Ensign Flandry

5

When Lord Hauksberg arrived in Highport, Admiral Enriques and upper-echelon staff had given a formal welcoming party for their distinguished visitor and his aides as protocol required. Hauksberg was expected to reciprocate on the eve of departure. Those affairs were predictably dull. In between, however, he invited various officers to small gatherings. A host of shrewd graciousness, he thus blunted resentment which he was bound to cause by his interviewing of overworked men and his diversion of already inadequate armed forces to security duty.

“I still don’t see how you rate,” Jan van Zuyl complained from the bunk where he sprawled. “A lousy ensign like you.”

“You’re an ensign yourself, me boy,” Flandry reminded him from the dresser. He gave his blue tunic a final tug, pulled on his white gloves, and buffed the jetflare insignia on his shoulders.

“Yes, but not a lousy one,” said his roommate.

“I’m a hero. Remember?”

“I’m a hero too. We’re all heroes.” Van Zuyl’s gaze prowled their dismal little chamber. The girlie animations hardly brightened it. “Give L’Etoile a kiss for me.”

“You mean she’ll be there?” Flandry’s pulses jumped.

“She was when Carruthers got invited. Her and Sharine and—”

“Carruthers is a lieutenant j.g. Therefore he is ex officio a liar. Madame Cepheid’s choicest items are not available to anyone below commander.”

“He swears milord had ’em on hand, and in hand, for the occasion. So he lies. Do me a favor and elaborate the fantasy on your return. I’d like to keep that particular illusion.”

“You provide the whisky and I’ll provide the tales.” Flandry adjusted his cap to micrometrically calculated rakishness.

“Mercenary wretch,” van Zuyl groaned. “Anyone else would lie for pleasure and prestige.”

“Know, O miserable one, that I possess an inward serenity which elevates me far beyond any need for your esteem. Yet not beyond need for your booze. Especially after the last poker game. And a magnificent evening to you. I shall return.”

Flandry proceeded down the hall and out the main door of the junior officers’ dorm. Wind struck viciously at him. Sea-level air didn’t move fast, being too dense, but on this mountaintop Saxo could energize storms of more than terrestroid ferocity. Dry snow hissed through chill and clamor. Flandry wrapped his cloak about him with a sigh for lost appearances, hung onto his cap, and ran. At his age he had soon adapted to the gravity.

HQ was the largest building in Highport, which didn’t say much, in order to include a level of guest suites. Flandry had remarked on that to Commander Abrams, in one of their conversations following the numerous times he’d been summoned for further questioning about his experience with the Tigeries. The Intelligence chief had a knack for putting people at their ease. “Yes, sir, quite a few of my messmates have wondered if—uh—”

“If the Imperium has sludge on the brain, taking up shipping space with luxuries for pestiferous junketeers that might’ve been used to send us more equipment. Hey?” Abrams prompted.

“Uh … nobody’s committing lèse majesté, sir.”

“The hell they aren’t. But I guess you can’t tell me so right out. In this case, though, you boys are mistaken.” Abrams jabbed his cigar at Flandry. “Think, son. We’re here for a political purpose. So we need political support. We won’t get it by antagonizing courtiers who take champagne and lullaby beds for granted. Tell your friends that silly-looking hotel is an investment.”

Here’s where I find out.

A scanner checked Flandry and opened the door. The lobby beyond was warm! It was also full of armed guards. They saluted and let him by with envious glances. But as he went up the gravshaft, his self-confidence grew thinner. Rather than making him bouncy, the graduated shift to Terran weight gave a sense of unfirmness.

“Offhand,” Abrams had said when he learned about the invitation, “milord seems to want you for a novelty. You’ve a good yarn and you’re a talented spinner. Nu, entertain him. But watch yourself. Hauksberg’s no fool. Nor any idler. In fact, I gather that every one of his little soirées has served some business purpose—off-the-record information, impressions of what we really expect will happen and expect to do and how we really feel about the whole schtick.”

By that time, Flandry knew him well enough to venture a grin. “How do we really feel, sir? I’d like to know.”

“What’s your opinion? Your own, down inside? I haven’t got any recorder turned on.”

Flandry frowned and sought words. “Sir, I only work here, as they say. But … indoctrination said our unselfish purpose is to save the land civilizations from ruin; islanders depend on the sea almost as much as the fishfolk. And our Imperial purpose is to contain Merseian expansionism whereever it occurs. But I can’t help wondering why anybody wants this planet.”

“Confidentially,” Abrams said, “my main task is to find the answer to that. I haven’t succeeded yet.”

—A liveried servant announced Flandry. He stepped into a suite of iridescent walls, comfortable loungers, an animation showing a low-gee production of Ondine. Behind a buffet table poised another couple of servants, and three more circulated. A dozen men stood conversing: officers of the mission in dress uniform, Hauksberg’s staff in colorful mufti. Only one girl was present. Flandry was a little too nervous for disappointment. It was a relief to see Abrams’ square figure.

“Ah. Our gallant ensign, eh?” A yellow-haired man set down his glass—a waiter with a tray was there before he had completed the motion—and sauntered forth. His garments were conservatively purple and gray, but they fitted like another skin and showed him to be in better physical shape than most nobles. “Welcome. Hauksberg.”

Flandry saluted. “My lord.”

“At ease, at ease.” Hauksberg made a negligent gesture. “No rank or ceremony tonight. Hate ’em, really.” He took Flandry’s elbow. “C’mon and be introduced.”

The boy’s superiors greeted him with more interest than hitherto. They were men whom Starkad had darkened and leaned; honors sat burnished on their tunics; they could be seen to resent how patronizingly the Terran staffers addressed one of their own. “—and my concubine, the right honorable Persis d’Io.”

“I am privileged to meet you, Ensign,” she said as if she meant it.

Flandry decided she was an adequate substitute for L’Etoile, at least in ornamental function. She was equipped almost as sumptuously as Dragoika, and her shimmerlyn gown emphasized the fact. Otherwise she wore a fire ruby at her throat and a tiara on high-piled crow’s-wing tresses. Her features were either her own or shaped by an imaginative biosculptor: big green eyes, delicately arched nose, generous mouth, uncommon vivacity. “Please get yourself a drink and a smoke,” she said. “You’ll need a soothed larynx. I intend to make you talk a lot.”

“Uh … um—” Flandry barely stopped his toes from digging in the carpet. The hand he closed on a proffered wine glass was damp. “Little to talk about, Donna. Lots of men have, uh, had more exciting things happen to them.”

“Hardly so romantic, though,” Hauksberg said. “Sailin” with a pirate crew, et cet’ra.”

“They’re not pirates, my lord,” Flandry blurted. “Merchants … Pardon me.”

Hauksberg studied him. “You like ’em, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” Flandry said. “Very much.” He weighed his words, but they were honest. “Before I got to know the Tigeries well, my mission here was only a duty. Now I want to help them.”

“Commendable. Still, the sea dwellers are also sentient bein’s, what? And the Merseians, for that matter. Pity everyone’s at loggerheads.”

Flandry’s ears burned. Abrams spoke what he dared not: “My lord, those fellow beings of the ensign’s did their level best to kill him.”

“And in retaliation, after he reported, an attack was made on a squadron of theirs,” Hauksberg said sharply. “Three Merseians were killed, plus a human. I was bein’ received by Commandant Runei at the time. Embarrassin’.”

“I don’t doubt the Fodaich stayed courteous to the Emperor’s representative,” Abrams said. “He’s a charming scoundrel when he cares to be. But my lord, we have an authorized, announced policy of paying back any attacks on our mission.” His tone grew sardonic. “It’s a peaceful, advisory mission, in a territory claimed by neither empire. So it’s entitled to protection. Which means that bushwhacking its personnel has got to be made expensive.”

“And if Runei ordered a return raid?” Hauksberg challenged.

“He didn’t, my lord.”

“Not yet. Bit of evidence for Merseia’s conciliatory attitude, what? Or could be my presence influenced Runei. One day soon, though, if these skirmishes continue, a real escalation will set in. Then everybody’ll have the devil’s personal job controllin’ the degree of escalation. Might fail. The time to stop was yesterday.”

“Seems to me Merseia’s escalated quite a big hunk, starting operations this near our main base.”

“The seafolk have done so. They had Merseian help, no doubt, but it’s their war and the landfolk’s. No one else’s.”

Abrams savaged a cold cigar. “My lord,” he growled, “sea-folk and landfolk alike are divided into thousands of communities, scores of civilizations. Many never heard of each other before. The dwellers in the Zletovar were nothing but a nuisance to the Kursovikians, till now. So who gave them the idea of mounting a concerted attack? Who’s gradually changing what was a stable situation into a planet-wide war of race against race? Merseia!”

“You overreach yourself, Commander,” said Captain Abd-es-Salem reluctantly. The viscount’s aides looked appalled.

“No, no.” Hauksberg smiled into the angry brown face confronting him. “I appreciate frankness. Terra’s got quite enough sycophants without exportin’ ’em. How can I find facts as I’m s’posed to without listenin’? Waiter, refill—Commander Abrams’ glass.”

“Just what are the, ah, opposition doing in local waters?” inquired a civilian.

Abrams shrugged. “We don’t know. Kursovikian ships have naturally begun avoiding that area. We could try sending divers, but we’re holding off. You see, Ensign Flandry did more than have an adventure. More, yet, than win a degree of respect and good will among the Tigeries that’ll prove useful to us. He’s gathered information about them we never had before, details that escaped the professional xenologists, and given me the data as tightly organized as a limerick. Above the lot, he delivered a live Seatroll prisoner.”

Hauksberg lit a cheroot. “I gather that’s unusual?”

“Yes, sir, for obvious environmental reasons as well as because the Tigeries normally barbecue any they take.”

Persis d’Io grimaced. “Did you say you like them?” she scolded Flandry.

“Might be hard for a civilized being to understand, Donna,” Abrams drawled. “We prefer nuclear weapons that can barbecue entire planets. Point is, though, our lad here thought up gadgets to keep that Seatroll in health, things a smith and carpenter could make aboard ship. I better not get too specific, but I’ve got hopes about the interrogation.”

“Why not tell us?” Hauksberg asked. “Surely you don’t think anyone here is a Merseian in disguise.”

“Probably not,” Abrams said. “However, you people are bound on to the enemy’s home planet. Diplomatic mission or no, I can’t impose the risk on you of carrying knowledge they’d like to have.”

Hauksberg laughed. “I’ve never been called a blabbermouth more tactfully.”

Persis interrupted. “No arguments, please, darling. I’m too anxious to hear Ensign Flandry.”

“You’re on, son,” Abrams said.

They took loungers. Flandry received a goldleaf-tipped cigaret from Persis’ own fingers. Wine and excitement bubbled in him. He made the tale somewhat better than true: sufficient to drive Abrams into a coughing fit.

“—and so, one day out of Ujanka, we met a ship that could put in a call for us. A flier took me and the prisoner off.”

Persis sighed. “You make it sound such fun. Have you seen your friends again since?”

“Not yet, Donna. I’ve been too busy working with Commander Abrams.” In point of fact, he had done the detail chores of data correlation on a considerably lower level. “I’ve been temporarily assigned to his section. I do have an invitation to visit down in Ujanka, and imagine I’ll be ordered to accept.”

“Right,” Captain Menotti said. “One of our problems has been that, while the Sisterhood accepts our equipment and some of our advice, they’ve remained wary of us. Understandable, when we’re so foreign to them, and when their own Seatroll neighbors were never a real menace. We’ve achieved better liaison with less developed Starkadian cultures. Kursoviki is too proud, too jealous of its privacies, I might say too sophisticated, to take us as seriously as we’d like. Here we may have an entering wedge.”

“And also in your prisoner,” Hauksberg said thoughtfully. “Want to see him.”

“What?” Abrams barked. “Impossible!”

“Why?”

“Why—that is—”

“Wouldn’t fulfill my commission if I didn’t,” Hauksberg said. “I must insist.” He leaned forward. “You see, could be this is a wedge toward somethin’ still more important. Peace.”

“How so … my lord?”

“If you pump him as dry’s I imagine you plan, you’ll find out a lot about his culture. They won’t be the faceless enemy, they’ll be real bein’s with real needs and desires. He can accompany an envoy of ours to his people. We can—not unthinkable, y’ know—we can p’rhaps head off this latest local war. Negotiate a peace between the Kursovikians and their neighbors.”

“Or between lions and lambs?” Abrams snapped. “How do you start? They’d never come near any submarine of ours.”

“Go out in native ships, then.”

“We haven’t the men for it. Damn few humans know how to operate a windjammer these days, and sailing on Starkad is a different art anyhow. We should get Kursovikians to take us on a peace mission? Ha!”

“What if their chum here asked ’em? Don’t you think that might be worth a try?”

“Oh!” Persis, who sat beside him, laid a hand over Flandry’s. “If you could—”

Under those eyes, he glowed happily and said he would be delighted. Abrams gave him a bleak look. “If ordered, of course,” he added in a hurry.

“I’ll discuss the question with your superiors,” Hauksberg said. “But gentlemen, this is s’posed to be a social evenin’. Forget business and have another drink or ten, eh?”

His gossip from Terra was scandalous and comical. “Darling,” Persis said, “you mustn’t cynicize our guest of honor. Let’s go talk more politely, Ensign.”

“W-w-with joy, Donna.”

The suite was interior, but a viewscreen gave on the scene outside. Snowfall had stopped; mountaintops lay gaunt and white beneath the moons. Persis shivered. “What a dreadful place. I pray we can bring you home soon.”

He was emboldened to say, “I never expected a, uh, highborn and, uh, lovely lady to come this long, dull, dangerous way.”

She laughed. “I highborn? But thanks. You’re sweet.” Her lashes fluttered. “If I can help my lord by traveling with him … how could I refuse? He’s working for Terra. So are you. So should I. All of us together, wouldn’t that be best?” She laughed again. “I’m sorry to be the only girl here. Would your officers mind if we danced a little?”

He went back to quarters with his head afloat. Nonetheless, next day he gave Jan van Zuyl a good bottle’s worth.

At the center of a soundproofed room, whose fluoros glared with Saxo light, the Siravo floated in a vitryl tank surrounded by machines.

He was big, 210 centimeters in length and thick of body. His skin was glabrous, deep blue on the back, paler greenish blue on the stomach, opalescent on the gillcovers. In shape he suggested a cross between dolphin, seal, and man. But the flukes, and the two flippers near his middle, were marvels of musculature with some prehensile capability. A fleshy dorsal fin grew above. Not far behind the head were two short, strong arms; except for vestigial webs, the hands were startlingly humanlike. The head was big and golden of eyes, blunt of snout, with quivering cilia flanking a mouth that had lips.

Abrams, Hauksberg, and Flandry entered. (“You come too,” the commander had said to the ensign. “You’re in this thing ass deep.”) The four marines on guard presented arms. The technicians straightened from their instruments.

“At ease,” Abrams said. “Freely translated: get the hell back to work. How’s she coming, Leong?”

“Encouraging, sir,” the scientific chief answered. “Computation from neurological and encéphalographie data shows he can definitely stand at least a half-intensity hypnoprobing without high probability of permanent lesion. We expect to have apparatus modified for underwater use in another couple of days.”

Hauksberg went to the tank. The swimmer moved toward him. Look met look; those were beautiful eyes in there. Hauksberg was flushing as he turned about. “Do you mean to torture that bein’?” he demanded.

“A light hypnoprobing isn’t painful, my lord,” Abrams said.

“You know what I mean. Psychological torture. ’Specially when he’s in the hands of utter aliens. Ever occur to you to talk with him?”

“That’s easy? My lord, the Kursovikians have tried for centuries. Our only advantages over them are that we have a developed theory of linguistics, and vocalizers to reproduce his kind of sounds more accurately. From the Tigeries and xenological records we have a trifle of his language. But only a trifle. The early expeditions investigated this race more thoroughly in the Kimraig area, where the Merseians are now, no doubt for just that reason. The cultural patterns of Charlie here are completely unknown to us. And he hasn’t been exactly cooperative.”

“Would you be, in his place?”

“Hope not. But my lord, we’re in a hurry too. His people may be planning a massive operation, like against settlements in the Chain. Or he may up and die on us. We think he has an adequate diet and such, but how can we be certain?” Hauksberg scowled. “You’ll destroy any chance of gettin’ his cooperation, let alone his trust.”

“For negotiation purposes? So what have we lost? But we won’t necessarily alienate him forever. We don’t know his psyche. He may well figure ruthlessness is in the day’s work. God knows Tigeries in small boats get short shrift from any Seatrolls they meet. And—” The great blue shape glided off to the end of the tank—“he looks pretty, but he is no kin of you or me or the landfolk.”

“He thinks. He feels.”

“Thinks and feels what? I don’t know. I do know he isn’t even a fish. He’s homeothermic; his females give live birth and nurse their young. Under high atmospheric pressure, there’s enough oxygen dissolved in water to support an active metabolism and a good brain. That must be why intelligence evolved in the seas: biological competition like you hardly ever find in the seas of Terra-type planets. But the environment is almost as strange to us as Jupiter.”

“The Merseians get along with his kind.”

“Uh-huh. They took time to learn everything we haven’t. We’ve tried to xenologize ourselves, in regions the conflict hasn’t reached so far, but the Merseians have always found out and arranged trouble.”

“Found out how?” Hauksberg pounced. “By spies?”

“No, surveillance. ’Bout all that either side has available. If we could somehow get access to their undersea information—” Abrams snapped his mouth shut and pulled out a cigar.

Hauksberg eased. He smiled. “Please don’t take me wrong, Commander. Assure you I’m not some weepin’ idealist. You can’t make an omelet, et cet’ra. I merely object to breakin’ every egg in sight. Rather messy, that.” He paused. “Won’t bother you more today. But I want a full report on this project to date, and regular bulletins. I don’t forbid hypnoprobin’ categorically, but I will not allow any form of torture. And I’ll be back.” He couldn’t quite suppress a moue of distaste. “No, no, thanks awf’lly but you needn’t escort me out. Good day, gentlemen.”

The door closed on his elegance. Abrams went into a conference with Leong. They talked low. The hum, click, buzz of machines filled the room, which was cold. Flandry stood staring at the captive he had taken. “A millo for ’em,” Abrams said.

Flandry started. The older man had joined him on cat feet. “Sir?”

“Your thoughts. What’re you turning over in your mind, besides the fair d’Io?”

Flandry blushed. “I was wondering, sir. Hau—milord was right. You are pushing ahead terribly fast, aren’t you?”

“Got to.”

“No,” said Flandry earnestly. “Pardon, sir, but we could use divers and subs and probes to scout the Zletovar. Charlie here has more value in the long run, for study. I’ve read what I could find about the Seatrolls. They are an unknown quantity. You need a lot more information before you can be sure that any given kind of questioning will show results.”

Beneath lowered bushy brows, behind a tobacco cloud, Abrams regarded him. “Telling me my business?” His tone was mild.

“No, sir. Certainly not. I—I’ve gotten plenty of respect for you.” The idea flamed. “Sir! You do have more information than you admit! A pipeline to—”

“Shut up.” The voice stayed quiet, but Flandry gulped and snapped to an automatic brace. “Keep shut up. Understand?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Abrams glanced at his team. None of them had noticed.

“Son,”

he murmured, “you surprise me. You really do. You’re wasted among those flyboys. Ever considered transferring to the spyboys?”

Flandry bit his lip.

“All right,” Abrams said. “Tell uncle. Why don’t you like the idea?”

“It—I mean—No, sir, I’m not suited.”

“You look bundled to the ears to me. Give me a break. Talk honest. I don’t mind being called a son of a bitch. I’ve got my birth certificate.”

“Well—” Flandry rallied his courage. “This is a dirty business, sir.”

“Hm. You mean for instance right here? Charlie?”

“Yes, sir. I … well, I sort of got sent to the Academy. Everybody took for granted I’d go. So did I. I was pretty young.”

Abrams’ mouth twitched upward.

“I’ve … started to wonder, though,” Flandry stumbled. “Things I heard at the party … uh, Donna d’Io said—You know, sir, I wasn’t scared in that sea action, and afterward it seemed like a grand, glorious victory. But now I—I’ve begun remembering the dead. One Tigery took a whole day to die. And Charlie, he doesn’t so much as know what’s going to happen to him!”

Abrams smoked a while. “All beings are brothers, eh?” he said.

“No, sir, not exactly, but—”

“Not exactly? You know better’n that. They aren’t! Not even all men are. Never have been. Sure, war is degrading. But there are worse degradations. Sure, peace is wonderful. But you can’t always have peace, except in death, and you most definitely can’t have a peace that isn’t founded on hard common interest, that doesn’t pay off for everybody concerned. Sure, the Empire is sick. But she’s ours. She’s all we’ve got. Son, the height of irresponsibility is to spread your love and loyalty so thin that you haven’t got enough left for the few beings and the few institutions which rate it from you.”

Flandry stood motionless.

“I know,” Abrams said. “They rammed you through your education. You were supposed to learn what civilization is about, but there wasn’t really time, they get so damned few cadets with promise these days. So here you are, nineteen years old, loaded to the hatches with technical information and condemned to make for yourself every philosophical mistake recorded in history. I’d like you to read some books I pack around in micro. Ancient stuff mostly, a smidgin of Aristotle, Machiavelli, Jefferson, Clausewitz, Jouvenel, Michaelis. But that’ll take a while. You just go back to quarters today. Sit. Think over what I said.”

“Has the Fodaich not seen the report I filed?” asked Dwyr the Hook.

“Yes, of course,” Runei answered. “But I want to inquire about certain details. Having gotten into the Terran base, even though your objective was too well guarded to burgle, why did you not wait for an opportunity?”

“The likelihood did not appear great, Fodaich. And dawn was coming. Someone might have addressed me, and my reply might have provoked suspicion. My orders were to avoid unnecessary risks. The decision to leave at once is justified in retrospect, since I did not find my vehicle in the canyon when I returned. A Terran patrol must have come upon it. Thus I had to travel overland to our hidden depot, and hence my delay in returning here.”

“What about that other patrol you encountered on the way? How much did they see?”

“Very little, I believe, Fodaich. We were in thick forest, and they shot blindly when I failed to answer their challenge. They did, as you know, inflict considerable damage on me, and it is fortunate that I was then so close to my goal that I could crawl the rest of the way after escaping them.”

“Khr-r-r,”

Runei sighed. “Well, the attempt was worth making. But this seems to make you supernumerary on Starkad, doesn’t it?”

“I trust I may continue to serve in honor.” Dwyr gathered nerve. “Fodaich, I did observe one thing from afar while in Highport, which may or may not be significant. Abrams himself walked downstreet in close conversation with a civilian who had several attendants—I suspect the delegate from Terra.”

“Who is most wonderfully officious,” Runei mused, “and who is proceeding on from here. Did you catch anything of what was said?”

“The noise level was high, Fodaich. With the help of aural amplification and focusing, I could identify a few words like ‘Merseia.’ My impression is that Abrams may be going with him. In such case, Abrams had better be kept under special watch.”

“Yes.” Runei stroked his chin. “A possibility. I shall consider it. Hold yourself in readiness for a quick departure.”

Dwyr saluted and left. Runei sat alone. The whirr of ventilators filled his lair. Presently he nodded to himself, got out his chessboard, and pondered his next move. A smile touched his lips.