Galactic Medal of Honor

XV

They gave him two full weeks of instructions and rehearsals before clearing him for Tri-Di appearances, news conferences, and making him available to commentators and free lance writers for special articles.

The people had begun to wonder where their new hero was keeping himself but Sid Mullens, the PR chief, and his staff of publicity men leaked just enough material to placate them. For one thing, the holder of the Galactic Medal of Honor was taking a much needed rest after his soul-shattering, exhausting fight with the Kraden which had brought him to the edge of nervous breakdown. For another, Colonel Mathers was embarked upon a project which he would soon reveal to the public, a project even more important, and possibly as daring, as his attack upon the Miro Class cruiser.

Meanwhile, Don stuck largely to the top floors of the Interplanetary Lines Building. Occasionally, he’d take a relaxing flight in one of the hover limousines, invariably accompanied by two of the bodyguards. Except in the privacy of his penthouse quarters, and particularly in his own suite, he was never out of sight of at least a couple of these and usually more. They were supposedly secretaries of his but all of them were professionals, armed with quick-draw laser pistols. Even in the offices of the Donal Mathers Radioactives Mining Corporation, they were always present. Demming and Rostoff knew all too well that if anything happened to their hero, the whole project was a bust.

The offices were expanding and already took up two floors of the building, and there were thousands of employees, largely busily at work, sworn to secrecy about the soon to be revealed project.

Alicia came to his bed nightly and their relationship had become less frenetic, more easygoing. They continued to enjoy each other sexually, but had agreed that they would keep their affair quiet, not even allowing the bodyguards to know of its existence. If word got out that Colonel Mathers had a full time mistress, every newsman, every commentator, every columnist, every photographer, every news gossip in the system would be after her. Everything she had ever done would be dug into, and in her time, Alicia told her lover wryly, she had done quite a few things, usually hushed up by her father’s influence, but nothing could be hushed up pertaining to Don Mathers.

She surprised him one night, after they had finished making love, by saying, “My father has something on you, hasn’t he, Don?”

He looked at her warily. “How do you mean?” He didn’t like this. In the whole system, only Demming, Rostoff and Dirck Bosch knew. And even that was too damn many. It meant that for the rest of their lives he was under their thumbs. Even if the two older men died, he would still be at Bosch’s mercy.

She said slowly, “I’m not stupid, Don. I’ve suspected it almost from the first. There’s a something electric between you. There’s a relationship between you and father and Max Rostoff that is particularly obvious when you’re not in the vicinity of any outsiders.”

“You’re dreaming, darling. Our relationship is purely business.”

“Yes, and with the preferred stock of the corporation, supposedly your corporation, the only stock that is going to count, in their hands.”

“How did you know that?”

“I told you I wasn’t stupid. The only one they’ve cut in at all, so far, is the Grand Presbyter. And only him because they want the weight of his Universal Reformed Church behind them.”

Don sighed and said, “I don’t need money, darling. And it looks good for me to be heading the corporation on a non-profit basis.”

“What do you mean, you don’t need money? Everybody needs money,” she said in rejection.

He said, weariness there in his voice, “I suspect that if I called the largest bank on Earth and asked for a million pseudo-dollars, they’d give it to me on my signature.”

“Ridiculous.”

He said, “Watch this.” He flicked on the phone screen that sat at the edge of the bed and dialed for his night secretary. When the other’s face faded in, Don said, “Peters, what’s the best automobile in the world?”

“Rolls-Royce Hover, Colonel.”

“Very well, get me the head of their sales department. I don’t give a damn what time it is, get him.”

While he waited, Alicia said, “What’s going on? We’ve got enough cars around here to carry a regiment.”

He ignored her and surprisingly shortly, in view of the hour, another face replaced his secretary’s. The newcomer was wide-eyed.

Don said, “I’m Colonel Donal Mathers and I’m considering buying one of your cars.”

The other’s jaw slipped. He stuttered, in a British accent, “Just… just a moment, ahh, Colonel. I’ll put you in touch…” His voice dripped away and then his face faded, to be replaced in moments by another wide-eyed stranger.

This new one said, “I’m Gerald Hastings, sir. Head of Rolls-Royce Hover public relations. We’ll immediately send you over a complete selection of all of our models.”

Don said, “I don’t think I could afford—”

The other was distressed. “Oh, sir, there would be no charge.”

Don said, “I’ll think it over. Thanks.” He flicked off the other’s distressed face before he could go into a sales pitch. Don knew what the other was thinking. The interplanetary hero was probably considering the vehicles of some of the competitors, Mercedes Hover, or whoever. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Rolls-Royce Hovers would be on the way to Center City before the night was out.

He turned to Alicia and said, “See what I mean? What would I do with money if I had it?”

She said, “Holy Almighty Ultimate, I didn’t know it went that far.”

“Well, it does. I can’t spend a pseudo-cent. Hell, I can’t give it away.”

For the time, at least, they talked no more of the hold over Don that she sensed her father and Rostoff held.

She had never again mentioned the possibility of marriage. Don didn’t know if it was because she had second thoughts, or if she was waiting for him to take the initiative. Actually, he still didn’t know how he felt about it. She was a dish, but was she the kind of dish you’d want to spend the rest of your life with, even after the initial notoriety of his getting his medal had died away a bit and he was more able to appear in public places without being mobbed? That she was a spoiled, selfish young woman was obvious. But, on the other hand, one day she would inherit the Demming fortune and by that time the Demming fortune would be a damned sight larger than it was today. And although he didn’t really need money now, perhaps the time would come. Money was power and he was beginning to like the feeling of power.

It was the day following this discourse with Alicia that the fourth man to join the holders of preferred stock came on the scene.

Don had been sitting at his desk, going over the speech he was to make the following day. This was only the second time he had been on Tri-Di lens and the first time, at the ceremony in Geneva, it wasn’t a personal thing. He hadn’t really given a speech or anything. He was unhappy about it, in spite of all the coaching the two actors had given him, and in spite of all the careful honing the speech writers had done to bring out the proper sincerity, the proper simplicity, the proper terminology. For instance, it wouldn’t have done to use a single word or expression that couldn’t be understood by everyone in the system older than ten.

The identity screen on the door buzzed and he flicked the button that activated it. Rostoff’s face was there.

He said, oozing unctuousness, “May we come in, Colonel Mathers?”

Mildly surprised at the courtesy, Don flicked another button which opened the door.

Rostoff strode in, followed by a stranger, followed by Demming. All were fawning.

The stranger was a bluff, slightly red-faced type, who simply radiated good will and honesty. He was conservatively dressed, clear and deep of voice when he spoke. And in five seconds flat Don had branded him politician. The other could have gotten a job portraying a prominent politician any day in the week on Tri-Di.

Don began to stand but the newcomer said, still radiating cheerful admiration, “No, no, Colonel. Don’t bother.” He reached across the desk to shake hands. His grip was firm and friendly.

Demming wheezed, “Colonel Mathers, this is Senator Frank Makowski, of Callisto. Undoubtedly you have heard his inspired speeches over and over again; possibly when you were in deep space in your One Man Scout. He is Callisto’s representative to the Solar System League’s Parliament in Geneva.”

“Yes, of course,” Don said, smiling as best he could. He had never heard of the man in his life. “Please be seated, gentlemen. It’s an honor to meet you personally, Senator.”

The senator, even while finding his chair said, “Colonel Mathers, the honor is mine.”

“Could I offer you gentlemen a drink?” Don said. He had already had two or three today, even though he was trying to concentrate on the speech.

Rostoff said, “No, no, Colonel. It’s only four o’clock and Lawrence and I are acquainted with your restrained drinking habits.”

“Well,” Don said, in deprecation, “I’m not exactly a teetotaler.” The bastard. Don could have used another drink along in here.

“But almost,” Demming said in his flat voice. “Colonel, we know how busy you are, but we have a business matter with the Senator, here, and in view of the fact that you are president and chairman of the board, he was desirous to clear it with you.”

The senator chuckled. “In actuality, Colonel, my big motivation was to have the honor of meeting you. I have dealt with Mr. Demming and Mr. Rostoff before, in line of my duties, and, of course trust them implicitly.”

Don tried to look interested and sincere and held his peace.

Demming cleared his voice and said, “In view of the fact that Senator Makowski is in a key position so far as the corporation is concerned, it occurred to Max and me that possibly we should, ah, give him a piece of the action, as the old saying goes. He has invariably cooperated most generously with both Max and myself in earlier projects involving the mineral exploitation of Callisto and I am sure that in this more all out effort, his position will make it imperative that we work in full cooperation with him.”

“Yes, indeed,” Rostoff said.

“Of course, in this great crusade,” the Senator said, “you would have my all out support in any case…”

Don said, “What is the problem, gentlemen?” He hadn’t the vaguest idea what they were talking about.

Rostoff said, “Lawrence and I have suggested that one percent of the preferred stock of the Donal Mathers Radioactives Mining Corporation be issued to the Senator.”

Demming said, “And he wished your assurance that you completely concurred.”

“Why, of course,” Don said earnestly. “In fact, I had been considering bringing up the matter myself, except that I had thought in terms of two percent.”

The Senator shone.

Demming and Rostoff glared.

Rostoff got out finally, “We shall have to look into it, Colonel Mathers. You are aware of how thinly stretched we already are.” He came to his feet, followed by the other two. “I’ll confer with you later on, after checking with the executive committee of the board.”

When they were gone, Don snorted in both self-satisfaction and ill humor. He said aloud, “If they keep on passing out chunks of their stock to every crook that comes along with his hand extended, they’ll be running out themselves, the bastards.” He had to laugh at the expression on Rostoff’s face as the three had filed out. The other was going to hit the ceiling the next time he saw Don Mathers. Don didn’t give a damn.

They held the initial broadcast in a comparatively small conference room of the offices of the corporation. The penthouse was too luxurious to fit in with the soon to be mounted campaign for the Simplicity Look. In fact, the conference room itself had been redecorated with a less ostentatious table, less ornate chairs.

Don was alone save for Dirck Bosch and two of the bodyguards, but these sat to one side, so as not to appear on lens. The bodyguards kept their cold eyes roaming continuously over the swarm of Tri-Di technicians, in spite of the fact that all of these had been electronically frisked as they entered the building.

The director finally checked his wrist chronometer, turned and said to Don, “All ready, Colonel?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Don said.

The crew all laughed. Hell it wasn’t as good a bon mot as all that. It was just that he was Colonel Mathers, modest attainer of the Galactic Medal of Honor and anything he said in self-deprecation was humor.

Don, seated at the end of the table, looked down at the speech. At first his coaches had wanted him to memorize it and seem to be speaking off the cuff. It would add to the utter sincerity which was the big ingredient. But Don had killed that, telling them that there wasn’t a chance in the world of his being able to memorize anything as long as this. Besides, if he did it once, from then on every audience he addressed was going to expect it, and Don Mathers was scheduled for a lot of audiences in the near future.

The director pointed a finger at one of the cameras and counted down, one, two, three. A red light went on, indicating the conference room was hot. The director then, spoke, being on lens.

He said simply, “Fellow citizens of the Solar System League, I bring you Colonel Donal Mathers, sole living holder of the Galactic Medal of Honor. Colonel Mathers.” He pointed his finger at Don dramatically, and another camera picked Don up, all three lenses shining at him.

Don looked up directly into them and went into his routine, the routine he had practiced so much with his two coaches.

He said, slowly and distinctly, “The project at hand is the extraction of the radioactives, the ores on the Jupiter satellites and perhaps the Saturn satellite, Titan. This endeavor is the highest top priority in the defense program.”

He paused impressively before continuing.

“It is a job that cannot be done in slipshod, haphazard manner. The system’s need for radioactives cannot be overstressed.

“In short, fellow humans, we must allow nothing to stand in the way of an all out, unified, effort to do this job quickly and efficiently. My associates and I have formed a corporation to manage this crash program. We invite all to participate by purchasing stock. I will not speak of profits, fellow humans, because in this emergency we all scorn them. However, as I say, you are invited to participate.

“Some of the preliminary mining concessions are at present in the hands of individuals or small corporations. It will be necessary that these turn over their holdings to our single all embracing organization for the sake of efficiency. Our experts will evaluate such holdings and recompense the owners.”

Don Mathers paused again for emphasis.

“This is no time for quibbling. All must come in. If there are those who put private gain before the needs of the system, then pressures must be found to be exerted against them. Public opinion will not allow them to profit while the fate of the Solar System is in the balance.

“We will need thousands and tens of thousands of trained workers to operate our mines, our mills, our refineries. In the past, skilled labor on the satellites was used to double or triple the wage rates on Earth. I need only repeat, this is no time for personal gain and quibbling. The corporation announces proudly that it will pay only prevailing Earth rates. We will not insult our employees by “bribing’ them to patriotism through higher wages.”

There was more, along the same lines.

It was all taken very well. Indeed, it was taken with universal enthusiasm.

Si Mullens leaked the fact that the interplanetary hero was taking no salary whatsoever for his contributions.