“All right,” Don said, in acceptance of the inevitable. “But let me have my accounting.” He stuck his Universal Credit Card into the payment slot before him.
Harry went and got the bill from a sheaf of bills in a confusion of fellow bills in a drawer. Don wondered how in the hell the man stayed in business when he wouldn’t turn down the credit requests of any man in space uniform.
Actually, Don was surprised at the magnitude of his own. Hadn’t he ever paid up even part of his bar tab? Not that he gave a damn. He made the credit transfer and then said, “How about a tequila, for old time’s sake, Harry? I haven’t had a tequila since I was in here last.”
The lieutenant down the bar from him said, in a woozy voice, “How about one with me, Don?”
It was Eric Hansen, who had been here the last time Don had dropped by. A fellow One Man Scout pilot and a member of Don’s squadron—Don’s former squadron, he amended thankfully. Eric was already obviously drenched. At this time of the morning? He was asking for it. It wouldn’t be long before he was ordered psyched, if he wanted it or not.
“Sure, Eric,” Don said.
The other slid off his stool and climbed shakily up on the one next to Don Mathers.
Harry said worriedly, “You sure you need any more, Lieutenant Hansen? Dint you tell me you were due to go on patrol today?”
“Shut up,” Eric said. “That’s why I need another one. Ill have tequila, too, though why I should drink that rotgut is a holy mystery. How’s it going, Don, you lucky son-of-a-bitch?”
Don said, a little irritated, “I didn’t ask for the damn decoration.”
“That’s not what I was talking about. I mean you’re lucky to be alive.”
“That I am,” Don admitted, going into his usual modesty routine. “But anybody else would have done the same thing.”
“Go up against a Miro Class cruiser? Like hell I would. I would have hung back out of range on his flanks as long as I could keep him in my sensors and reported to Command. In fact, that’s exactly what I did do when I spotted mine.”
Don said uncomfortably, “You didn’t have time to close in. You hardly more than glimpsed yours.”
“Thank the Almighty Ultimate I only glimpsed him,” Eric slurred. “I nearly shit myself as it was.”
Don ignored that. He took up his salt and tequila and toasted the other. “Cheers,” he said.
They went through the tequila ceremony and Eric Hansen reeled to the point Don was afraid he’d fall off the stool. Harry looked at him worriedly.
He said to Don, “Won’t they throw him into the brig?”
Don said, trying to keep bitterness from his voice, in his new role as hero, “No. They’ll throw him into space, with an initial double dose of oxygen. He’ll sober up out there. What percentage of Scouts do you think go up completely drenched?”
Harry didn’t answer that, but he looked distressed.
Eric said, “You wanta know something, Don?”
“Sure, Eric.”
“Well, you know that last time I saw you asked if I really saw that Kraden I reported that time? You told me about that friend of yours who didn’t think they were really coming back. And you know, I got around to believing that he was right. I had a touch of cafard, knock on wood…” he knocked on the bar which wasn’t wood but plastic “… and just imagined it. But now I know I was wrong. If you knocked one of them out, they’re still coming back.”
Don couldn’t think of anything to say.
Eric looked at his chronometer and slurred, ” I gotta be getting over to the base. Listen, Don, what are you doing in mufti?”
“I just resigned.”
“I wish the hell I could,” Eric Hansen said, slipping from his stool. He looked about the bar, his eyes finally coming to rest on the two tired potted cactus plants flanking the door. “Well, adios, guys. Isn’t that what they say in Mexico?”
Neither Don nor Harry knew what they said in Mexico.
They watched the space pilot stumble toward the entrance.
“He drinks too much,” Harry said worriedly. “Don’t you guys have to be sharp all the time out in deep space?”
“Not for a day or so,” Don told him. “It’s all pretty automated at first. Not until you get to your own patrol sector.” He was sorry now he had come here.
Eric Hansen had hardly left before the door swung open again and a king-sized redhead entered. Both Don and the bartender looked up.
In surprise, Don recognized the newcomer. What in the hell was his name? Thor, something or other. The big man had rescued him from the drunken footpads and then took him back to his apartment to sleep off his own load of guzzle. It came back to Don Mathers. A present-day pacifist who didn’t believe in the all out effort against the Kradens.
The overgrown Viking came up with a grin on his square face. He held out a hand and said, “Thor Bjornsen. Remember me?”
Don shook and said, “Sure I remember you. You saved my neck. What in the world are you doing here?”
The other looked around the barroom, noting it was empty, and spotting a booth in the furthest corner. “Looking for you,” he said. “Could I have a few minutes of your time?”
“You can have, all of my time you want. How about a drink?”
“Okay. Let’s go over to that booth. I’d like to keep it private.”
They ordered their drinks and carried them over to the booth and got in it across from each other.
Don said, “How’d you know I was in here?”
Thor Bjornsen told him, “It was on the news this morning that you had returned to Center City. I remembered that you’d made it rather clear that you didn’t like the Space Service. I made an educated guess that one of the first things you’d do is come out here and resign.” He took in the civilian suit Don was wearing. “Was I right?”
“Yes.”
“At any rate, I came out and hung around the main entrance to the base. Finally, I spotted you leaving and followed you over here.”
Don took a swallow of his drink and scowled at the other. The drink tasted awful after the guzzle he’d been drinking recently. “Why?” he said.
“I wanted to talk to you about that Kraden you destroyed. You see, you flushing the cruiser and shooting it out with him throws the whole argument of the organization I belong to out of kilter.”
“How do you mean?” Don said cautiously.
“Remember? Our story is that the Kradens aren’t coming back. They were a peaceful armada, probably interested in trade, or new planets to colonize, if they weren’t already occupied.”
Don said grumpily, “That big shoot out we had with them half a century ago didn’t indicate that they were exactly peace lovers.”
The big man was unhappy at that. He said slowly, “As I mentioned to you before, some of us aren’t sure that the Kradens participated in that shoot out. That possibly they were shocked by the attack upon them and simply disappeared back into hyper-space, or whatever they call it.”
Don said, “Look, even if they were originally peacefully inclined, once our four space fleets hit them, they’d fire back.”
The big Scandinavian shook his head. “Not necessarily. The human race doesn’t subscribe to Jesus’ teaching that, if someone slaps you, turn the other cheek. But that doesn’t mean that more advanced, more enlightened cultures might not believe in it. Possibly when attacked, and even after having lost some of their spaceships, the Kradens, with their higher ethics, simply left.”
“Why did my cruiser come back?”
“How do you know it was a cruiser? Perhaps it was a merchantman, an explorer, possibly it was a ship bearing ambassadors.” Thor leaned forward. “Tell me the truth, Don. Did it fire at you? Even after you had initiated your attack?”