Galactic Medal of Honor

XVIII

It took him four days, even with the aid of Anti-Ale and some Vitamin B-Complex shots. During that period, he kept in seclusion, not even seeing Alicia.

And during the four days, something that Eric Hansen had said to him came back, and with it some of the things Thor Bjornsen had said.

When he had gotten to the point where his hands no longer trembled, he cleaned himself up thoroughly, ate a good breakfast, dressed carefully, then went into his study. He sat down at the desk and looked into the Library booster screen. He dialed the Interplanetary Data Banks and then Information.

A sharp-looking young man’s face faded in and Don said, “Run off all the video-tapes that were taken of the battle between the Kradens and the four Earth fleets, fifty years ago.”

The young man widened his eyes. He said, “Just a moment, sir.”

His face faded to be replaced shortly by an older man’s. This one wore the uniform of a space admiral.

He said, “Colonel Mathers! What a pleasure to speak to you.”

Don said, “Great. I want to see all of the videotapes taken of the battle between the Kradens and the Earth fleets, half a century ago.”

The other frowned. He said, carefully, “Well, actually, Colonel, we have an edited version, which runs for approximately one hour, that is for public consumption. I imagine you saw it as a cadet at the Space Academy.”

“Yes, I did,” Don said impatiently. “That’s not what I want. I want the complete unedited tapes, every one taken.”

“I assure you, Colonel Mathers, due to the pressures and excitement at the time, those video-tapes were photographed in most haphazard and slipshod fashion. Literally scores of different cameras were trained on the fight at one time or the other.” He gave a small laugh. “Later, some were to find that they had forgotten to put tapes in the cameras. Others found… Well, at any rate, Colonel, they’re a hodgepodge. I’m glad I didn’t have the job of editing them into the coherent story.”

Don said, “Nevertheless, I want to see them all.”

The fleet admiral stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he said, “I am most sorry, Colonel, but some of the video-tapes are restricted, for security reasons.”

Don said, “I am Donal Mathers, as you well know, and I wish to see those video-tapes. Are you suggesting that I am not cleared for highest security? If you do not begin screening those video-tapes for me immediately, I shall get in touch with President Kwame Kumasi of the Solar System League and we will soon find if there is anything in the Interplanetary Data Banks so restricted that a holder of the Galactic Medal of Honor can’t see it. I shall further suggest to the President and to the media that in my estimation you are incompetent.”

The fleet admiral gave up, his face resigned. “Very well, Colonel. However, I have one request. When you are through, please call me again. I will wish to discuss them with you.”

Don leaned back in his chair. “The video-tapes, please. All of them.”

Within moments, they began flashing on the screen. There were hours upon hours of them. Evidently, all four of the Earth space fleets had taken tape after tape. The space admiral had been correct, many of them, probably most of them, were a mess. Some consisted of nothing whatsoever save shots of empty space.

But some…

Thor Bjornsen was right. It had been a balls-up.

The four Earth fleets, those of the United States, Common Europe, the Soviet Complex and China, had zeroed-in like madmen, all firing everything they had, missiles, laser beams, flakflak guns of all categories, firing wildly.

There was no sign he could make out of the Kradens firing back, although, of course, there was always some chance of them using weapons that were undetectable with Earth equipment.

Don flinched when he saw a Common Europe cruiser misdirect a laser beam and cut entirely through a Chinese cruiser, and winced again when two American Two Man Scouts crashed headlong into each other.

The Kradens, seemingly completely confused at this hysterical attack, broke their original neat formation, at first sped up unbelievingly, and then disappeared, leaving only the smoldering hulks of their destroyed craft behind.

But the hysterical shooting, beaming and launching of nuclear missiles continued on for possibly an hour more. Spacecraft of the four fleets darted about, firing, sometimes colliding.

It was the most horrifying spectacle Don Mathers had ever witnessed, and the most senseless. Thor Bjornsen had been right. Those so-called Kradens had not been a military expedition. What they had been, only the Almighty Ultimate knew. Merchants or ambassadors attempting to contact other intelligent life forms? Who could know? And then another truth came home to him. That Kraden derelict which he had beamed over and over with his flakflak gun. It hadn’t been a new arrival. Not even, as Thor had tried to figure out, a new missionary to attempt to establish contact with the aggressive human race. It had been a leftover from the first conflict. It had been destroyed in the first contact and had been drifting in space for half a century, undetected. He didn’t know, but possibly the Kradens had devices, still operative over all the decades, that could repulse Earth type sensors. Or possibly their crafts were made of some material that radar wouldn’t pick up.

When it was all over, he flicked off the screen and sank back into his chair. All his instincts were to go to the auto-bar and dial himself a bottle; but he didn’t. He had to think.

He attempted to recapitulate and it came hard. It was all too unbelievable.

There had been a cover-up. There must have been. The greatest cover-up of all history. The biggest military White wash of all time. Bigger than the reports Cortes and his men had made of the conquest of Mexico.

It came to him how it could have been done. Most of those involved in the fight had no complete picture of what was happening. Four Earth fleets were in the hysterical mess. There was no central command, largely they couldn’t even understand each other’s languages. They simply lit in, each spacecraft, each man, for himself. Chaos!

And then when it was all over, they returned triumphantly to Earth, now united, now no longer four space fleets, but one. Then the highest ranking officers had compiled the mass of video-tapes that had been taken, combined them. And then they must have known. Then they must have realized. And, like the military down through the ages, they covered-up. They and the industrial-military complex behind them.

Those at the top could not afford to admit they had attacked, without provocation, a peaceful armada from outer space. They couldn’t afford to lose their high positions, their prestige, their commands.

Those who had raised voices of dissent, assuming there were any, must have been suppressed. The military-industrial apparatus must have swung into high gear. Why, otherwise, were these video-tapes supposedly of high security nature? Security against whom? The Kradens? Obviously, the Kradens couldn’t possibly have access to them. The security applied only to Earthlings, members of the human race. They were the ones from whom the information was being withheld.

And why?

He reactivated the library booster screen, dialed, and said, “I wish to know what corporations are most active in trying to breakthrough in the field of nuclear fusion.”

It was the same sharp looking young man that he had confronted hours earlier.

He said, “That information is restricted, Colonel.”

“I know, I know,” Don said wearily. “However…”

“Yes, Colonel Mathers.”

It took some digging around, but it finally emerged that Lawrence Demming and Maximilian Rostoff dominated the various organizations that were working on nuclear fusion, none of which, for various reasons, were having much luck. Scientists died, sometimes under strange circumstances; projects, seemingly doing fine, were aborted; this, that and the other thing. Seemingly the project was jinxed.

It didn’t take much to come to the conclusion that Demming and Rostoff didn’t want nuclear fusion to take over from the uranium utilizing nuclear fission.

So he finally stood and made his way to the elevator and instructed it to take him to the reception room of Demming’s private sanctum sanctorum, where the other usually was at this time of day.

At the entrance to the inner sanctum was posted one of the bodyguards.

Don said, “I want to see Demming.”

The bodyguard said, politely enough, “You don’t have an appointment, Colonel Mathers, and he and Mr. Rostoff are having a conference. He says to keep everybody out.”

“That doesn’t apply to me,” Don snapped. “Get out of my way.”

The other barred the way, saying reluctantly, “He said it applied to everybody, Colonel Mathers.”

Don put his full weight into a blow that started at his waist, dug deep into the other’s middle. The guard doubled forward, his eyes bugging. Don gripped his hands together into a double fist and brought them upward in a vicious uppercut.

The other fell forward and to the floor.

Don stood over him for a moment, watchful for movement which didn’t develop. The hefty bodyguard wasn’t as tough as he looked. Had he moved, Don would have kicked him in the side of the head.

He knelt and fished from under the other’s left arm a vicious looking short-barreled laser pistol. He tucked it under his own jacket into his belt, then turned and opened the door and entered the supposedly barred office.

Demming and Rostoff looked up from their work across a double desk. The subservient Dirck Bosch was, as usual, on his feet and in the background a bit. Somewhat to Don’s surprise, Alicia was also present, seated to one side, rather idly going through an old-fashioned hardcover book.

She said, “Why, Don. Where have you been this last week or so?”

“Learning the facts of life,” he told her.

Demming leaned back in his swivel chair and said, “You’re sober for a change.”

Don Mathers pulled up a stenographer’s chair and straddled it, leaning his arms on the back. He said coldly, “Comes a point when even the lowest worm turns. I’ve been checking out a few things.”

Demming grunted amusement.

Don said, “Space patrols have been cut far back, although the people haven’t been informed of the fact.”

Rostoff snorted. “Is that supposed to interest us? That’s the problem of the military and the government.”

“Oh, it interests us, all right,” Don growled. “Currently, the corporation controls probably five-sixths of the system’s uranium.”

Demming said in greasy satisfaction, “More Like seven-eights and increasing by the week.”

“Why, then?” Don said bluntly. “Why are you doing what you’re doing?”

They both scowled but another element was present in their expressions too. They thought the question unintelligent. Alicia put down her book and frowned puzzlement.

Demming closed his eyes and said in his porcine manner, “Tell him, Max.”

Rostoff said, “Look, Mathers, don’t be stupid. Remember when we told you, during that first interview, that we wanted your name in the corporation, among other reasons, because we could use a man who was above the law? That a maze of ridiculous binding ordinances have been laid on business through the centuries?”

“I remember,” Don said bitterly.

“Well, it goes both ways. Government today is also bound, very strongly, and even in great emergency, not to interfere in business. These complicated laws balance each other, you might say. Our whole legal system is based on them. Right now, we’ve got government right where we want it. This is free enterprise, Mathers, at its pinnacle. Did you ever read about Jim Fisk and his attempt to corner gold in 1869, the so-called Black Friday affair? Well, Jim Fisk was a peanut peddler compared to us.”

“What’s this got to do with the Space Fleet having insufficient fuel to…” Don Mathers stopped as comprehension came to him. “You’re holding our radioactives off the market, pressuring the government for a price rise which it can’t afford.”

Demming opened his eyes and said fatly, “For triple the old price, Mathers. Before we’re through, we’ll corner half the wealth in the system.”

Don looked at him in disgust. “And supposedly we’re fighting a war. But that isn’t all I’ve hit on gentlemen. I’ve also come to the conclusion that it’s you two who are sabotaging the nuclear fusion project. How many times has nuclear fusion been discovered in the past couple of decades?”

Rostoff smiled wolfishly. “Three times.”

“And all three times you suppressed it?”

“That’s right. You wouldn’t expect us to destroy our markets for uranium, would you, Mathers? Nuclear fusion would make power practically free.”

Don was shaking his head. “But even that isn’t all. The fact of the matter is, there is no war.”

Alicia said, her frown deeper, “What are you saying?”

He didn’t bother to look at her. “There is no war, because there are no Kradens, and haven’t been since fifty years ago. They appeared for a very short period, discovered that we were hostile, and disappeared, never to return. Well, I’m blowing the whistle, gentlemen.”

Alicia was beautiful but far from dumb. She said, “Don! Don’t be ridiculous. If you do anything foolish, it will mean the collapse of father’s empire. Why, we could become penniless overnight! There wouldn’t be anything left for me to inherit.”

He didn’t answer her.

Lawrence Demming said, “Leave the room, Alicia. We’ll handle this madman.”

She got up, gave Don one last pitying look, and followed her father’s instructions.

When she was gone, Demming said, “Take him, Dirck.”

But the Belgian shook his head. “No,” he said. “This worm, too, has turned, Demming. I don’t care what happens to me, or my family, stopping you is the only important thing. Over the years, I’ve learned a great deal of the business of the Demming and Rostoff corporations. I have no particular desire to live. But I’ll continue to do so, at least until I’ve helped Don with my testimony.”

Surprisingly fast for such a fat man, Lawrence Demming’s hand flitted into a desk drawer to emerge with a twin of the laser pistol tucked into Don’s belt.

Don Mathers grinned at him calmly, even as he pushed his jacket back to reveal the butt of his own weapon. He made no attempt to draw it however.

He said softly, “Shoot me, Demming, and you’ve killed the most popular man in the Solar System. There’d be no place to hide, no matter how much money you have; the whole human race would be seeking you out. On the other hand, if I should kill you…”

He put his left hand into his pocket and it emerged with a small, ordinary bit of red ribbon on which was suspended a platinum cross. He displayed it on his palm.

The fat man’s face whitened at the ramifications and his hand relaxed to let the gun drop to the desk top.

“Listen, Donal,” he broke out. “We’ve been unrealistic with you. We’ll reverse ourselves and split, honestly—split three ways.”

Don Mathers laughed at him. “Trying to bribe me with money, Demming? Why, don’t you realize that I’m the only man in existence who has no use for money, who can’t spend money? That my fellow men, whom I’ve done such a good job of betraying, have honored me to a point where money is meaningless?”

Max Rostoff snatched up the fallen gun, snarling, “I’m calling your bluff, you gutless rummy. And when I’ve finished you, I’ll deal with Bosch.”

Don Mathers said, “Okay, Rostoff. There’s just two other things I want to say first. One, like Dirck, here, I don’t care if I live or not. I’ve destroyed too much of what was decent, to care if I live or not. Two—you’re only fifteen feet or so away, but you know what I think? I think you’re probably a lousy shot. I don’t think you’ve had much practice. I think I can get my gun out and cut you down before you can finish me.” He grinned thinly. “Wanta try?”

Max Rostoff snarled a curse and his finger whitened on the trigger.

Don Mathers fell sideward to the floor and rolled, his hand streaking for his weapon. Without thought, there came back to him the hours of training as a cadet in hand weapons, in judo, in hand to hand combat. Anachronistic the training might have been, but they gave it to you. He went into action with cool confidence.