Children of Tomorrow (6 page)

John Lane
emerged from Exit Eight of the monorail elevator. Directly in front of him, as he walked forth, was a sign which read:

WARNING CLASSIFIED TERRITORY
Identification Required

After ten years’ absence from ground rules, during which time he had moved up to top command of a fleet of space battleships, it was a little irksome to have to step into a cubbyhole and submit to a computer check, But he did it now with the faint, fixed smile of a superior officer who is prepared at all times to prove that, if a system is necessary, he is not above it.

Naturally, he was in the cubbyhole very briefly. After instants only, a green light flashed in the panel in front of him. Behind him, the door unlocked with a click. The same color of green was glowing from a source at the top of the check station outside. Which, of course, was to be expected, but it degraded him -
slightly
- to have to have it there.

In emerging, Lane faced a long, wide, gleaming corridor. There were many men, particularly men in officers’ uniforms, visible as far as the eye could see. They emerged from one door, walked a distance, and disappeared into another. Always, evidently by chance alone, by the time one group had performed this operation, another group was in process of doing it.

It was out of this tangle of people that a familiar figure presently came forth. Lane recognised Desmond Reid, and walked briskly forward to meet him. The two men shook hands. Reid apologised: “Hope you haven’t been waiting long?’'

‘No, no, just got here!’ Lane replied truthfully.

The older man took his arm and led the way to a side corridor. He was shaking his head. He was grave. “Hard day ahead for you, John. It’s another debriefing session, and it’s going to be rough,’ ‘Same problem?’

Reid nodded. “Everybody’s in a state over that clash you had with the aliens. I sense fear, tension, the feeling that not enough precautions were taken.’

Lane was calm. ‘When we began to run out of fuel, we had a simple choice. Either never return at all - just die out there - or

bring the fleet here in the belief that it would be valuable in an emergency. It took a long time to build those ships, remember?’ ‘I remember,’ said Reid, grimly. He pointed. ‘This way.’ It was another corridor. As they walked along it, now, Reid continued. ‘Will you swear that only military consideration motivated your return?’ He broke off. ‘I’m sure you’ll be asked that question. What I mean is, you didn’t let consideration for Estelle and Susan influence you.’

Lane stopped. He was scowling, and angry. 'Are you out of your mind? Of course, I did. Not only my Estelle and my Susan but all the Estelles and Susans of forty-eight thousand men.’ He laughed curtly. ‘You don’t think for one second that the officers could have retained control of those vessels if we had ever announced that we were not coming home.’ As he spoke, his frown became positively ferocious. ‘If that’s the kind of thinking that’s going on, I won’t even talk to the bastards. I only mentioned the alternative to coming home. No one - not me or anyone — ever considered it seriously.’

‘The fate of the entire planet may be in the balance,’ said Reid, slowly. ‘What about that?’ He was abruptly apologetic again. ‘I’m only asking, John, because in a few minutes this is what you’re going to be facing.’

Absently, Lane patted his friend’s arm. His eyes were still narrowed, but he was suddenly concerned and not in a rage. Finally, he said, ‘I’m glad you’re doing this, Dez. These kind of thoughts are a year behind me, all resolved, answered, and put away in their little cubbyholes. I appreciate what you’ve done for me just now. For the first time I understand why I didn’t get home yesterday until Estelle was ready to jump out of her skin. The debriefing committee handled me with such respect, I didn’t get the real direction of their thinking.’

His stem face relaxed. He stood there staring, initially thoughtfully, but presently with a faint humorless smile at the gleaming wall above Reid’s head. At last, he nodded. His gaze came back to his friend. Reid, who had been watching him, parted his lips to speak again. But the younger man held up his hand, demanding silence. ‘No more,’ he said. ‘I’ve remembered the whole discussion I had with my staff at the time. Listen! The key fact is, that there is a villainous - from our point of view — race out there. They attacked us without warning, refused all communication, and were obviously out to lull. Got that?’

Reid nodded.

Lane continued, ‘They’re not that far away, Dez, that we’ll ever be safe. Only Twenty-one light-years. At such a relatively short distance, there’s no escaping a confrontation sooner or
later. On the other hand, suppose we had decided against coming home. Then, the enemy would know that earth existed, but earth wouldn’t know that they were out there. Presumably, there would be anxiety and suspicion if we never returned. But people wouldn’t actually
know.
Now, they do. And in addition we have the fleet that skillfully fought an engagement with a powerful force.’ He spread his hands. ‘That’s it. That’s the reasoning. I can see no flaw in it.’

Desmond Reid was nodding. ‘Nor I, he said. His face was thoughtful. “What should we be doing, John?’

‘Building new vessels. Analysing what weapons they used against us from the damage we suffered.’

‘Good man.’ With abrupt warmth, the older man now patted Lane’s arm. ‘I knew my confidence in you when it comes to matters like this was not misplaced. But’ - he smiled wryly - ‘how did you make out last night with Susan?’

Lane did not reply immediately. His attenion had moved over to a young officer in full dress who was approaching along the hallway. The man wore an active flight badge, and he swaggered a little. When the youthful officer had passed by, Lane stared after him with a smile. He said in a significant tone, ‘They’re handsome, aren’t they, these heroes of space?’

He turned, and saw that Reid was staring at him with a puzzled expression in his face. ‘I presume,’ said the older man finally, ‘that that is your answer to my question about Susan.’ Lane laughed, caught his friend’s arm, urged him into motion again, and, it was as they were walking, that he said, ‘Don’t worry about Susan. She’ll never even know what happened to her; it will all be so smoothly done.’ He broke off. '"When does the debriefing session begin?’

‘It’s already in session, but they’re questioning your chief officer, Villi 6^

‘Then I’ve got time to locate my new office, and sit in the chair behind the desk, and admire myself?’

‘I’ll take you there, myself,’ answere
d Reid. ‘But, now, about Susan.’

The younger man shook his head with a slow, wide, firm movement. , I'd rather not discuss the matter.’

His friend accepted the second avoidance of the subject. They walked silently the rest of the way to a door that was marked:

'SPACE CONTROL HEADQUARTERS. John Lane, Senior Fleet Commander.’

Lane paused to read the lettering, and then shook his head good-naturedly, and said, ‘I’m not yet quite clear what it means.' Reid laughed, ‘It’s got to have its place somewhere on the upper

part of the totem pole. You’ll discover where when you pick up the intercom and find out who’s calling you about what.’ He held out his hand. As Lane took it questioningly, the other man continued, ‘I’ve got to get back to the debriefing session. You’ll be called soon.’

‘How will I find my way through this labyrinth?’ Lane waved vaguely, taking in all the corridors they had traversed and others that were visible in the distance ahead.

‘Have one of your people bring you.’

With that perfec
tl
y sensible suggestion, he waved and, turning, walked back the way they had come. Lane stood for a moment watching the fine, firmly held body, the slightly graying hair on 8 distinguished-looking head. His eyes grew thoughtful, and he nodded gen
tl
y to himself; and then abruptly, his gaze still on the receding figure, he made a gesture that was half-salute, halfwave of respect.

Whereupon, he brought his hand down upon the knob, spun it, and entered a large room that, at his first quick glance, looked very much like the control desk of a large spaceship. Slowly, Lane pushed the door shut behind him. Then, with wondering face, he walked toward the left wall, which was nothing more nor less than a huge viewplate. The shiny screen was at the moment showing a view of space: Blackness with a dusting of stars in the background. The man’s eyes grew misty, as he gazed at that scene so familiar to him from so many years out there. He continued his investigatory tour, walking past the glass window and door leading to what looked like a conference room, and past the viewplate to the machine that covered almost the entire rear wall. The purpose of this second machanism was equally obvious to his experienced eyes. It was an advanced type computer. The lights that played over its transparent windows, and the coding that built up in those windows, made meaningful patterns to Lane. He nodded half to himself, and there was pride in his face now.

Still nodding, he said softly to himself, ‘I guess it won’t be such a bad job after all. I won’t be as out of touch as I feared, I will, in effect, be out there, and yet live at home with my

f
amil
y ’

As he spoke the word ‘family,
’
his eyes narrowed slightly. He had been walking slowly in the direction of the other side wall, which was lined with a series of small gadgetry. Now, he stopped, spun on his heel and walked to the large metal desk that stood in front of the huge computer. There was an intercom on the desk. Lane pressed a button on it; and when a man’s voice presently answered, he said. This is Commander Lane, Who
am I talking to?’

‘Scott, sir. Andrew Scott, A sort of liaison secretary, sir, is my job.’

‘Good,’ said Lane. ‘Mr Scott, I noticed that there were several junior officers aboard this building. Get me a list of the active flight men in port.’

‘Very well, sir.’

‘How long will it take to get such a list?’

Well, sir,’ was the reply. ‘I’m in the room on the other side of the computer that is also in your private office. And - right now

I - am - programming - the - computer - and here is the list, sir. May I bring it in?’

Lane had to smile. ‘You certainly may,’ he said. He stepped back from the intercom, and looked around. He had noticed no doors, on entering, except the one to the corridor, and of course the beautiful glass entrance to the conference room. As he waited, there was a small sound at the far left of the rear wall, where the computer did seem to narrow down a bit. One of the metal panels swung open and a man of about his own age came in. He was a dark-haired, brown-eyed, thick-jowled, slightly plumpish individual, dressed in civilian clothes — as was Lane. The latter accepted the computer printout sheet that was handed to him, and said, ‘Wait.’

It was not a long list. The active flight officer aboard consisted of aproximately thirty-four names by quick glance estimate. There were only four captains on the list. Lane indicated them, said, ‘How old are they? Let me have pictures of the two youngest?’

Scott did not even leave the room. Moments later, he came back with the printout that the computer had unrolled for him in the small alcove directly behind Lane’s desk. There were the four photos, and the ages of each man. One was twenty-seven, and one all of twenty-six and one half, and the other two were both twenty-eight. Three of the men were adequately good-looking, but on the photo the fourth man was sensationally handsome. He was unfortunately one of the two twenty-eight-year-olds. But Lane quickly decided that would have to be unimportant.

He looked up. ‘Mr Scott.’

Yes, Commander.’

‘This man, Captain Peter Sennes -
I
want you to locate him for me. Have him here in my office - let me see.’ He stroked his jaw, and mused out loud, ‘Yesterday, the debriefing committee adjourned for lunch a 12:30 - so ask him to be here at one. Tell him that I intend to invite him to my home for dinner tonight or tomorrow, whichever is more suitable for him. Will you do that?’
'Of course, sir.’

"And Mr Scott’

‘
Yes, sir.’

'Cali ray wife, and tell her that I may have a guest for dinner tonight or tomorrow. Will you do that?’

‘Naturally, sir.’

As Scott turned away, the intercom buzzer sounded. The plump man walked over quickly, and pressed the button. ‘Commander Lane’s office,’ he said.

A voice said, ‘The President’s Space Committee is ready to resume its debriefing of Commander Lane. Will you have him step over as soon as possible.
⁵

‘I’ll need a guide,’ said Lane to Scott. He spoke quickly.

I’ll
show him the way, personally,’ said Scott into the intercom.
He glanced at Lane. ‘When, sir?’

‘Right now,’ Lane replied.

’We’ll be there in two minutes,’ Scott said into the instrument.

He broke the connection, and motioned toward the
hall
door. 'After you, Commander.’

They went out into the hallway, Scott opening and then closing the door.

Silence settled over the room after they had gone, except for the faint, faint sound that energy makes in machinery that is always at ‘on’.

On the giant viewplate, the stars continued to shift positions slightly, as the superbattleship that was out there (and from which file star scene was being broadcast) continued in its orbit around the earth.

From that screen, a voice said suddenly: Tosition now 116-27 angle 52, and all is well,

Midnight
came and passed. Then one a.m. ., . and later. On the king-sized bed in the master bedroom of the Lane residence, there was a movement in the darkness. The figure on the far right stirred. Another pause. Then the light over there turned on. It revealed Estelle Lane sitting up.

On his side of the bed, Lane turned over sleepily, opened his eyes, and looked at his wife questioningly. As he saw that she was staring at him accusingly, he also sat up, and said, 'What’
’
the matter?’

‘It’s a quarter to two,’ said the woman in an irritable voice. ‘Captain Sennes should have brought Susan home by this time.’ Lane gave her a for-heaven’s-sake-is-that-what-you-awakened- me-for glare. He started to slide back under the sheets, except that the expression in
her
face made him think better of it. He remained seated, and he said in a mild, reassuring tone, ‘They’re probably having a bite to eat after the show.’

It was obviously not a sufficient comment for the woman, that he changed his tactics. He sat all the way up, and said irritably, “What’s the worry about Captain Sennes when you’re never concerned about her being out with that gang of young rascals she runs around with?’

‘This is a man,’ said Estelle.

Lane was scathing. ‘You’ve got it all mixed up,’ he said. “When I was sixteen, about 20 per cent of high school boys got to about 80 per cent of the girls, starting at age fourteen. The other boys were mostly nice, decent kids. Some of them, I know, hoped vaguely that a girl would proposition them, but you and I know that isn’t the way it works. Now, here’s my point. You can’t tell me those 20 per cent of aggressive boys aren’t still around, and that 80 per cent girls aren’t still vulnerable to them.’

‘Men are different,’ said Estelle, with determination.

‘Men are more discriminating, you mean. The average halfway decent man has learned not to grab at every available woman. It’s too hard to shake them loose, once you’ve got them. And most men discover that early in the romantic part of their life.’ 'You seem to know a lot about it,’ said Estelle; and for a moment it looked as if his reply had changed the direction of her thought.

‘Look, honey
’
- her husband spoke patiently -
‘
you know the whole sad story of my experience with women. I told you every unhappy detail before we got married,’

‘To hear you describe it, you were the biggest boob who ever came up from the deep,’ she said with asperity.

‘Where girls and women were concerned, yes/ said Lane. 'And please note: I never
did
get your story of
your
experiences. As I recall it, there was a long silence in that department, whenever the subject came up.’

‘Don’t try to get off the subject,’ said the blonde woman.

The man sat there, and he was visibly in a state of mixed emotions. One emotion that struggled to find a way to be communicated was a desire to point out that it was she, not he, who had gotten off the subject. Another emotion seeking for life of its own
was a kind of here-we-go-again anger. But it was the third emotion that won: a sense of helplessness in the face of superior mental footwork.

He said with a sigh, ‘I’m suit the captain will look after the daughter of a fleet commander on his first time out with her. Now, go to sleep.’

But it was he who slid down under the sheets, not she. The woman remained in her erect position, and said, ‘Just why did you invite Captain Sennes for dinner?’ She added as an afterthought, ‘So soon after your return.’

‘Darling, my having been away doesn’t change what goes on at the Space Control building. That place never stops.’ He turned on his side facing away from her. His voice was slightly muffled, as he continued, ‘All of a sudden - just like that, looking at the guy - I realised that here was a chance for Susan to size up a Real Man, instead of those vicious kids.’ He finished, ‘I thought, maybe that’s the real problem here. The best men are away. Girls and women lose their perspective.’

‘I can’t quite believe,’ said the woman, ‘that the thought came to you “just like that”.’- When he did not answer, she also was silent for a while. Then she reached over and turned out the light. But as she was starting to slide down under the sheets, she hesitated. Her voice came out of the darkness: ‘How long is Captain Sennes grounded?’

Lane’s answer was a sleepy mumble. ‘Originally,’ he said, "eight to ten weeks. But in view of the uproar over the alien thing, the expedition he was leaving on has been postponed. My guess is it will be cancelled. But he’ll be on flight duty in eight weeks, no matter what, I imagine.’

Another pause. The silence was, however, thoroughly alive with a thought. It was the thought that was in the woman’s tone as she finally said, drawing out each syllable as if the meaning in the words was just too much, ‘E-i-g-h-t - w-e-e-k-s!’

‘Go to sleep,’ Lane muttered irritably.

After still another pause, there was the sound and vaguely visible movement of the figure on the far right finally and reluctantly going down all the way under the sheets.

There was also a permeating impression that he was not about to be spending her time sleeping.

In the bedroom, aproximately fifteen minutes took about an hour of subjective time to go by. The same amount of actual time expended itself outside. At the end of those minutes, a man and a girl were to be seen coming along the night street in front of the Lane residence. For a time they were in the shadowed area between two street lights. But as they emerged into the brightness opposite the Lane gate, the two became recognisable as Susan and the space officer whose photograph John Lane had held in his hands that morning., none other than the handsome Captain Peter Sennes.

As Susan and the captain went through the Lane gate, the Subsurface a block up the street discharged a number of passengers. Two of these, both male figures, started along the street that would presently take them past the Lane residence. At first, in the distance, they looked like men. By the time they were in the shadow region between the lights, something about the way they walked implied youthfulness. As they now emerged into the brightness opposite the gate, they became the familiar figures of Mike Sutter and Lee David.

The two boys were silent, and seemed to be in a thoughtful mood as they walked. It was Mike who casually glanced toward the Lane veranda. For a moment his face was merely receptive. In fact, he actually did the well-known stereotype: he started to look away.