Galactic Medal of Honor

AFTERMATH

From the Geneva Spaceport he took an automated hover cab to the Presidential Palace. At the palace gates he found he had left his credit card back in Center City. He snorted wearily. It was the first time in months that he’d had to pay for anything.

Four sentries were standing at attention. He said, “Do one of you boys have a Universal Credit Card to pay off this cab? I seem to have mislaid mine.”

A sergeant grinned, approached and did the necessary.

Don said, “I don’t know how you go about this. I don’t have an appointment, but I want to see the president.”

“We can turn you over to one of his aides, Colonel Mathers,” the sergeant said. “We can’t go any further than that. While we’re waiting, what’s the chance of getting your autograph, sir? I gotta kid.

…”

Don sighed, then took a deep breath and said, “He’ll probably tear it up before the week’s cut.”

“No sir, Colonel. He’ll treasure it the rest of his life.”

It wasn’t nearly as complicated as Don thought it would be. In less than half an hour he was seated in the president’s office. How long had it been since this man had given him his decoration? Could it be less than a year?

He told the story completely, making no effort to spare himself. At the end, he stood up long enough to put a paper in front of the other, then sat down again.

He said, “I’m turning the whole corporation over to the government…”

President Kwame Kumasi, whose ebony face had been registering shock after shock, the past hour, said, “Just a moment, Colonel Mathers. My administration does not advocate State ownership of industry.”

“I know. When the State controls industry you only put the whole mess off one step. The question then becomes, who controls the State? However, I’m not arguing political economy with you, Mr. President. You didn’t let me finish. I’m turning it over to the government to untangle, even while making use of the radioactives. There’s going to be a lot of untangling to do. Demming and Rostoff were devious and complicated, to say the least. So are some of the others they brought into the, ah, action. Reimbursing the prospectors and small operators who were blackjacked out of their holdings; reimbursing the miners and other laborers who were squeezed into accepting minimal pay in the name of patriotism.” Don Mathers shrugged unhappily. “On top of everything else, for all these people victimized, the uranium will be all but useless once it is learned that there have been nuclear fusion breakthroughs.”

“Yes,” the president said. He sighed deeply. “And you say that Maximilian Rostoff is dead?”

“Yes, I killed him. And Demming has gone completely drivel-happy. I think he was always a little unbalanced and the prospect of losing all that money, the greatest fortune ever conceived of, tipped the scales.”

President Kumasi said, “And what about you, Colonel Mathers?”

Don took a deep breath. “I suppose that after my court-martial, or civilian trial, or whatever, I’ll—

The president interrupted gently, “You seem to forget, Colonel Mathers. You carry the Galactic Medal of Honor, the bearer of which can do no wrong.”

Don Mathers gaped at him.

The president smiled, albeit a bit sourly. “It would hardly do for human morale, in this period which will shake our concepts, to find that our supreme symbol of heroism was a phoney. Colonel, there will be no trial and you will retain your decoration.”

Don was still gaping. “But it will have to come out that the Kraden cruiser I supposedly destroyed was already a derelict. Otherwise, no one will believe that the Kradens were not hostile. Otherwise, everyone will believe that they came back again. Otherwise, all our people will believe that the so-called war must go on.”

The president shook his head. “I think I have that figured out. At the same time that we announce that the original battle was a terrible mistake, and that the Kradens were a peaceful fleet of spaceships, we will announce that our technicians, examining the Miro Class cruiser which you destroyed, found it unarmed and obviously a spaceship sent to attempt to reopen negotiations with us, in spite of our initial attack upon them fifty years earlier. No blame will be placed on you, who, in good faith, went in to the attack, believing that you were fighting an enemy. It was all a great mistake, but your courage and gallantry were still there. You deserved the award, in spite of the tragedy. Meanwhile, we shall immediately put our tight laser beams on Luna to working trying to contact the Kradens—wherever in space they may be located—and utilizing the most recently developed methods of attempting to communicate with extraterrestrials—to apologize for our mistake and to reopen contact with them.”

“You mean, I am to retain my medal?”

“Yes, the human race would be hard put to bear the psychic upset if you were to be stripped of it.”

“But, I don’t want it!”

The president rubbed a weary black hand over his short, kinky hair. “I am afraid that is the cross you will have to bear the rest of your life, Colonel Mathers. I do not suppose it will be an easy one.” His eyes went to a far corner of the room, but un-seeing. He said, after a long moment, “However, I am not so very sure about you not deserving your award, Colonel.”