Battle for the Stars

CHAPTER 20

For forty-eight hours, while they kept watching beyond the system of Sol, Birrel raged. During that time messages came in to New York from one Sector capital after another, pledging aid and assistance in case the unknown attackers should return.

"Unknown,” said Birrel furiously. “Every capital in the galaxy knows where they came from. And listen to this — this one tops everything"

It was the message — a bit belated — that Solleremos had sent to the United Worlds. Orion was shocked by the mysterious attack on Earth. Orion would use every resource to attempt to learn the origin of the attackers. The Governor of Orion solemnly promised his aid against them, if they came back…

Birrel broke off and said a profane word.

"I don't know,” said Garstang hesitatingly. “Maybe it was better at that to give Solleremos this way to cover up. Without it, this thing would go on and on."

Birrel turned on him angrily. “So you think Charteris was right to snatch the battle away from us just when we'd won it?"

Garstang shrugged. Then he quit being diplomatic and said doggedly, “We haven't had a war since the old days before space-travel. We don't want one, even if we have to let Solleremos off easy to prevent it. Do we?"

Birrel started a hot answer, but stopped. He realized, hard as it was to admit it to himself, that what Garstang said was simple truth.

"Oh, hell,” he said, turning away, “everyone knows my job better than I do."

Even though Charteris and Garstang might be right, even though the old demon of war, that had been kept caged for many generations, should not be let loose, what was Ferdias going to say to this? The Fifth had carried out Ferdias’ mission, had prevented Solleremos’ grab at Earth. But he could have weakened the power of Orion to do further mischief if he had been able to maul those two squadrons more, and he had not done so. He worried about it.

He was still worried when they finally returned to Earth, leaving a strong guard of UW scouts out on watch. But when the Fifth followed Laney's fleet in, and touched down at New York spaceport, Birrel got a surprise.

It was twilight and the ships of the Fifth loomed up like scarred, battle-weary giants in the dusk. Birrel, walking along the side of the Starsong with Garstang, saw the scars in the side of the great hull. They were not from enemy action — a ship hit by a missile was just annihilated — but from the drift. Every pebble in the Belt seemed to have left its mark, one compartment had been holed twice and only its automatic bulkheads had saved the ship. But the Stardream, next in line, was worse hit than that. A sizable chunk of stone had got through its proximity-radar defenses and had smashed in some of the armor near its stern like tin.

Four major ships gone, with all their crews, and six scouts, and a lot of damage to repair. Birrel felt a reaction of weariness and distaste. He heard a distant uproar of voices over in the part of the spaceport where the even more battered ships of the UW had landed, but it was not until he and Garstang had passed the Stardream that they could see what caused the growing noise.

Men — hundreds of men in the black UW uniform — were running toward the ships of the Fifth. They were utterly without discipline or organization, they were nothing but a yelling mob, and Birrel, tired as he was, felt shock as he contrasted them with his own disciplined crews marching out of their ships. What were they doing, what was the matter with their officers to let them behave like this?

He stared. The UW men were heading, all along the mighty line of the Fifth, toward his own debarking crews. The Earthmen reached the Lyrans. They hit them with their fists. They grabbed them and wrestled them to the ground. They pounded their backs, shook their hands, yelled at them, their voices wild, their faces shining in the twilight.

"What the devil—"

"They're just saving hello,” said Garstang. His voice was mild, but he was grinning. “We fought a battle together, and we won it. Remember?"

Birrel saw that the discipline of the Fifth was crumbling. His crews were breaking ranks under the assault of the rejoicing Earthmen. They were yelling back, striking hands, pounding the backs of the Earthmen in their turn.

"This,” said Birrel, “is a fine way for trained men to act."

There was no conviction at all in his voice.

A quartet of officers in black came toward him and he recognized Laney. The admiral's face was stony, but there was a fire in his eyes that he could not conceal.

He shook Birrel's hand and said stiffly, “My congratulations, Commander. Very well handled. Very."

Birrel said politely, “Well, I must admit that that suicide charge you put on made it a little bit easier for us.

They looked at each other poker-faced for a few moments and then they both began to laugh, and shook hands again.

Venner pushed his way into the group and spoke to Garstang. And in a moment Garstang, suddenly on his best military behavior, came up to Birrel.

"Sir,” he said, “Starsong requires your presence aboard."

Birrel's nerves made a high-jump and then froze. Garstang's face was perfectly impassive, and so was Venner's, but there was only one reason why Starsong would suddenly require him back aboard now. The long awaited message from Ferdias must be coming through.

He turned back to Laney. “Excuse me, sir?"

Laney waved him away. “We all have many things to attend to.” He glanced out over the yelling, cheering mob of men in black and blue uniforms and then he said absently, before turning away, “Do you suppose we should tell the men to stand at ease?"

Birrel went back to the ship with Garstang and Venner.

There were two messages. One was in open code, and addressed to the whole Fifth Lyra. Well done, it said. Lyra Sector and I, personally, are proud. Ferdias.

The second one was in closed code, for Birrel alone.

He took it to his quarters and looked at it stonily for a time before he started to decipher it. He was still worrying about the non-pursuit of Solleremos’ squadrons, and the open message to the Fifth did nothing to reassure him. Naturally, Ferdias would congratulate all hands. There was nothing else he could, or would, do. But the private message to the Commander might not be so friendly. It might even conceivably be something like, You are hereby replaced in command by… At this end, Birrel felt that he had had no choice but to go along with the orders of the UW Council. But from where Ferdias sat, it might look different.

Birrel sighed and began his decoding.

The first sentences relieved his worries. Who says you're not a diplomat? Good work, Jay.

But the next sentence started his worries all over again, but in a different way.

Take a rest at Orville till further instructions.

Why should Ferdias want him to go back to Orville?

Wasn't this over now? Hadn't the battle been fought and won? What was there left for him to do now, but take part in the commemoration flyover and go home?

Why bother with Orville?

A vacation, perhaps. Reward for a job well done. Go and relax in the country, look over your ancestral fields, forget all about ships and stars.

Maybe.

Maybe it was only because the other things were so fresh in his mind, so strongly connected with the place at Orville that the mere mention of it made him uneasy — Karsh and Tauncer, secret meetings, intrigue and treachery and sudden death.

But that was ridiculous. Karsh was dead, Tauncer was in whatever place the UW people maintained for such as he, and the threat of Orion was thoroughly disposed of as far as Earth was concerned. What was between Orion and Lyra was another matter and had nothing to do with Orville. It was foolish to suppose that Ferdias was suggesting another assignation with some agent there. Birrel shook his head. He was just tired, imagining things. Ferdias was pleased with the way he had handled things and was giving him a leave, and that was all there was to it.

That was fine, only why should Ferdias care where he spent his leave?

Take a rest at Orville. Coming from Ferdias, a suggestion like that was an order.

A cold foreboding settled upon Birrel. There was something wrong here, something hidden. But what?

For no reason at all, there came into his mind the memory of Tauncer, lying rigid with the vera-probe playing on him, saying mechanically in answer to Mallinson's question, “—if he doesn't, Ferdias will grab Earth first."

Birrel told himself he was a fool. Just because Ferdias had further instructions for him did not mean that he had any plans like that. Ferdias had told him that he didn't want Earth.

Ferdias had told him… Yes. But wouldn't he have told him that even if his plans were quite different? Just as he had let him go into that cluster without telling him the real score until later?

Hell, thought Beryl. I'm building all this up because I'm tired and jumpy. I need sleep.

He was not to get it for a while. Mallinson came. There was a brief and slightly awkward silence, and then Mallinson said stiffly, “The Chairman is waiting for you."

He paused, looking over Birrel's head, his mouth set as though he tasted something bitter.

"I would be glad,” he said, “if you would accept my personal apology for past suspicions."

Birrel shrugged. “None is needed."

And on the way back to New York with Mallinson he thought, Why should you of Earth trust Lyra more than Orion, or Leo, or any of the others? Why should you, even now? You don't know what Ferdias may have up his sleeve. I don't know, yet.

New York was blazing. The big crowds that had gathered for the commemoration had something else to commemorate tonight, the victory over the ‘unknown invaders’ that everyone knew had been from Orion. The streets were wild and even Mallinson's official car had trouble getting through.

"The town will belong to the fleet personnel tonight,” Mallinson said. “Your men as well as ours, Commander."

Birrel said gloomily that be hoped people would not get all of his crews drunk.

Mallinson smiled, for the first time. “I can practically guarantee that they will."

They went into the UW tower by a back entrance. Charteris was waiting in a little office. He did not look calm or stony now. He looked, all at the same time, older and careworn and excited and eager.

"Well,” he said. “The Council will want to tender you our formal thanks later, Commander. Right now I wanted to say…” He stopped and looked blank and then said, “I'm not sure just what I did want to say. Maybe just the same thing. Thanks, that is."

Almost shyly, he stuck out his hand.

Then he said, “Sit down, Commander. I can well imagine you're tired. Fortunately, there'll be time enough before the commemoration to give you a rest, and to repair the damage you've suffered."

He went on, when Birrel had sat down, “I had a message today from the governor of Lyra."

Birrel's nerves went hard and tense. “Yes?"

"A very warming message,” Charteris said. He paused. “I'm considered a bit of a dreamer, you know. But I still cherish the idea that someday the Sectors will return to us. Perhaps this is the beginning of new and better things. Who knows?"

Birrel's tension relaxed not at all. He was thinking that this might indeed be the beginning of new things, but that Charteris might not like the new things very much.

Charteris misinterpreted his silence, and sprang to his feet. “I'm detaining a weary man with babblings. I won't keep you longer now, and I apologize for bringing you all the way in here."

Birrel rose too. He said, “That's all right. I'm going on back up to the farm in Orville. My wife's still there."

Charteris looked at him curiously. “You really like that old place, don't you?” His eyes brightened. “Well, then that's something the UW can do to show its gratitude to you. We'll have the recent sale of that place voided, it having been made for what you might call illegal purposes. It will be bought in your name. Consider your old, ancestral home your own property, Commander."

Birrel, startled, began to protest, but his protests were waved aside.

"Forget it, Commander. It's a pretty trivial, little piece of Earth to give you in return for what you've done for us, but it seems to mean something to you."

On his way down with Mallinson, Birrel still felt vexed. He didn't really care anything about the old place. It was all a misunderstanding. He didn't want even a trivial piece of Earth.

Ferdias might feel differently. Ferdias might want it all.