Seed of Stars (28 page)

Maseba faced him stolidly. "Very well, sir, I shall have to enter it in my records that you have refused a priority recommendation for medical treatment—treatment that I consider to be necessary."

Bruce put his hands flat on his desk, his mouth a

tight line. "In my book, what you're suggesting doesn't constitute any normal type of medical treatment"

"Neither is this a normal situation," Maseba pointed out

"You're splitting hairs, Lieutenant! Can't you see that you're asking me to compound a major disciplinary crime?"

"De Witt and I will both sign the recommendation, sir."

"I don't care if Hippocrates himself signs the damned thing—I'll countersign it—PERMISSION REFUSED."

"In that case, I would like permission to talk direct with the surgeon general of the Corps on sub-etheric. Do you refuse that, sir?"

"No."

"Thank you, sir."

Bruce compressed his exasperation into a manageable size. "You really are serious, aren't you?"

Maseba stared hard, and showed the brown-flecked whites of his eyes. "I thought you'd gathered that" He added, with an almost pleading note. "For God's sake, sir, let's come out of this thing with at least one tiny piece of credit balance on the human side. At least, see her."

Bruce seemed about to speak, and then didn't

"Please."

Bruce sighed. "All right I'll see her."

"And be kind to her."

"Is that an order, Surgeon Lieutenant?"

Maseba shook his head slowly. "No—just a recommendation." He moved towards the door. "Shall I bring her in?"

"Send her in," Bruce growled. 'Til handle this my way. Your part comes afterwards."

Mia Mizuno forced herself to be calm as she stood in her number twos in front of the steel desk in the drab gray room and faced the man who had spoken to her only once during all the time she had been a member of
Venturer Twelve's
crew. Tell the truth, Lee-la De Witt had said, and answer every question he asks loud and clear.

She had never really looked at Bruce before; he had been someone far away and above her, and all he had ever required of Leading Crewwoman Mizuno in the past was that she did her duty quietly and efficiently. Now it was all different, and she did look at him. She saw a lean, hard man, one meter eighty, with graying reddish hair, flinty green eyes, and a sharp nose. A man with just a touch of sad weariness about him, despite the punctilious manner in which he returned her salute.

"At ease, Mizuno."

She obeyed, and he sat looking at her. But she did not feel uncomfortable, because she knew somehow that this man, too, had his problems, that he also was flesh and blood.

"I can't say I've ever noticed you before."

"No, sir."

"It comes of expecting everyone to do their duty, Mizuno."

"Yes, sir."

"And it comes of carrying out regulations. Regulations aren't there for fun. They're a product of the accumulated experience of the entire Corps."

"Yes, sir."

"I take it that you have no misunderstanding about the seriousness of your crime? Desertion, woman, that's the name for it"

"Yes, sir." His poor face .... She wondered how and where he got that livid scar on his left cheek.

"I have no power to reduce the actual charge of desertion in any way. It stands on your record, and will continue to stand permanently. Is that clear?"

She heard herself say that it was clear to her—but really, she was thinking of Piet.

For half a minute he sat, looking at her, then he rose and came closer. "But you—how do you feel about what you did? How do you feel now?"

"I am sorry to have—offended, sir."

"Sorry ..." he repeated the word, seeming to turn it over and examine it. Then he pointed to a chair. "Sit down."

She hesitated. This was not quite what she had expected. Then she obeyed.

"Now, listen to me," he said. "I keep to regulations, and only to regulations. But regulations are not without humanity, and I am advised by my medical officers that you are a case for special treatment, which they suggest, I may authorize. But first I want your frank answers to some questions."

Now that she was seated, he seemed to tower over her, and she felt the beginnings of fear. As if sensing this, he moved away, and spoke with his back towards her.

"Mizuno, could you stand never seeing Earth again, if—if the reasons—the inducement—were big enough?"

She felt her heart leap. Maseba had been close as a clam, but Leela De Witt had hinted . . . "Yes, sir— I could."

"As you know, we are on our way back to Earth, but on our way we shall be calling at Oharo IV, a planet largely populated by people of your own ethnic group. I am told that, in the interests of your health, an appropriate discharge can and should be arranged, to take effect when we arrive at Oharo IV. Also, I am informed that your psycho-physical balance could be totally restored by one other thing." He turned and came to her, and now there was an almost gentle note in. his voice. "You lost a baby—but as you have now been pronounced genetically sound, it would be possible for you to have another; your husband's child, if you so wish."

The tiny singing in her heart that had been there ever since Leela De Witt had spoken to her could no longer be contained. She sprang to her feet, crying aloud with joy.

And Bruce snapped at her. "All right. All right. Lieutenant Maseba will see to it. He tells me that it will be a simple matter to inseminate you with Huygens seed from the ship's sperm bank. Now dismiss—I've more important matters to attend to."

She saluted, and left the room. And when she was gone, he stood, still staring at the blank door, and wishing to God that all the problems of the universe might have such a simple solution.

There was no one in the corridor outside. She leaned against the wall with her eyes closed, murmuring to herself.

"Hello, little gel. Are they being nice to you, then?"

She opened her eyes. It was P.O. Dockridge. She smiled at his friendly, terrier face, but she did not speak to him. What she did was to whisper, again and again: "Oh, Piet, Piet love . . . Piet, I shall have your child."

ABOUT DAN MORGAN

DAN MORGAN is the author of eight science fiction novels—five of which have been published in the United States—and a highly successful book on the guitar, which has been selling in the United States and the United Kingdom for the past six years. He has written numerous science fiction short stories, and one previous collaborative novel with John Kippax,
Thunder of Stars,
published by Ballantine Books.

Mr. Morgan divides his time between Spalding, Lincolnshire, in flat and fertile East Anglia, and Almeria in Andalucia, which he describes as the Hollywood of Spain, and a land of spectacularly rugged mountains and sunshine. "Spain," he writes, "remains one of the few places on our planet where it is possible to live the
dulce vida
on the earnings of a science fiction writer without going broke."

Dan Morgan's hobbies are skin-diving, fish-watching, and playing the guitar—jazz, classical, and flamenco—and he likes wine, good food, and good conversation.

ABOUT JOHN KIPPAX

John Kippax, ex-schoolmaster and ex-soldier, has written most forms of fiction, including works for TV and radio (the latter being still very much a popular medium in Britain). At one time, he and Dan Morgan played guitar together, and from the musical association came the writing collaboration; despite the fact that they shared the responsibility for three of the '"Venturer Twelve" series, they are still good friends, "even though we often work in reciprocal acrimony," Mr. Kippax writes. His hobbies are music—a wide variety including Ives, Copland, Ellington, and Bach—beer (at 55 degrees Fahrenheit), Chinese food, and arguing. His favorite sports team is the Harlem Globetrotters. John Kippax lives in Peterborough, England, which is nearly shouting distance from Dan Morgan's home in Spalding, and, he says, they give their opinions of each other's work with appalling bluntness.