn’t want to be unsociable, but, well, this is the first time he’s told me I could go off duty except to sleep. Uh, Lord Hauksberg—”
Persis shrugged. “He doesn’t understand. All right, he’s been good to me and without him I’d probably be an underpaid dancer on Luna yet. But he does not understand.”
Flandry opened his mouth, decided to close it again, and recharged his goblet.
“Let’s get acquainted,” Persis said gently. “We exist for such a short time at best. Why were you on Starkad?”
“Orders, Donna.”
“That’s no answer. You could simply have done the minimum and guarded jour neck. Most ot them seem to. You must have some belief in what you’re doing.”
“Well—I don’t know, Donna. Never could keep out of a good scrap, I suppose.”
She sighed. “I thought better of you, Dominic.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Cynicism is boringly fashionable. I didn’t think you would be afraid to say mankind is worth fighting for.”
Flandry winced. She had touched a nerve. “Sort of thing’s been said too often, Donna. The words have gone all hollow. I … I do like some ancient words. ‘…the best fortress is to be found in the love of the people.’ From Machiavelli.”
“Who? Never mind. I don’t care what some dead Irishman said. I want to know what you care about. You are the future. What did Terra give you, for you to offer your life in return?”
“Well, uh, places to live. Protection. Education.”
“Stingy gifts,” she said. “You were poor?”
“Not really, Donna. Illegitimate son of a petty nobleman. He sent me to good schools and finally the Naval Academy.”
“But you were scarcely ever at home?”
“No. Couldn’t be. I mean, my mother was in opera then. She had her career to think of. My father’s a scholar, an encyclopedist, and, uh, everything else is sort of incidental to him. That’s the way he’s made. They did their duty by me. I can’t complain, Donna.”
“At least you won’t.” She touched his hand. “My name is Persis.”
Flandry swallowed.
“What a hard, harsh life you’ve had,” she mused. “And still you’ll fight for the Empire.”
“Really, it wasn’t bad … Persis.”
“Good. You progress.” This time her hand lingered.
“I mean, well, we had fun between classes and drills. I’m afraid I set some kind of record for demerits. And later, a couple of training cruises, the damnedest things happened.”
She leaned closer. “Tell me.”
He spun out the yarns as amusingly as he was able.
She cocked her head at him. “You were right fluent there,” she said. “Why are you backward with me?”
He retreated into his lounger. “I—I, you see, never had a chance to, uh, learn how to, well, behave in circumstances like—”
She was so near that beneath perfume he caught the odor of herself. Her eyes were half closed, lips parted. “Now’s your chance,” she whispered. “You weren’t afraid of anything else, were you?”
Later, in his cabin, she raised herself to one hand and regarded him for a long moment. Her hair spilled across his shoulder. “And I thought I was your first,” she said.
“Why, Persis!” he grinned.
“I felt so—And every minute this evening you knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I had to take action,” he said. “I’m in love with you. How could I help being?”
“Do you expect me to believe that? Oh, hell, just for this voyage I will. Come here again.”
10
Ardaig, the original capital, had grown to surround that bay where the River Oiss poured into the Wilwidh Ocean; and its hinterland was now megalopolis eastward to the Hun foothills. Nonetheless it retained a flavor of antiquity. Its citizens were more tradition-minded, ceremonious, leisurely than most. It was the cultural and artistic center of Merseia. Though the Grand Council still met here annually, and Castle Afon was still the Roidhun’s official primary residence, the bulk of government business was transacted in antipodal Tridaig. The co-capital was young, technology-oriented, brawling with traffic and life, seething with schemes and occasional violence. Hence there had been surprise when Brechdan Ironrede wanted the new Navy offices built in Ardaig.