Hanny Lennart, serving the Commonwealth at a credit a year as Special Assistant Minister of Extrasolar Relations, declared across a continent and an ocean: "You appreciate what a difficult position your coming has put us into, Admiral Tamarin-Asmundsen. We welcome your offer to join your strength to ours. However, you admit that your government, which we still recognize, did not order you here."
"I've been told that a few times," Eric replied to the phone as dryly as he was able. Within him raged, Will you say something real, you mummy?
She did, and the end of suspense almost kicked the wind out of him. "I am calling informally to let you know without delay that I've decided to support the position taken by your ambassador. That is, the Hermetian government is under duress and therefore only those of its agents who are at large can properly represent it. I expect this will get Cabinet approval."
"Thank you . . . much," he breathed.
"It will take at least a month," she warned. "The Cabinet has a host of urgent problems. There's no hurry about your case, because our fleet won't move till it has reasonably good intelligence of Baburite forces and their dispositions. We don't want a second Mirkheim!"
"According to the news," Eric ventured, "quite a lot of your citizens don't want the fleet to move at all. They want a negotiated peace."
Lennart's sparse brows drew together. "Yes, the fools. That's the softest name I can give them—fools." She grew brisk again. "Pending acceptance of my proposal concerning you, I have the authority and obligation to rule on your temporary status. Frankly, I'm puzzled why Ambassador Runeberg objects so hard to your being considered internees. It's a mere formality for a short period."
Nicholas van Rijn put him up to it, that's why. The knowledge surged through Eric that he was winning this round. But it wasn't over yet and the fight had many more to go. His mind and tongue began working at full speed.
"I'm sure he's explained to you, Freelady. We will be answerable to our government after the war. Accepting internment would imply that its status was dubious. Nor can we put ourselves under your command till we're fully recognized as allies."
Lennart compressed her lips. "Someday I must study your curious legal system, Admiral . . . . Very well. I trust you're willing to commence unofficially developing plans with us for integrating your flotilla with our navy?"
"Our fleet with yours, if you please, Freelady." The tide of confidence rose in Eric. "Yes, certainly, save when I'm looking after the well-being of my men. And about them, they've been effectively interned already. That has to stop. I want a written statement that they're free to travel around on any innocent errands they may have."
The discussion that followed took less time than he had expected. Lennart yielded to his demands. After all, they appeared minor. And the Commonwealth government was new to the business of war, unsure how best to handle its own citizens. It would not gratuitously insult the Hermetian popular heroes of the day. Van Rijn's publicists had done their job well.
In the end, Eric switched off, leaned back, and gusted a sigh which turned into an oath. His look roved from the screen on his desk, across the room to a window beyond which green meadows tilted up toward snows and the sheen of a glacier. His new lodging and headquarters was a chalet in the Southern Alps of New Zealand, into which communication and data equipment had hastily been moved. Given a few precautions, it was spyproof and bugproof. The wealthy "sympathizer" who lent it was a dummy of van Rijn's.
His elation receded before a wave of anger. Haggling, he thought. Scheming. Waiting. Waiting. When do we fight, for God's sake?
For Lorna's sake. The vision of his betrothed rose before him, sharper than any electronic ghost but powerless to speak. Two hundred and twenty-odd light-years beyond this bland sky, she dwelt beneath the guns of Babur, and he had had no chance to kiss her farewell. A pen snapped between his fingers.
Van Rijn came in from the next room, where he had been listening. "We got what we was after, ha?" His tone was unlightened by the minikin victory. "I would shout hurray and toss my hat in the air, except my heart is not in it. We still need to move fast, nie? Let us right away knock up a plan."
Eric wrenched attention to the merchant. "Oh, I've done that," he said.
"Ha?" The little black eyes blinked. "I come so we could be sure we talked safe."
Eric shoved back his frustration. Here was another step he could take toward his desire. "I worked it out while you were on your way. Then Lennart called, as we'd been hoping, right after you arrived.
"You go quietly with your agents to your midocean retreat, Ronga, as if for a few days' relaxation from the harassment the government's doubtless been giving you."
Van Rijn's mustaches vibrated. "Who told you about there?"
Eric felt progressively better as he spoke. "David Falkayn. Remember the night on your yacht, how toward morning, when we seemed pretty well talked out, he and I went topside for a breath of fresh air before the car came for me? He described your various private landing facilities, in case of need, and Ronga seems to me like the best bet."
That wasn't all he told, he thought. Already then, he knew what he aimed to do and had a fair idea of how to go about it. Today I have been, I still am acting at his behest as much as I am at my own.
"Well, now," he continued into the prawnlike stare, "each of my cruisers carries a speedster—outfitted for interstellar travel, I mean. I'll personally order one down, to land at Ronga. Some Commonwealth naval functionary will have to grant clearance. I'm wagering he'll just retrieve a listing of Ronga as bearing a civilian field suitable for that kind of vessel, and not check any further, like whose property it is. He won't dare to delay me. I've been acting mighty touchy—you noticed how I snooted Lennart—in hopes that word will go out to handle me with velvyl waldos.
"To avoid phone taps, I suggest you visit my ambassador after you leave here—get him out of bed if necessary—and hand him my commissions of your agents as officers of the Hermetian navy. Then bring to the island, and hand to them, my orders that they're to leave the Solar System according to instructions delivered verbally. They'll take the speedster after she's touched down; you can talk her pilot back to his ship. She carries several weeks' worth of basic supplies. Can you see to it that the nonhumans have along whatever supplementary nutrients they require?
"I don't imagine the boat will meet any problems getting cleared to lift, either. The person in charge will assume I want to visit my ships in their orbits. But once away from Earth, she'll head for the deeps. Space is big enough that it's unlikely she can be intercepted, if your man knows his trade. The Commonwealth navy isn't deployed against possible outward movements, as the Baburites were at Hermes."
A laugh clanked forth. "Oh, yes, I'll get any amount of thunder about this," Eric finished. "I'll enjoy pointing out that I've been entirely within my rights. We are not interned, and as yet we are not under the Commonwealth supreme command. 'Tisn't my fault if their officer took for granted I wanted a jaunt for myself. I'm not obliged to explain any orders I issue to personnel of mine—though as a matter of fact, 'tis quite reasonable that I'd send scouts to see from afar, if they can, how Hermes is doing. Yes, the brouhaha should be the first fun I've had since you smuggled me out of Rio."
Van Rijn stood moveless for seconds. Then: "Oh, ho, ho, ho!" he bellowed. "You is my son for sure, a chip off the old blockhead, ja, in you the Mendelian excessives is bred true! Let me find a bottle Genever I said should come with the office gear, and we will drink a wish to the enemy—bottoms up!"
"Later," Eric replied. Warmth touched him. "Yes, I do look forward to getting imperially drunk with you . . . Dad. But right now we've got to keep moving. I'll take your word for it that nobody can have traced you to this place. However, if you're out from under surveillance, if your whereabouts are unknown for long at a time, it could start the watchers speculating, not?"
He reached for writing materials. "Give me again the names of Falkayn's partners," he requested.
Van Rijn started where he stood. "Falkayn's? David? No, no, boy. I got others standing by."
Eric was surprised. "Of course you're reluctant to send him back into danger. But have you anybody more competent?"
"No." Van Rijn began ponderously pacing. "Ach, I admit I hate seeing Coya try not to show she grieves while he is gone. Nevertheleast I would send him, except—Well, you heard, that night on the boat. He will not go arrange a getting together of the independent company heads like he is supposed to. He does not lie to me about that. Give him a chance, he goes to Hermes."
"Why, yes. Should I object?"
"Tombs and torment!" van Rijn spluttered. "What can he do there? Get himself killed? Then what has all this pile of maneuvers been for?"
"I'm assuming he didn't boast when he told me, that dawn on your yacht, he and his gang can slip down onto the planet unbeknownst," Eric said. "Once there, yes, quite likely he will stay for the duration. That's good from my viewpoint, because his advice and leadership should be valuable. He also said it'd be harder to get a vessel back into space, but his partners have a sporting chance of being able to do it, after they've left him off. They have a record of such stunts. So they'll assemble your entrepreneurs for you. Though frankly, I've no clear idea of what you think those can accomplish."
"Little, maybe," van Rijn conceded. "And yet . . . I got a hunch on my back, son. It says we should work through what is left of the League, and maybe we find out the reasons for Babur's actions and how we can change them. Because on the face of it, they make no sense." He lifted a slab of a hand. "Oh, ja, I know, wars often do not. Still, I wonder and wonder what the Babur leaders imagine they can gain by imperialism against us." He knuckled his forehead. "Somewhere in this thick old noggin is fizzling an idea . . . .
"Davy will insist on going first to Hermes. Then could well be that Adzel and Chee never manage to continue. The jeopardy cannot change its spots. Let me send somebody else than them. Please."
That his father should finally use that word to him gave Eric a curious pang. "I'm sorry," he said. "It has to be Falkayn, no matter what terms he sets. You see, I've got to carry a rose in my tail—uh, that's Hermetian—I've got to guard my rear, legally, for the sake of my own men. Falkayn has my nationality. And his partners don't belong to the Commonwealth either, do they? Then I have a right to commission them. Have you any equally qualified spacers on tap that that's true of?"
Suddenly van Rijn looked shrunken. "No," he whispered.
He's old, passed through Eric, weary, and, here at last, forsaken. He wanted to clasp the bent shoulders. But he could merely say, "Does it make such a difference? At most, we'll set up a liaison, first with my home, later with your colleagues. We hope 'twill prove useful." He made his next words ring. "The issue, though, will depend on how well we fight."
Van Rijn gave him a long regard. "You do not see, do you, boy?" he asked, low and harshly. "Win, lose, or draw, much more war means the end of the Commonwealth like we has known it, and the League, and Hermes. You beg the saints we do not have to fight to what we call a decision." He was mute for a little. "Maybe we is already too late. Hokay, let us go ahead the way you want."
Burnt orange shading to molten gold and far-flung coral, sunset lay extravagant over the ocean. Light bridged the waters from horizon to surf. High in the west stood Venus. Beneath a lulling of waves, Ronga was wholly quiet. The day's odors of blossoms were fading away as air cooled.
Adzel came along a beach that edged the outside of the atoll. On his left a stand of palms glowed against eastern violet. On his right side, the scales shimmered. Chee Lan rode him; her fur seemed gilded. They were spending their last hour before they returned to space.
She said into a silence that had held them both for a while: "After this is done with, if we're still alive, I'm going back to Cynthia. For aye."
Adzel rumbled an inquiring sound.
"I've been thinking about it since the trouble began," she told him—or did she tell herself? "And tonight . . . the beauty here disturbs me. It's too much like home, and too much unlike. I try to recall the living forests of Dao-lai, malo trees in flower and wings around them, everywhere wings; but all I see is this. I try to remember folk I care about, and all I have left is their names. It's a cold way to be."
"I'm glad your appetite for wealth is sated," Adzel said.
She bristled. "Why in chaos was I confessing to you, you overgrown gruntosaur? You wouldn't know what homesickness is. You can pursue your silly enlightenment anywhere you may be, till you've run the poor thing ragged."
The great head shook; and that, meaning no, was a gesture learned among humans, not seen in any land on Woden. "I am sorry, Chee. I did not mean to sound smug, simply happy on your account."
She calmed as fast as she had flared and gave him a purr. He continued doggedly, "I thought in my vanity that I was indeed free of birth ties. But this sun is dim, these horizons are narrow, and often in my dreams I gallop again with comrades across a wind-singing plain. And I long for a wife, I who am supposed to have such wishes only when a female is near me in her season. Or is it young that I really want, tumbling about my feet till I gather them up in my arms?"
"Yes, that," Chee murmured. "A lover I can be kind to, for always."
The beach thinned as it bent around a grove. Passing by, he and she came in sight of Falkayn and Coya, who faced each other with hands joined and had no vision of anything else. Adzel did not slacken his steady pace; he and his rider neither watched nor averted their eyes. Of three races and one fellowship, these four had little they need conceal between them.
"Oh, I regret nothing," said the Wodenite. "The years have been good. I will but wish my children have the same fortune I did, to fare among miracles."
"I likewise," Chee answered, "though I'm afraid—I'm afraid we've had the best of what there was. The time that is coming—" Her voice trailed off.
"You are not compelled to endure the future today," Adzel counseled. "Let us savor this final adventure of ours for what it is."
The Cynthian shook herself, as if she had climbed out of a glacial river, and leaped back to her olden style. "Adventure?" she snarled. "Crammed in a hull half the size of Muddlin' Through, with none of our pet amusements? Not even a computer that can play poker!"