Cockney’s faded eyes shifted, in furtive fashion. He said, “But our orders…”
Don was feeling belligerent. He said, “Get out of here or I’ll call over that squad of guards and have you thrown out.”
The small man looked at him in dismay. “Yes, sir,” he said. He climbed back into the hover-limousine looking apprehensive. Don assumed he was worrying about what to tell Demming.
Well, the hell with Demming. It was bad enough having to live in his establishment, as Alicia called it. He wasn’t going to put up with the other dictating every move he made.
He strode toward the entry and the squad of guards there sprang to stiff salute, presenting their laser rifles with precision. Inwardly, Don was amused. He had gone through these portals hundreds of times before and not a guard had ever batted an eye at him, not to speak of coming to attention.
Their lieutenant approached him and saluted snappily. “Could I be of assistance, Colonel?”
Don smiled and said, “No thanks, Lieutenant. I know my way around.”
The other was a few years younger than Don Mathers. He said, admiration in his voice. “You certainly do, sir.” He stepped aside.
The doors opened and Don entered and retraced the route he had been over so many times.
But this time was with a difference. The hustle and bustle dropped off. The chatter of the voco-typers and other electronic business machine equipment fell away. He could hear a multitude of whispers and even made out some of them.
“That’s him…”
“Holy Moses, the Galactic Medal of Honor…”
And a feminine voice, “How would you like to be able to date him, Gracie…?”
Doors opened magically before him. Guards presented arms, rather than asking for identification. If there was anyone in the solar system not acquainted with his face by this time, they must have been in remote areas indeed.
Eventually, he stood before his immediate commander, Commodore Walt Bernklau. Don came to attention and tossed the other a snappy salute.
The commodore returned it, just as snappily, and leaned his small body back in his swivel chair. He said, “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 their backyard for a change. It’s problematical how long we can hold them off at this rate. If they ever come through with another major fleet, like they did the first time, or, more likely, even a larger fleet…”
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 Unknown Soldier element. Awarding you the Galactic Medal of Honor makes a symbol of you, a symbol representing all the thousands of unsung heroes and heroines who have died or been disabled in our space effort. It’s not a light burden to carry on your shoulders, Colonel Mathers. I would imagine it a very humbling honor.”
“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.”