The Aleriona glided into pickup range. “My lord!” Yore gasped.
“In honor’s name did Captain Heim appeal me-ward,” Cynbe sang. “A bond is between us that we did battle once. Nor may my ancient race drink of shame. Is not yonder child returned, we must depart this planet and invoke that cleansing which is in open war. Thus do I command your help.”
“M-m-my lord—I—Yes! At once!”
Heim switched off the set. The air whistled from his lungs and his knees shook. “Th-th-thanks,” he stuttered. “Uh… uh… as soon as Vadász lets me know she’s arrived, we’ll take off.
Deliver you near a town.”
Cynbe watched him for a time before he asked: “Play your chess, Captain? Of Earth’s every creation, there is the one finest. And well should I like that you not have her enminded a while.”
“No, thanks,” Heim said. “You’d win on fool’s mate every time. I’d better see about getting our false identification removed.”
He was glad of the winter cold outside.
They were almost through when Cynbe appeared in the airlock, etched black across its light.
His tone soared: “Captain, be swift. The wandersinger calls from your home. She is again.”
Heim didn’t remember running to the phone. Afterward he noticed bruises on shin and shoulder. But he did lock the radio-room door.
Lisa looked at him. “Oh, Daddy!”
“Are you all right?” he cried. His hands reached out. The screen stopped them.
“Yes. They… they never hurt me. I got doped. When I woke up, we were parked here in town. They told me, take an elway from there. I was still dopey and didn’t pay any attention—no number—Please hurry home.”
“I’ll—ja. Two, three hours.”
The remnants of the drug left her more calm than him. “I think I know how it happened, Daddy. I’m awful sorry. That night you and Endre talked about your—you know—well, you’d forgot to turn off the general intercom switch. I listened from my room.”
He remembered how slinky and mysterious she had acted in the following couple of weeks.
He’d put that down to an attempt at impressing Vadász. Now the knowledge of his carelessness hit him in the belly.
“Don’t,” she asked. “I never told. Honest. Only when Dick and some other kids teased me ’cause I wouldn’t go in for that stupid Aleriona stuff, I got mad and told them one human was worth a hundred of those crawlies and my father was going to prove it. I never said more. But I guess word got back to somebody, ’cause those women kept asking me what I’d meant. I told them I was just bragging. Even when they said they’d beat me, I told them it was just a brag, and I guess they believed that because they never did beat me. Please don’t be too mad, Daddy.”
“I’m not,” he said harshly* “I’m more proud than I deserve. Now go to bed and rest. I’ll be home as fast as I can.”
“I missed you so much.”
She switched off. Then Heim could weep.
Connie Girl purred aloft, and down again a kilometer outside Krasnoe. Heim escorted Cynbe to the ground. It was frozen, and rang underfoot. A few lights shone from outlying houses, dim compared to the winter stars.
“Here.” Awkwardly, Heim proffered a heated cloak. “You’ll want this.”
“My thanks,” blew from under the frost-cold locks. “When your authorities fetch me, I shall tell as you suggested. Wisest for Alerion is thus; and for I, who would not see you further hurt.”
Heim stared at the thin snowcrust. It sparkled like Cynbe’s fur. “I’m sorry about what I did,” he mumbled. “It was no way to treat you.”
“No more of anger in-dwells.” Cynbe’s song dropped low. “I knew not humans hold their young so dear. Well may you fare.”
“Good-by.” This time Gunnar Heim shook hands.
The boat took off afresh, found orbital height, and went toward Mojave Port along a standard trajectory. As far as the world was concerned, she had gone out to check on the loading of the star cruiser. Heim was surprised to note how calmly he could now wait to see his daughter again.
And when it’d be for such a short time, too. The ship must depart in a few more days, with him her captain.
That had to be, he saw. The evil had grown so mighty that he dared not challenge it with less than his whole strength: which was found among the stars, not on this sick Earth. Nor would he be worthy to be Lisa’s father, if he sent men against that thing whose creatures had tried to devour her, and did not go himself.
She’d be safe in Wingate’s care_ As for the Heimdal company, it might or might not survive without him, but that really made no difference. Lisa’s grandfather would provide for her, whatever happened. And don’t forget the chance of prize money!
Laughter welled in Heim. Maybe I’m rationalizing a selfish, atavistic desire to raise hell. Okay, what if I am? This is the way it’s going to be.
IX
They had celebrated an early Christmas. The tree glittered forlorn in the living room.
Outside, a surf of rain drove against the windows.
“It’s so awful,” Lisa said. “That there has to be war.”
“There doesn’t, pony,” Heim answered. “In fact, that’s what we’re trying to prevent.”
She regarded him in bewilderment.
“If we don’t stand up to Alerion,” Heim said, “there’ll be trouble and more trouble, worse each time, and we’ll forever lose, until at last Earth is driven into a corner. And when it’s cornered, the human race always does fight, with everything it’s got. Planet against planet—that would be the real Ragnarok. What we have to do is show them right now that we aren’t going to be pushed. Then we and they can talk business. Because space truly is big enough for everybody, as long as they respect each other’s right to exist” He put on his cloak. “We’d better start.”
They went downshaft in silence to the garage, and entered his flyer—himself, his daughter, her grandfather, two hard-looking men who must keep watch over her until this affair had been outlived, and Vadász. Out the doors they glided, and rose through storm. The hull shivered and resounded. But when they got into the upper lanes, blue stillness encompassed them, with clouds below like snow mountains.
Wingate lit a cigar and puffed, his nutcracker face squinched together. Finally he barked, “I hate these good-by waits, sitting around wishing you could think of something to say. Let’s tune in Parliament”
“Not worth while,” Heim replied. “They expect a full week of preliminary debate before they invite the Aleriona delegation. Every two-cent politician wants to make sure he’s heard at least once.”
“But according to the news yesterday, France came out near the top of the alphabetical draw.
Coquelin will probably start to speak any minute.”
“Hell-oh, go ahead.” Heim was chiefly conscious of the slight form huddled between him and Vadász.
The time was not much later in Mexico City than here, but you couldn’t tell that from inside the Capitol. The view swept across the Chamber of Council, faces and faces and faces, white, brown, black, amber, their eyes zeroed on the rostrum as the speaker for Finland stepped down.
President Fazil knocked with his gavel; through that waiting quiet, the sound was like nails being driven into a coffin. Wingate, whose Spanish was not the best, dialed for English translation.
“—the honorable spokesman for France, M. Michel Coquelin.”
Heim set the ’pilot and leaned back to watch. The square shape trudged down the aisle deliberately, almost scornfully, and took a stance at the lectern. The camera zoomed in on a countenance shockingly aged, but one which might have been cast in iron.