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Chapter Twenty-Four

HALF a mile from Kopal Manor, Jeff asked the car to stop. He told it that he and Simon Macafee would walk the rest of the way. In principle, that was to allow Simon to sample another aspect of alien Earth. Jeff knew that nothing in the Cloud remotely resembled the long avenue of oak trees leading to the manor, the carefully tended acres of grassland stretching off to the horizon, or the formal flower beds and shrubberies.

In fact, it was Jeff who felt like an alien. He had seen all this as baby and infant and growing boy, so many times that he could not count. Yet today every sight was like the first time. He found himself marveling at the way grass fought a constant battle to invade the flower beds, at wheeling flights of starlings in the fall sky, at the intricate and delicate structure of late roses and chrysanthemum blossoms, and at leaves, red and brown and yellow, fluttering to earth with the touch of frost.

Simon, on the other hand, hardly glanced to right or left. He jerked to attention only once, when a pair of small bushy animals scurried across the road in front of them.

"Squirrels," Jeff explained.

"Yes." But Simon seemed to have no interest in the flora and fauna of Earth. He walked with head bowed, two fingers scratching absently at the chin beneath the long beard. Jeff saw—or imagined—a fine rain of dandruff. Simon had taken no hint from the splendidly dressed and coolly courteous officers who had greeted them and shepherded them down to Earth. He wore a uniform of sorts, but it was faded, patched, and nondescript.

Jeff wondered if it were deliberate, a subtle message to the Earth authorities that said, "You can't impress us, you know. We have your fleet. Who do you think has the stronger position?"

Jeff decided that the casual appearance was not deliberate. Simon was just being Simon.

But Jeff was not, most decidedly, just being Jeff. Before entering the shuttle he had burnished to a fine brilliance everything on his ensign's uniform that would take a polish. His hair, cut short, was as neat as he could make it after weeks of casual care. He could not see his own insides, but from the feel of them they stood to attention and were wound up as tight as they could get. He had a great urge to hurry, and an equal urge to put off their arrival at Kopal Manor for as long as possible.

What did his mother's message meant. There had been nothing more from her, and Connie Cheever had urged Jeff not to send another message.

"You'll see for yourself in a few hours," she said. "You can wait that long. Be patient."

Easy to advise, hard to do. Jeff moved his eyes away from the lawns and gardens to the road in front of him, where Kopal Manor lay less than a hundred yards ahead. Not much to see from the outside, except four air runabouts parked on the circular driveway. Every one was brand new.

Jeff and Simon moved from the paved road onto the circle of the drive, and their boots crunched loud on the gravel. Still no one was visible, but the big double doors silently swung open in front of them.

"Just follow me." For some reason, Jeff felt he had to speak in a whisper. He went inside, from bright afternoon sunlight to the shaded gloom of the paneled entrance hall.

Midgeley stood within, partly shielded by one of the open doors. He nodded to Jeff, as though the arrival of a renegade from the Space Navy was a perfectly normal part of his day.

"Who's here?" Jeff gestured to the parked aircars.

"Your mother, and your uncles and aunts with the exception of Commodore Fairborn Lazenby. He was unexpectedly delayed, and is expected within the hour. Lady Florence Kopal is still in her suite, but her departure for the spaceport is imminent. She is most eager to see you and extended her stay here for that reason. The others are all in the big conference room." Midgeley said nothing more, but he stared at Simon with slightly raised eyebrows that asked their own question: And what is this that you have brought with you?

Most visitors who came through the front entrance of Kopal Manor were highly placed officers of the Space Navy or powerful business executives. Midgeley's expression suggested that Jeff's companion belonged around the rear, at the tradesmen's entrance.

"Thank you, Midgeley," Jeff said as he went inside. "This is Simon Macafee, a visitor to Earth from the Messina Dust Cloud. He will accompany me."

Not his idea, but Connie Cheever's. She had insisted on it. "Another pair of eyes and ears. Where your family is involved, it will be hard for you to evaluate what they say as an impartial witness."

Midgeley's opinions needed no evaluation, since he would never express them verbally. He nodded politely to Simon and said, "Welcome, sir, to Kopal Manor."

"Come on, Simon." Jeff was already running up the broad staircase. "I want Mother to meet you."

Uncle Lory was lounging at the top of the stairs. It was no surprise to Jeff that Midgeley had not thought to mention him. Uncle Lory was always at Kopal Manor, as much a fixture as Midgeley himself. Lory gave Jeff a surprised nod as he ran past, but he stared with a good deal more interest at Simon Macafee.

"Hey!" he said. "You—"Jeff heard nothing more. He was already dashing along the corridor to the east wing, Simon close behind.

The door to Florence Kopal's suite of rooms was ajar. Jeff burst through without knocking. She was sitting in a chair over by the north-facing window, gazing out over the slowly darkening sweep of lawn.

"Mother!"

As he ran to her she spun around and stood up. A good sign—she could not move so fast and easily when he left. But her first words renewed his fear. "Jeff! Oh, Jeff. It's great to see you. But you're too late!"

"What is it?" He put his arms around her. "Are you getting worse again?"

"No. I'm improving. And when I start physical therapy I'll be better yet. I'm scheduled for treatment in the orbital medical facility tomorrow, and I ought to have left for the spaceport hours ago. But I hung on here to the last minute, hoping you would come."

"Why didn't you just tell me to meet you at the spaceport?"

"Because you had to come here. It's your uncles and aunts; they've found a way of taking over Kopal Transportation. I couldn't stop them, and you're too late. If only—"

She paused. She was staring over Jeff's shoulder. He turned and realized that she had noticed Simon Macafee.

He was certainly something to notice. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his mouth drooped open, and his wrinkled uniform and unkempt hair made him a walking parody of a navy man.

At last he raised one hand to shoulder height, palm outward, and said, "Hi."

"This is Simon Macafee." Jeff was tempted to add, "The leading scientific intellect of the Messina Dust Cloud," but he didn't think his mother was likely to believe him.

It didn't matter, because after a first startled glance she had turned back to Jeff. "You're too late," she said again. "When the Aurora was lost and Captain Dufferin came back, you were charged with dereliction of duty and desertion—"

"That's not true!"

"I never believed it was, Jeff, not for a moment." Florence Kopal tried to smile at him and did not quite succeed. The scars on her face became more noticeable. "I swore that when you came back, we would learn what really happened and you would be exonerated. But since you left, everything seems to have gone wrong. Uncle Giles moved at top speed, and his petition to declare the official death of your father was approved a month ago. After that, you were all that stood between the board members and their freedom to do what they liked with Kopal Transportation. Then the crew of the Aurora came home without you. Desertion is grounds for a court-martial—and a court-martial from the Space Navy means disgrace and disinheritance."

"Hold on. I haven't been court-martialed. My hearing hasn't even started."

"I know. It doesn't have to. Uncle Giles somehow obtained a full statement of the charges against you."

"I can guess how. He's a snake who wriggles through the whole navy."

"Based on those charges he can offer a board resolution removing you from any management role in Kopal Transportation. He scheduled the resolution for a board vote this afternoon. And you weren't here. If you had been  . . . . It's no good, Jeff, you're just too late. And I have to leave, I can't even stay to try and help."

But her final words were spoken to his back, as he dashed past Simon Macafee and out of the door.

"Go to the spaceport, Mother," he shouted as he ran. "Start your therapy. Maybe I'm not too late. Uncle Fairborn was delayed. If they need all the board members, and he didn't get here yet . . ."

There was no point in any more shouting. He was out of earshot, racing past a startled Uncle Lory and hurtling down the staircase to the ground floor.

The double doors beyond the two antechambers were closed but not locked. Jeff threw them open and burst inside in one movement.

"Here at last!" said a familiar voice. "Now we can get on with—good Lord!"

It was Uncle Giles, in his usual seat at the head of the table. Uncle Terence and Aunt Willow sat to his left, Aunt Delia on his right. It was the same arrangement as the last time that Jeff was in the room, with one blessed difference. Uncle Fair-born was not present!

"No, I'm not Fairborn." Jeff advanced slowly to the end of the long table, moving through a dead, unnatural silence. "I'm Jeff, back from the Messina Dust Cloud. I didn't die, and I'm not too late. You haven't voted on the board resolution to take over Kopal Transportation, have you? Because you can't do that without Uncle Fairborn."

His uncles and aunts stared at him with a mixture of astonishment and cold dislike. The silence continued until at last Giles Lazenby said softly, "Hello, Jefferson. I can't say I'm too surprised to see you, even if the rest of us are. I knew that you were heading down to Earth. And you are quite right, there has been no vote. Thanks to Fairborn. Your uncle"—his mouth twitched—"was delayed by, and I quote, 'personal business.' We had words, and he finally abandoned his perfumed pleasures. He will be here in less than half an hour."

"Good. When he arrives, I demand the right to tell you what happened in the Messina Dust Cloud. It's nothing like the report that was filed by Captain Dufferin."

"I am prepared to believe that your version of events is at variance with the official report." The others at the table were still scowling, but Giles Lazenby was under control. He was even smiling at Jeff. "When you appear for the official navy hearing, you will be provided with an opportunity to state your case formally. However . . . ."

His voice trailed away. Giles was frowning, not at Jeff but right past him.

Jeff hardly needed to turn. This seemed to be his day for explaining Simon Macafee.

"Who the devil are you?" Giles continued in a colder tone. "And what are you doing here? This happens to be a private meeting, in a private house."

"He's with me," Jeff said. "His name is Simon Macafee. Maybe you've heard of him?"

It was a question that didn't need an answer. Aunt Willow seemed baffled, but the startled faces of Aunt Delia and Uncle Terence spoke for them. Only Uncle Giles had the presence of mind to put the smile back on his face. "Simon Macafee? Yes indeed, I have certainly heard of you. And under normal circumstances I would be delighted to welcome to Kopal Manor the inventor of the Anadem field, and hope to enjoy the pleasure of your extended company. But for the moment I must ask you to leave. We are engaged in private family business."

Simon returned the smile, but he did not speak. He seemed to be waiting for something. After a few silent seconds he nodded, turned, and left the conference room without a word.

Giles stared after him, his brow furrowed. He put his hand to his forehead. It took Aunt Willow to recall his attention, with an acid, "What a disgusting person! I am astonished, Giles, that you would even pass the time of day with such an interloper, still less be polite to him."

"You would he astonished." Giles turned on his sister. "Willow, you are an ignorant fool. When you have no idea what is going on, you might at least learn to be quiet."

"Giles! I will not permit you to—"

"Shut up. The man who just went out is the reason we lost a whole navy fleet in the Messina Dust Cloud. He could also be the man who destroys Kopal Transportation. With his damned invention, he is in a position to ruin us."

For a split second Jeff saw a different Giles in the tight jaw muscles and corded neck veins. He shivered; but the next moment the smile was back and the soft voice was continuing, "However, let us not permit this meeting to be distracted by matters over which we presently have no control. I will explain the possible importance of Simon Macafee to the future of Kopal Transportation, my dear Willow, on another occasion. Just now I must explain something else to our young nephew, Jefferson."

The smile turned Jeff's way. Now that he had seen the other Giles, Jeff recognized the venom behind it. He forced himself to stand to attention and wait.

"You see, Jeff." Giles spoke mildly, with none of the contempt that he had displayed toward Aunt Willow. "Your education has been deficient in a number of important areas. You do not understand the difference between formal and informal reports and hearings. This is formal." He picked up from the table a thin packet of papers and waved it toward Jeff. "It consists of Captain Eliot Dufferin's sworn statement as to the events occurring on the navy ship Aurora, from the time that it passed through Node 23 and entered the Messina Dust Cloud. The captain's statement is supplemented and supported by the statements of other members of the crew."

"It's all lies! He was trying to save his own reputation, and they were afraid to disagree with him."

"Perhaps so. But this is the evidence on which the charges of desertion and treason against you were based. And these, as I say, are formal, official documents. Now, in a few days you will appear before a navy tribunal. You will be given a chance to offer your version of events. That, too, will become an official document. Do you understand?"

"Of course I do. I've been working on my statement for days."

"I'm sure you have. Your future navy career could depend on it. Then there are informal reports. You may have told your side of the story already to dozens of people. But that was not under oath, and it does not form part of the official record. It therefore carries no legal weight. Now, you wish to present that story to the board. We will certainly not deny you that right. You will be given the opportunity, as soon as Uncle Fairborn arrives."

It sounded reasonable—too reasonable. But Jeff had grown wary.

"And after that?"

"After that, the board meeting will continue. Of course, it will do so with only the board members present."

"Without me. And only formal evidence will be considered."

"I did not say that. Of course, the board will balance formal sworn statements, with impartial witnesses, against informal statements by someone with a strong personal interest."

"You're saying that you'll ignore what I say."

"Not at all. I am telling you that our official responsibility as board members demands that we weigh everything we hear, and judge accordingly."

Jeff stared at the other faces around the table. Terence, Willow, and Delia would not look at him. They were taking their cue from Uncle Giles. He could expect no help from them.

"My mother and I will appeal the board vote."

"You are assuming that you know what that vote will be. However, you certainly have the right to appeal. Of course, such appeals tend to take a long time to be heard." Giles's smile for a moment took on a little genuine humor. "Now, until Uncle Fairborn arrives the board has other business. So if you would be kind enough to wait outside . . . ."

Jeff saw no choice. He left the conference room feeling shaky, and found Simon Macafee outside. He was leaning, eyes closed, against the wall.

"Did you hear that?" Jeff closed the conference-room doors.

"I did. Every word." Simon slowly shook his downturned head. "This is all a damnable nuisance. But it's my own fault if I was surprised. I should have known." He opened his eyes. "I need a bathroom."

"Right along there, on the left."

"And for the next fifteen minutes, I want you some place where your aunts and uncles are not likely to look for you."

"Why?"

"You'll see before too long. Don't go to your mother's suite; she will be gone by now, but that's where they might expect to find you."

"I could go to the old library. No one but me ever seemed to go there."

"Fine. If I don't come for you, meet me back here in a quarter of an hour."

"What's all this about?"

"It's about doing what I don't want to do. What I hate doing. Fifteen minutes more, and you'll understand."

Simon was walking away. He did not look back. Jeff stared after him, longing to follow and demand more information. Then he fancied he heard movement from inside the conference room.

He hurried at once in the opposite direction and headed upstairs for the safety of the old library.

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