“Damn, I hate to use her like that!” he said, reporting to his commander in privacy.
“You’re doing it for her long-range good,” Flandry replied.
“An excuse for a lot of cruelty and treachery in the past.”
“And in the future. Yeh. However … Tom, we’re merely collecting information. Whether we do anything more turns entirely on how things look when we arrive. I’ve told you before, I won’t attempt valorous impossibilities. We may very well go meekly into internment.”
“If we don’t, though—”
“Then we’ll be helping strike down a piece of foredoomed foolishness a little quicker, thereby saving quite a few lives. We can see to it that those lives include Kathryn’s.” Flandry clapped the ensign’s back. “Slack off, son. Figure of speech, that; I’d have had to be more precocious than I was to mean it literally. Nevertheless, slack off, son. Remember the girl who’s waiting for you.”
Havelock grinned and walked away with his shoulders squared. Flandry stayed behind a while. No particular girl for me, ever, he reflected, unless Hugh McCormac has the kindness to get himself killed. Maybe then—
Could 1 arrange that somehow — if she’d never know 1 had — could I? A daydream, of course. But supposing the opportunity came my way … could I?
I honestly can’t say.
Like the American Pacific coast (on Terra, Mother Terra), the western end of Barca wrinkled in hills which fell abruptly down to the sea. When she glimpsed the sheen of great waters, Kathryn scrambled up the tallest tree she could find. Her shout descended leaf by leaf, as sunshine does: “Byrsa Head! Can’t be anything else! We’re less’n 50 kilometers south of Port Frederiksen!”
She came down in glory. And Dominic Flandry was unable to say more than: “I’ll proceed from here by myself.”
“What?”
“A flit, in one of the spacesuits. First, we’ll make camp in some pleasant identifiable spot. Then I’ll inquire if they can spare us an aircraft. Quicker than walking.”
“Let me go long,” she requested, ashiver with impatience.
You can go ’long till the last stars burn out, if you choose. Only you don’t choose. “Sorry, no. Don’t try to radio, either. Listen, but don’t transmit. How can we tell what the situation is? Maybe bad; for instance, barbarians might have taken advantage of our family squabble and be in occupation. I’ll check. If I’m not back in … oh … two of these small inexpensive days” — You always have to clown, don’t you? — “Lieutenant Valencia will assume command and use his own judgment.” I’d prefer Havelock. Valencia’s too sympathetic to the revolt. Still, I have to maintain the senior officer convention if I’m to lie to you, my dearest, if I’m to have any chance of harming your cause, my love until I die.
His reminder dampened hilarity. The troop settled in by a creek, under screening trees, without fire. Flandry suited up. He didn’t give any special alert to Woe or to his several solid allies among the men. They had arranged a system of signals many marches before.
“Be careful, Dominic,” Kathryn said. Her concern was a knife in him. “Don’t risk yourself. For all our sakes.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “I enjoy living.” Oh, yes, I expect to keep on enjoying it, whether or not you will give it any real point. “Cheers.” He activated the impeller. In a second or two, he could no longer see her waving goodbye.
He flew slowly, helmet open, savoring the wind and salt smells as he followed the coastline north. The ocean of moonless Dido had no real surf, it stretched gray under the gray sky, but in any large body of water there is always motion and mystery; he saw intricate patterns of waves and foam, immense patches of weed and shoals of swimming animals, a rainstorm walking on the horizon. To his right the land lifted from wide beaches, itself a quilt of woods and meadows, crossed by great herds of grazers and flocks of flyers. By and large, he thought, planets do well if man lets them be.
Despite everything, his pulse accelerated when Port Frederiksen appeared. Here was his destiny.
The base occupied a small, readily defensible peninsula. It was sufficiently old to have become a genuine community. The prefab sheds, shelters, and laboratories were weathered, vine-begrown, almost a part of the landscape; and among them stood houses built from native wood and stone, in a breeze-inviting style evolved for this place, and gardens and a park. Kathryn had said the population was normally a thousand but doubtless far less during the present emergency. Flandry saw few people about.
His attention focused on the spacefield. If it held a mere interplanetary vessel, his optimum bet was to surrender. But no. Hugh McCormac had left this prized outpost a hyperdrive warship. She wasn’t big — a Conqueror-class subdestroyer, her principal armament a blaster cannon, her principal armor speed and maneuverability, her normal complement twenty-five — but she stood rakish on guard, and Flandry’s heart jumped.
That’s my baby! He passed close. She didn’t appear to have more than the regulation minimum of two on duty, to judge from the surrounding desertion. And why should she? Given her controls, instruments, and computers, a single man could take her anywhere. Port Frederiksen would know of approaching danger in time for her personnel to go aboard. Otherwise they doubtless helped the civilians.
Emblazoned above her serial number was the name Erwin Rommel. Who the deuce had that been? Some Germanian? No, more likely a Terran, resurrected from the historical files by a data finder programmed to christen several score thousand of Conquerors.
People emerged from buildings. Flandry had been noticed. He landed in the park. “Hello,” he said. “I’ve had a bit of a shipwreck.”
During the next hour, he inquired about Port Frederiksen. In return, he was reasonably truthful. He told of a chance encounter with an enemy vessel, a crash landing, a cross-country hike. The main detail he omitted was that he had not been on McCormac’s side.
If his scheme didn’t work, the Aeneans would be irritated when they learned the whole truth; but they didn’t strike him as the kind who would punish a ruse of war.
Essentially they were caretakers: besides the Rommel’s crew, a few scientists and service personnel. Their job was to maintain the fruitful relationship with neighboring Didonians and the fabric of the base. Being what they were, they attempted in addition to continue making studies.
Physically, they were isolated. Interplanetary radio silence persisted, for Josipist ships had raided the Virgilian System more than once. Every month or so, a boat from Aeneas brought supplies, mail, and news. The last arrival had been only a few days before. Thus Flandry got an up-to-date account of events.
From the Aenean viewpoint, they were dismal. Manufacture, logistics, and communications were falling apart beneath Hugh McCormac. He had given up trying to govern any substantial volume of space. Instead, he had assigned forces to defend individually the worlds which had declared for him. They were minimal, those forces. They hampered but could not prevent badgering attacks by Snelund’s squadrons. Any proper flotilla could annihilate them in detail.
Against that development, McCormac kept the bulk of his fleet around Satan. If the Josipists gathered in full strength, he would learn of it from his scouts, go meet the armada, and rely on his tactical abilities to scatter it.