Seed of Stars (25 page)

"Well, lieutenant?" demanded Bruce, his lean face stony.

"We've done a complete checkover of the sub-etheric installation, and as far as we can ascertain both transmission and reception facilities are in perfect order," said Maranne.

"Then why haven't we had any reply from Earth?"

"It is possible that our transmissions are being deliberately jammed, by some kind of force-barrier through which such sub-etheric waves are incapable of passing."

"Is there any way of verifying this?" Bruce said, his face darkening.

"There would be if we were in space," Maranne said.

"We could send out a Centaur Fifteen equipped with a small sub-etheric transmitter and trace it by radar. That would at least tell us if and where such a barrier exists."

"How long would it take you to prepare such a rig?"

"Twenty-four hours, maybe."

"Right, lieutenant—I want it ready in fifteen," snapped Bruce. "Now—move!"

When Maranne was gone, he turned to look at Magnus. "You realize what this means? They're out there, beyond the range of our radar, waiting and watching. And we are effectively isolated, cut off from Earth and any hope of assistance. Why haven't they attacked?"

I think Ichiwara would answer that question by saying something like: 'When a farmer finds a fox in his chickens, he does not retaliate by burning down the henhouse,'" said Magnus. "After all, as far as the Kilroys are aware, Kepler III holds some valuable experimental breeding stock."

"You're suggesting that as long as we stay planet-bound they won't attack?"

"That seems to be a possibility," Magnus said. "On the other hand, once
Venturer Twelve
takes to space, they may very well close in."

"In that case, the sooner we get off this planet the better," Bruce said.

"To face an unknown enemy—with God knows what weapons at his disposal?" Magnus said. "You're very eager for this confrontation, Commander."

"You've only seen the pictures," Bruce said, his voice trembling with a barely controlled rage. "I was there on Minos IV. Sometimes I wake up at nights even now, seeing them, smelling the stench of them and hearing the sound of their cries. I destroyed them, out of mercy, every last one of them, but when I did, I vowed to myself that if ever the chance came, I'd exact revenge on the race that created them."

Magnus sighed. "Very well, Commander. You may prepare for liftoff at sixteen hundred hours tomorrow evening. That will give me time to make the necessary preparations."

Bruce frowned. "Preparations?"

"The Keplerian people will have to be given some plausible reason for the ship's leaving at this stage. I shall tell President Kido that you are taking her out into space in order to carry out routine repairs and tests on the main drive units. That and the presence of myself should convince him that at least he and his people are not being deserted."

"You're going to stay here, on Kepler?"

"But of course—my place is here, until the conclusion of the independence investigation, at any rate," Magnus said calmly. "In any case, I'm afraid that my presence aboard
Venturer
in the event of a confrontation with the Kilroys would be highly undesirable, and a distraction to you in the efficient performance of your duty. As the senior Corps officer in the area, any such matter of alien contact is your responsibility according to protocol."

Bruce stared at the Explorations Divison officer. "Don't you even want to know my intended plans, in the event of contact?"

"No, Commander. You are, in your own words, 'the man on the spot,' and you must have a completely free hand."

Bruce found himself looking on Magnus with a new respect. There had been times in the past when he had found what he took to be the man's arrogant assumption of his own powers a considerable irritant. Now he was able to see that behavior from a different angle, to understand that a great deal of what he had mistaken for arrogance was in fact calm conviction, and rigid adherence to principles understood and respected.

"And the Keplerians are to be told nothing?" he said.

"There would be no useful purpose in alarming them at this stage," Magnus said. "As far as they are concerned, the independence investigation must appear to be going ahead as planned. And, of course, the work on the elimination of Johannsen's disease. Surgeon Lieutenant Maseba must continue with his research program, and be seen to do so. Such activity will maintain the confidence of the Keplerians in our intentions."

"Maseba!" Bruce stiffened. "You mean you expect me to leave my chief medical officer here on Kepler, while I take this ship into action against an unknown enemy?"

"It is essential that Maseba should remain," Magnus said. "He is already well-known to the Keplerians. As for the running of the medical section aboard ship, you have his deputy, De Witt, a very efficient young woman—and there is, of course, our young friend Huygens."

"
Huygens!
"grunted Bruce. "A blasted disgrace to the Corps."

"An unwise young man, no doubt, in many ways," Magnus said. "But a competent medic, I understand, who could prove useful in an emergency."

"Huygens stays in close arrest," snapped Bruce. "As far as I'm concerned, he is no longer capable of being entrusted with the duties of a medical officer."

Tom Brace's green eyes narrowed as he looked into the ebony features of Surgeon Lietutenant George Maseba. "What the hell is this—some kind of conspiracy? When did you join the Let's-be-kind-to-Piet-Huygens Society?"

"Nobody's being kind—this is just common sense," said Maseba.

Bruce rose jerkily from behind the desk and strode about the office as he talked. "Common sense, is it? A deserter, in close arrest, awaiting court martial, we let him out of his cell with a gentle slap on the wrist, and put him back down on the very planet where he deserted in the first place—where, I might add, his partner-in-crime is still at large. Jesus H. Christ, George! What kind of stupid move is that? He'll be off like a bloody rabbit as soon as he sets foot on the ground. Apart from that—look at the disciplinary aspect. What will the rest of the crew think?"

'They'll think what you tell them to," Maseba said, doggedly. "Huygens will be released into my custody, as senior medical officer. Til accept full responsibility for him."

"Well that's just dandy!" snapped Bruce. "So what do I do when he decides to go over the wall again— put you on a charge, too?"

"He's not going any place, but into a laboratory, where hell be working harder than he ever has in his life," said Maseba. "We're both agreed that Leela De Witt must stay aboard
Vee Twelve
when you lift off It would be suicidal to take the ship into action without at least one competent medical officer aboard. That means that I shall be left here on Kepler with half a dozen orderlies and a handful of colonial-trained hick doctors to tackle a medical emergency situation involving a population of a million people. Whatever you may think of him personally and as a Corps officer, I need Huygens. After passing his finals he worked for two whole years in virology research back in Lake Cities, before joining the Corps. In my present situation, his knowledge could be invaluable."

"How do you know he would be prepared to cooperate?"

"De Witt has talked to him several times since his return. She's of the opinion that immersion in such work would have considerable therapeutic value for him, from the psyche point of view."

Bruce looked at his chief medical officer long and hard. "All right, George. We'll do it your way. Just keep the bastard out of my sight, that's ail."'

"Will do, Commander," Maseba said, with a grin. He turned to leave.

"Oh, and George..." Bruce said. "Commander?"

"Tell De Witt to let me have that psyche recommendation of hers in writing, will you? Just for the record."

If there was ever a color for sorrow, it was not blue, as the African peoples claimed; it was gray. Mia Mizuno knew it, felt it throughout her whole being. Physically, she was an attractive and healthy young woman who had accomplished the task of giving birth with complete satisfaction. Spiritually, she was in a condition not far removed from death. Not an hour passed but she reviewed with non-understanding sadness this incredible thing which had happened to her. For a fortnight she had been in a trancelike state from which, even now, she was only emerging with reluctance. That bright, gay, passionate Mia no longer existed, and to Jiro Osuragi it seemed possible that never again would her mind be unclouded.

Doctor Osuragi and his sister, who was matron of the little clinic, had been kindness personified. They made her a guest in their apartment, spoke gently to her, looked after her in every possible way. When, momentarily, she had come out of her sorrow to express the wish that she should get some work, Osuragi had got on at once to a friend who was personnel manager of the local Akai electronics factory, to see what might be done for her; but almost directly after, he had to cancel a provisional appointment, because

Mia was not fit to take up the threads of a life which was without Piet Huygens.

Without Piet . . . without Piet . . . that was the problem.

Osuragi and his sister could help little in giving reasons for Piet's departure.

Now she sat in her plain but dainty little room, ' with folded hands and aching mind, and wondered. Piet had left her; he had meant nothing when he said he loved her; at most, he was trying to reshape his past into a shape which was less haunting to his constricted inner self.

Her eye caught a newspaper . . . "The Magnificent Work of the Medical Staff of
Venturer Twelve. . .
Oh, yes.
Venturer Twelve.
Crewwoman—no, Leading Crewwoman Mizuno. The girl they would leave behind them. She looked at the television set, then back at the paper. Channel eight, formerly reserved for ancient ritual and culture programs, reports three times a day on the work of the medical unit whose efforts mean life and death for us all....

She switched on the set, and pressed a button for channel eight. A serious-faced commentator filled the screen. "Using special drugs, the key men of this important enterprise are able to cut down their sleep to six hours per day out of the twenty-eight; for the rest of the time, except for short meal breaks, they work as the spearhead of our own doctors. Now, we bring you a very short interview with one of these selfless scientists. Be proud to meet Lieutenant Piet Huygens."

Then she saw him; his face was thinner, he looked tired out, but he was her Piet—and he had gone back to fight this ... what was it? A disease which threatened Kepler III. ... It didn't matter. There was her Piet. She knew where he was. She must go to him. She must go to him. There would be reasons why he had left her. Piet still loved her, she knew, she
knew!

He was her man. She would find him, come what may.

Lieutenant Wiltrud Anna Hoffman, the sleek lines of the scout ship looming behind her, stood on Rokoa field and looked up into the night sky of Kepler III. Out there, somewhere,
Venturer Twelve
was hunting for the unseen enemy; out there, history was being made, the first face-to-face encounter of mankind and alien ... an encounter feared and yet in some curious way looked forward to . . . one which would give meaning to all the training, the armament of such ships as
Vee Twelve.
And she ... ? Her training, her life . . . devoted to the Corps and its aims ... a good officier, with ability and determination . . . she was not even to be a spectator to this confrontation. . . . Her job was to wait here, on Rokoa field, to wait for an indefinite period, and eventually to provide transport for Maseba and Magnus back to
Vee Twelve.

A warm breeze blowing across the field tangled her short-cut blonde hair, and she moved her hand up irritably to brush it back from her forehead. Behind her, through the open airlock, she could hear the subdued murmur of a radio in the crew quarters. Tuned to a local Kepler station, it was playing the kind of weird, archaic chamber-jazz favored by the Keplerians. There were two crewmen, besides herself and P.O. Patel, with the scout ship—and so she, as an officer, was to all intents, alone. Alone and bored. Her eyes moved restlessly, looking beyond the perimeter of the field, towards the lights of the suburb of Shamari. There at least, people were living, there was excitement, human contact of some kind. ... A Corps officer might find interesting ways of diverting herself, of relieving a boredom that threatened to. .. . But then, there were other aspects to be considered—the appearance of a Corps officer in Shamari at this time would certainly be remarked upon; on the other hand...

The idea that struck her contained all the elements necessary to combat her ennui, carrying as it did, simultaneously, the appeal of both the known and the unknown—and at the same time an element of safety from the Corps disciplinary point of view. Moving with new determination, she walked back up the ramp to the control cabin of the ship. P.O. Patel, brown and stockily built, was seated by the sub-etheric. He moved to his feet as she altered.

"Fm taking one of the ground cars over to the Medical Inspection Center," she said.