Galactic Medal of Honor

XII

When they awoke the next morning, she turned to him and said, “Would you consider marrying me?”

He stared over at her. “What?”

“I said, would you consider marrying me?”

“It never occurred to me. Why would someone in your position want to?”

She put her slim hands behind her head and stared up at the ceiling. “Why not? You’re nice looking and possibly the most eligible young man in the Solar System. You’re good in bed and… I like you.”

“And you’re one of the richest heiresses going. How come you haven’t already married? Surely you must have had a lot of opportunity.”

“Because I’m one of the richest heiresses in the system. Do you realize what that means? Half of the young men I meet would like to marry me for my money. The other half would like to marry me because they are already rich but would like to merge their fortune with mine and emerge possibly the most financially powerful magnate in the solar system. I never meet a man I don’t suspect of one of those two alternatives.”

“Why me?” Don Mathers was bewildered.

“Because you have proven that you have no interest in money. If you had you wouldn’t be contributing your efforts voluntarily, without even pay, to what will possibly be the largest single corporation in the system. I will know, if you marry me, that it is because you love me and want me—no other motivation.”

Don remained silent for a long moment. This was one for the book. It’d certainly be a joke on old Demming if he did marry the girl. The bastard had squeezed Don out of the stock ownership.

She misunderstood his silence and said, a shy quality there that didn’t go with her usual aristocratic aloofness, “I’m not pressing you. I realize that you’ve got to think it over. You hardly know me and you’ve already mentioned that it has only been a couple of months since your engagement was broken. And you must remember that very likely she now regrets it, since you are the toast of the race.”

That hadn’t occurred to Don Mathers. That Dian Keramikou might now be seeing him in a new light. Now that he did think about it, he realized that very possibly, there on Callisto, Dian was having people ask for her autograph, in view of the fact that she had once been engaged to him. He almost laughed.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed to the floor and sat up. He had to play this very earnestly now, no matter what decision he made.

He said, “You’re very sweet Alicia, and certainly this has been the most memorable night I have ever spent. However, as you say, we hardly know each other. I suggest that we both think about it.”

She remained in the bed, one of the black sheets up to her neck, as he went into the bath and showered and used depilatory on his face.

She watched him, her startling green eyes thoughtful, as he went to the closet for his clothes.

When he brought the uniform forth, she said, “Oh, good heavens, Don. You don’t want to wear that again. Just leave it there. One of the servants will pick up after you. There’s an order box in the dressing room, over there. Order fresh clothing.”

He looked at her. “I’ve only worn it once.”

“Once is enough,” she said, yawning.

“Don’t you ever wear anything more than once?”

“Seldom,” she said. “Only if it has some sentimental value, or something.”

He shrugged and went into the dressing room, to the screen of the large order box, and verbally ordered a fresh colonel’s uniform and the haberdashery to go with it.

When he had dressed, he went back to the bedroom and bent over and kissed her. If anything, she looked more beautiful than ever with her hair mussed every which way and her cosmetics a victim of the night’s tussling.

“Thank you,” he said simply and turned and left.

In the living room he approached the elevator door which opened automatically at his approach. Before he could say anything into the screen, it said, “There is a message for you, Colonel Mathers. A hover-limousine awaits you on the lawn.”

He had planned to go down to the motor pool in the basements of the Interplanetary Lines Building and take a hovercab to the space base.

But he said, “All right. Take me there.” He probably would have had his work cut out finding his way from the building. It was possibly small by the standards that applied to Lawrence Demming, but it was a labyrinth to Don Mathers.

The compartment moved sideways, for not too great a way, and then the door opened. He found himself looking out upon the extensive gardens, the groves of trees and the lawns, of the unbelievable park Demming had built atop his building.

He wasn’t too far from the terrace upon which he had first met Demming and Rostoff. The hover-limousine was even parked in approximately the same spot.

Cockney was standing next to the vehicle, holding the rear door open. His partner was up front at the controls.

Frank Cockney, his bluish lips in his thin face trying to make with a smile, said, “Good morning, Colonel Mathers. We’ve been instructed to take you to the base.”

“All right,” Don said, getting in.

The other hesitated before saying, “And congratulations on your victory, Colonel. There’s never been anything like that before. Ever.”

“Thanks,” Don said. So these two weren’t in on the secret either. Which was good, of course. It would seem that they were part of Demming’s security staff. Bodyguards, in other words.

Cockney got into the front, next to the other goon and the vehicle took to the air in a swoop.

On the way to the base, Frank Cockney turned and said to Don, “You know, Colonel. I never would have dreamed when we saw you that last time, you’d wind up the biggest hero in the solar system.”

“Neither did I,” Don said.

Cockney said, “You know, I never could figure out why Mr. Demming wanted to talk to you. He must’ve had some instinct, like, that big things were going to happen to you.”

“He’s a smart man, all right.”

Cockney frowned, as though in puzzlement. “But how could he have known you’d pull the big one, and finally it’d wind up with this big corporation?”

“What big corporation?” Don said warily.

“Oh, everybody knows about that.”

Don said, making it clear he didn’t want to continue the conversation. “It’s still unannounced.

We’re supposed to keep everything quiet for the time.”

Cockney said, “Yes, sir. I wasn’t trying to pry.” He turned back in his seat, obviously unhappy.

Don had expected to be left off at the main gate and to have to proceed to the administration buildings on a hovercart, but to his surprise the limousine flew right onto the base grounds. Evidently, Demming’s vehicles had clearance.

“Where to, Colonel?” Cockney said.

“To the Space Command Headquarters, Third Division. It’s over…”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot said, his voice as expressionless as his heavy face. “I know where it is.” Don remembered his name, Bil Golenpaul.

They slithered up before the main entry of the administration building and Golenpaul set it down, gently. If nothing else, he was a competent pilot.

Cockney popped out and ran around to open Don’s door.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “We’ll wait, right here.”

Don said, “No. Go on back. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Our orders were to wait and bring you back, when you got through with your business, Colonel Mathers.”

Don looked at him. “And my orders are that you get out of here. I’m not sure that I’m going back. Not immediately.”

Cockney’s faded eyes shifted, in furtive fashion. He said, “But our orders…”

Don was feeling belligerent. He said, “Get out of here or I’ll call over that squad of guards and have you thrown out.”

The small man looked at him in dismay. “Yes, sir,” he said. He climbed back into the hover-limousine looking apprehensive. Don assumed he was worrying about what to tell Demming.

Well, the hell with Demming. It was bad enough having to live in his establishment, as Alicia called it. He wasn’t going to put up with the other dictating every move he made.

He strode toward the entry and the squad of guards there sprang to stiff salute, presenting their laser rifles with precision. Inwardly, Don was amused. He had gone through these portals hundreds of times before and not a guard had ever batted an eye at him, not to speak of coming to attention.

Their lieutenant approached him and saluted snappily. “Could I be of assistance, Colonel?”

Don smiled and said, “No thanks, Lieutenant. I know my way around.”

The other was a few years younger than Don Mathers. He said, admiration in his voice. “You certainly do, sir.” He stepped aside.

The doors opened and Don entered and retraced the route he had been over so many times.

But this time was with a difference. The hustle and bustle dropped off. The chatter of the voco-typers and other electronic business machine equipment fell away. He could hear a multitude of whispers and even made out some of them.

“That’s him…”

“Holy Moses, the Galactic Medal of Honor…”

And a feminine voice, “How would you like to be able to date him, Gracie…?”

Doors opened magically before him. Guards presented arms, rather than asking for identification. If there was anyone in the solar system not acquainted with his face by this time, they must have been in remote areas indeed.

Eventually, he stood before his immediate commander, Commodore Walt Bernklau. Don came to attention and tossed the other a snappy salute.

The commodore returned it, just as snappily, and leaned his small body back in his swivel chair. He said, “Take a seat, Colonel. It’s nice to see you again.” He added, pleasantly, “Where in the world have you been?”

Don slumped into the indicated chair and said wearily, “On a bust, sir. The bust to end all busts. Wine, women and song—and I spent precious little time on the latter.”

The commodore chuckled. “I certainly can’t say that I blame you,” he said.

“It was quite a bust,” Don admitted.

“Well,” the commodore chuckled again. “I don’t suppose we can throw you into the guardhouse for being A.W.O.L. in view of your recent decoration.”

There was nothing to say to that.

“By the way,” the commodore said, “I haven’t had the opportunity to congratulate you on your Kraden. Everything seemed to move so fast, I never got around to it. That was quite a feat, Colonel.”

“Thank you, sir,” Don said. He added modestly, “Rather foolish of me, I suppose.”

“Very much so, as everyone in Space Command has said. On such foolishness, however, are heroic deeds based, Colonel.” The commodore looked at him questioningly. “You undoubtedly had incredible luck. The only way we’ve been able to figure it was that his detectors, his sensors, were on the blink. Do you think that is what might have happened?”

“Yes, sir,” Don nodded quickly. “That’s the way I figure it. And my first beaming must have disrupted his fire control, or whatever the equivalent to it is on Kraden cruisers. It was all a fluke.”

The commodore said, “He didn’t get in any return fire at all?”

“That’s the damnedest thing about it. I’m not really sure, possibly a few blasts. But by that time I was in too close and moving too fast. The fact of the matter is, sir, I don’t think they ever recovered from my first beaming of them. That’s the only way I can account for them not blasting me into molecules. All I would have taken was one minor hit.”

“That’s probably it, all right,” the commodore said musingly. “It’s a shame you had to burn them so badly. We’ve never recovered a Kraden ship in good enough shape to give our techs something to work on. It might make a basic difference in the war, particularly if there was something aboard that we could decipher that would give us some indication of where they were coming from and how they get back and forth at the speed involved. We’ve been fighting this war for half a century—in our own backyard. It would help if we could get into their backyard for a change. It’s problematical how long we can hold them off at this rate. If they ever come through with another major fleet, like they did the first time, or, more likely, even a larger fleet…”

Don Mathers said uncomfortably, “Well, it’s not as bad as all that, sir. We’ve held them thus far.”

His superior grunted. “We’ve probably held them thus far because we’ve been able to keep out enough patrols to give us ample warning when one of their ships sneaks through. Do you know how much fuel that consumes, Colonel? How much uranium?”

“Well, I know it’s a lot,” Don told him, very seriously, very earnestly. “I’ve been studying up on it lately.”

The other nodded wearily. “So much so that Earth’s industry is switching back to petroleum and coal. Every ounce of radioactives is needed by the Space Service. Even so, it’s just a matter of time.”

Don Mathers pursed his lips. “I didn’t know it was that bad. How is the work on nuclear fusion progressing? As far back as when I was a boy they were predicting a breakthrough any day.”

A puzzled frown came over the small man’s face. He said, “Somehow or other the whole project seems under a hex. Accidents are continually happening; key scientists die, or become incapacitated for one reason or the other. One of our top physicists, a Hungarian chap, just disappeared. If we could just develop nuclear fusion, all our radioactives problems would be over.” He chuckled sourly. “And overnight all those artificial settlements on the satellites would become ghost towns.”

A cold, suspicious finger traced its way up the spine of Don Mathers.

The commodore said, “I’m afraid I’m being a wet blanket thrown over your big binge of a celebration, Colonel. Tell me, how does it feel to hold the system’s highest award?”

Don shook his head, marveling. “Fantastic, sir. Of course, like any member of the Space Service I’ve always known of the Galactic Medal of Honor, but… well, nobody ever expects to get it.” He added, with a short laugh, “Certainly not while he’s still alive and in good health. Why, sir, do you realize that for all practical purposes I haven’t been able to spend one pseudo-dollar of my credit since?” There was an element of awe in his voice. “Sir, do you realize that not even a beggar will accept anything from me?”

The commodore nodded in appreciation. “You must understand the unique position you occupy, Colonel. Your feat was inspiring enough, but that’s not all of it. In a way, you combine both a popular hero with an Unknown Soldier element. Awarding you the Galactic Medal of Honor makes a symbol of you, a symbol representing all the thousands of unsung heroes and heroines who have died or been disabled in our space effort. It’s not a light burden to carry on your shoulders, Colonel Mathers. I would imagine it a very humbling honor.”

“Well, yes, sir,” Don said.

The commodore twisted in a movement of embarrassment, and said, “It is with apology that I confess I had completely misjudged you… Donal. Very frankly, I thought you a cop-out, after that second to the last patrol of yours. You have amply proven how wrong I was.”

Don played it very sincere. “I don’t blame you, sir,” he said. “In fact, to some extent you were correct. I was beginning to decide that you were right, that I should be psyched.”

“You proved otherwise,” Bernklau said and then switched his tone of voice. “That brings us to the present and what your next assignment is to be. Obviously, it wouldn’t do for you to continue in a One Man Scout, particularly with your present rank. Space Command seems to be in favor of using you for morale projects and——”

Don Mathers cleared his throat and interrupted. “Sir, I’ve decided to drop out of the Space Service.”

“Drop out!” The other stared at him, uncomprehendingly. “We’re at war, Colonel!”

Don nodded seriously. “Yes, sir. And what you just said is true. I couldn’t be used any longer in a One Man Scout, and I don’t have the background to command a larger vessel. I’d wind up selling bonds and giving talks to old ladies’ clubs.”

“Well, hardly that, Colonel.”

“No, sir. I think I’ll be of more use out of the services. I’m tendering my resignation and making arrangements to help in the developing of Callisto and the other Jupiter satellites.”

The commodore said nothing. His lips seemed to be whiter than before.

Don Mathers said doggedly, “Perhaps my prestige will help bring in volunteers to work the new mines out there. If they see me, well, sacrificing, putting up with all of the hardships…”

The commodore said evenly, “Mr. Mathers, I doubt if you will ever have to put up with hardships again, no matter where you make your abode. However, good luck. You deserve it.”