"But nevertheless you approved."
"I didn't disapprove, certainly," said Niebohr. "The good Commander and his spotless Corps image could not fail to be an asset to us. But it wouldn't have made any difference to me if he'd been a bum, so long as he made Elsa happy."
Elsa was the youngest of the three children born to him by his wife Belle, and the only one who had not been a disappointment to him. The other two were both boys. Elkan Junior, the eldest, was a priest of the United Christian Church, with a parish in the part of the Federated States of Africa that had once been known as South Africa. A born agitator with a chip on his shoulder from the first day he began to talk, young Elkan had been in and out of jail a dozen times because of his insistent campaigning for the rights of the white minority. A big man, with a younger version of his father's impressive ugliness, he was a disappointment to Niebohr, and the two of them had not met since Belle's funeral some ten years earlier.
Alvin, the younger son, seemed to have inherited all his mother's weaknesses, to which he added quite a number of his own. Shiftless, idle and uneducable, but with a certain sly charm, he had committed most of the crimes in the book by the age of fifteen and ruined his health by constant and varied debauchery by the time he was twenty-one. At the moment he was under deep sedation treatment for Shoot addiction, but the prognosis of the doctors was that his burned-out nervous system would fit him for little more than a vegetable existence when he finally came out of it.
Only in Elsa had the father seen his hopes for a worthy child fulfilled. She had inherited her mother's slimness and dark good looks and her father's brains. In his rare moments of self-derision Niebohr thanked whatever gods may be that it had not been the other way around. She was a young lioness, handsome, proud and ruthless, with none of that weakness that had finally driven Belle to suicide. At last, and too late, in his own daughter Niebohr recognized the kind of woman who would be capable of becoming his partner and equal—a quick brain, with all his own skills in the art of using people, plus several more against which his age and sex precluded competition. And yet he had made no attempt to discipline her, or to force upon her the idea that she might eventually become his successor, but gave her the freedom that she would have taken anyway to lead her own life in the way she chose.
She chose, as he had come to understand over the past four or five year, the woman's way—the infinitely more subtle, self-effacing method of dominating her environment and associates, known to her sex over the ages, based on the principle that men and women were not equals, but different. Watching Elsa, Niebohr had come to realize fully for the first time that a clever woman aware of and capable of using those differences could always defeat any man. He himself had been a willing and amused victim on many occasions—for him there was some novelty in being dominated. Belle had been beautiful, but weak—and his own nature was such that this left" him with no alternative but to destroy her with a million psychic pressures.
Elsa, on the other hand, was strong and calculating, aware of and capable of using all her considerable weaponry to attain her own ends. In the early experimental days he had wondered if she was not perhaps a trifle too promiscuous for even these uninhibited times, but that phase had soon passed, and she began to indulge her appetites with a great deal more discretion and calculation. Wernher, for instance, had been an obvious target for her attention. The fact that he was a reasonably attractive, virile male had been secondary to the consideration that his close association with her father, and his particular talent for organizing the discreet removal of human obstacles, would make him a useful acquisition. And once Elsa acquired a man, even though she never laid him again he remained tied to her by some invisible thread that very few had managed to break. It was a kind of relationship that Niebohr, who satisfied his occasional
sexual urgings with the impersonality of a man pissing against a wall, found difficult to understand, but he was forced to recognize its existence. He knew that Wernher and a hundred other men would still come running to act as her willing slaves if she beckoned. As for Robert Prince, her husband, he had probably been the most useful acquisition of all to date, and he promised to be even more so in the future.
Niebohr was not fond of contemplating the prospect of his own eventual death, but the concept was at least made slightly more bearable by the confident assumption that while the reins of power would apparently be passed to Prince, they would in reality be wielded by his true heir, Elsa.
Niebohr came out of his reverie. "Don't worry about any succession, Kurt," he said. "Caesar will show himself mighty at Philippi."
"Shakespeare," Wernher said, "Julius Caesar. Goethe couldn't have said it better."
Chapter Five
So long as men praise you, you can only be sure that you are not yet on ypur own true path . but on someone else's.
NIETZCHE
Commander Thomas Winford Bruce, Captain of Corps ship Venturer Twelve, sat resplendent in his full-dress uniform at the controls of the two-seater fly-car as it soared over the northern foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. It was early evening, and the fascinating pattern of the ground beneath was sharpened and given extra dimension by the angle of the light cast by the setting sun. He glanced appreciatively at his companion.
"I'm glad you decided to come as a woman," he said.
Helen Lindstrom smiled. Beneath a white fur cape she was wearing a plain white gown that was exactly right for the blonde opulence of her beauty. She wore no jewelry except for a blue-star clasp at her right shoulder, and that was no piece of mere display but the symbol of a Corps citation for gallantry. Bruce
noticed the touch and was amused at the way she had kept the letter of Regulations and told the spirit to go to hell Lindstrom, his second-in-command aboard Venturer Twelve, was a fine officer, but she was also one hundred percent woman, as he had good cause to remember. She had been his woman once, until he had been forced into the decision that their continued relationship was not compatible with their duty to the Corps. It had been a hard decision to make, and an even harder one to maintain. There were times when. . . He thrust the dangerous train of thought to one side and said: Does that gown have any special message for anybody?"
She half-turned her head and gave him a cool stare from her deep-blue eyes. "What do you think?" She opened the cape, her lips twitching with amusement He scanned the slashing decolletage. I'd say that was a loud and clear challenge to any male member of the company."
"Maybe. . . But I don't think of it that way," she said.
"For the women?" His grey-speckled reddish eyebrows raised slightly. "Naturally. Who else do women dress for?" "Translation please."
"Very good sir." She flashed him a cheekily sloppy salute. "It says, quote: I don't need to wear a bra; if you do, then hard luck, mate.'"
Bruce threw back his head and laughed. "I can think of a number of sagging matrons who are just going to love that."
The monastic life holds some compensations," she said, her eyes holding his own for a moment longer than necessary. At last he deliberately looked away and fussed with the controls. They flew on through the deepening twilight in silence for several minutes until Bruce spoke again.
"This shindig tonight—I still haven't figured Henry Fong's angle."
"Whatever made you think you're intended to?" said Helen. "In any case, he's only making the presentation. The award itself was voted on by the members of the Colonization Development Commission."
"And who do you think pulls the strings?"
"Are you suggesting that Fong has ulterior motives?" asked Helen mischievously.
Bruce appeared not to notice. His brooding face beneath the carefully trimmed thatch of silver-flecked red hair remained serious. "I can't think of any other reason. Do you really think that Niebohr is ripe for canonization?"
"There's no denying his services to the cause of colonial: expansion. The Orphelin project alone. . ."
"Bullshit!" Bruce snapped. "Orphelin Three is a
big deal, sure, but it was founded by conniving and wheeler-dealing, to put it at its kindest. You're not going to tell me that Niebohr didn't buy that exploration ship captain. How he ever got away with it I'll never understand. He certainly wouldn't today."
"You've got to give the old bastard credit where credit's due," Helen said.
"If we're bandying cliches, I'd prefer 'the Devil his due.'"
"You're prejudiced."
"Too bloody right I am, and don't you forget it! " Bruce said, with some heat. "When I think of what he tried to do to us over the Athena [see Thunder of Stars] affair." "Water under the bridge. That was years ago."
"Tell that to the five hundred men, women and children who died."
Helen sighed. "You're in a real party mood this evening."
"It may be a party to you, honey child. But to me it's just an assignment."
"Why don't you just relax for once? You might find yourself having a good time."
He looked at her, his handsome features still stern. "Sometimes I worry about you. Like, however did you get the idea that you're supposed to have a good time at this kind of affair?"
"Oh, come off it, Tom! You're looking forward to seeing your old chum Bob Prince for the first time in two years. It will be 'do you remember when. . . ?' and 'Happy days at dear old Sandpoint' all the way."
"I wonder..." Bruce said thoughtfully.
"You're not still sore at him for opting out and joining the commercial sector, are you?"
Bruce shrugged. "Why should I be—it's his life." -
"You mean his wife, don't you? After"all, he could hardly turn down the kind of opportunities marrying her must have opened up for him. In fact, some would say that was putting the cart before the horse. . ."
"Now you're being bitchy," Bruce said. "Bob Prince is one of the straightest guys I ever knew."
"But he did manage to sell himself dearly, you will admit that Elsa's no mean catch, even if she does have legs like a brace of Mark IV Engelschaft missiles."
Bruce looked at her, a touch of humor kindling in his green eyes. "Wow! When you put on the female thing it really goes down to the bone marrow, doesn't it? Just for your information, strange as it may seem
considering her parentage, Elsa Niebohr is a pretty good-looking femme. I wouldn't kick her out of bed myself."
"Now steady on there, Commander," Helen said, grinning. "The old chums routine doesn't go that far—even at Sandpoint. Mind you, I understand that she played the field pretty thoroughly before they committed marriage."
"Let's leave it there, shall we?" said Bruce, with some relief as the lights of the Presidential residence appeared over the ridge ahead. There were times when he found it difficult to reconcile the more feminine aspects of Helen Lindstrom's character with her coolly efficient Corps officer persona. It was largely his fear that one might eventually spill over into the other that had been responsible for his difficult decision several years previously. There were plenty of good bed-mates around for a man with his looks and position, but only one second-in-command for Venturer Twelve.
"The trouble with this kind of wingding," said Admiral Junius Farragut Carter, making heavy weather of trying to juggle a plateful of vol au vent and salad, a fork, and a glass of champagne with only the statutory maximum of hands. "The trouble with this kind of wingding is that you either get a reasonable, sit-down knife and fork meal, during which you have the arse bored off you by a series of long-winded speeches, or, like this evening, you have to listen to the speeches first, then scrabble around in a mob, fighting to grab something from a pile of cold odds and ends."
"Sometimes I suspect that you're just not a social animal, Admiral," Helen Lindstrom said, eyeing the precarious balancing act. "Look, there's a free table over there. Why don't we grab it?"
"Sound tactics, Commander," said Carter, who even in his full dress World Admiral's uniform still managed to look squat as a bug and twice as homely. "Let's go. Goddammit!" This last as a portly, dinner-suited civilian passed close by, jogging Carter's elbow slightly and dislodging two lettuce leaves and a radish.
"There, that's more comfortable isn't it?" said Helen, as Carter shed his burdens and settled in the chair opposite her.
"Commander Lindstrom, I've said it before and I'll say it again—aside from being the best-looking piece of tail in the whole Corps, you are a first-class organizer."
"Why, Admiral!" grinned Helen, who was well used to Carter's colorful use of language. "You say the sweetest things. How come Velma let you off the leash tonight?"
"She's spending a couple of weeks with her sister over in England," said the Admiral. "You know, the one with the teeth, who has this thing about horses."
Helen sipped her champagne. "Frankly, I don't know how she dare leave a young dog like you on the loose for a whole fourteen days. How are things at Blue Mountain?"
Carter prodded suspiciously at the flaky pastry of his vol au vent. "We're moving along slowly."
"Yes? I heard you'd lost Koninburger."
"That opinionated Kraut!"
"Maybe so, but surely his equations are the best lead you've had so far?"
"Hmm. . .not bad, not bad at all," Carter said,. ..chewing at a forkful. "Say, these darned things are hot, did you know that? You figure there's any garlic in there? I get this pain right in the center of my chest. . ."
"Koninburger's equations," persisted Helen.
"It takes more than a pile of scribblings on paper to throw a ship into Warp Drive," grunted Carter. "We'll lick it—give'us time and well lick it. . .provided Detweiler and his crowd of penny-pinchers don't clamp down on the appropriations."
"But surely the loss of Koninburger—?"
"Young woman, would you like to hear me really swear?" said Carter, the unruly greying fuzz on his round head bristling. "If so, just keep mentioning that name. Koninburger is out—O-U-T, out, and that suits me just fine." His voice raised in pitch as he assumed an atrociously exaggerated accent. " 'Please, Admiral, would you not be incoming to my laboratory when I am in the labor of contemplation. Your vibrations they are so disturbing. Mine dear Admiral, the possibility you are speaking of, it quite out of the question. My latent geo-nostalgic psychosis would simply not permit—'"
"Difficult, huh?"
"Bloody impossible!" growled Carter. "But that's the trouble when you start dealing with blasted civilians. No sense of priorities, and no discipline. I told the President myself only the other day—"
"But he's a civilian," Helen pointed out.
"Don't quibble, girl! In any case, technically speaking he is Commander-in-chief of the Corps, so how the hell can he be? Anyway, I said to him, 'Henry, I've got a team here that will lick the Warp Drive problem without Koninburger. But if you think you can pull this other deal, even if it doesn't work, I'll. .still be pleased to see—'" Carter stopped suddenly in mid-flow. "You know, I'm sure there's garlic in this."
"Have some more champagne," said Helen. "They say you'll live forever if you drink enough of it"
"Then by damn we'll both have some more," said Carter, lumbering to his feet "No sense in fooling around with odd glasses—I'll get a bottle."
Helen watched with an expression of fond amusement on her face as he made his way through the chattering throng around the bar with all the subtlety of a bull elephant in full charge.
"Good to see you again, Tom." The tall blond man in the plain dark-blue uniform of a merchant space officer thrust out his hand.
Tom Bruce grinned his pleasure as he returned the firm grip. "I caught a glimpse of you way over the other side of the hall during the back-scratching session, but you seemed to disappear afterwards."
"We got stuck at Poppa's personal congratulation orgy up in the President's private lounge," said Robert Prince. "Elsa's still with him, but I managed to sneak down and see if there were any human beings around. I see your second-in-command has got herself lumbered with old Carter."
"Yes, that's quite a thing they have going t
here," Bruce said, glancing towards the table on the other side of the room where Helen and the Admiral were chatting animatedly.
"I thought at one time that you and she were going to make it," Prince said.
"We had our moments," Bruce said.
"It looked more like marriage."
"You know that would never work—two serving Corps officers."
"She could have opted out."
"I couldn't ask any woman, particularly Helen, to do that for me."
"The Corps takes everything, doesn't it?"
"If you don't want the obligations, you don't have to sign the form," Bruce said with a shrug. "They warn you."
"And what fourteen-year-old kid with his head full of stardust ever listened to any warnings?" said Prince. "Even if he wasn't blinded by the usual romanticized ideal of the CORPS, he would still have no idea of the kind of problems that can come up later on, as a man grows older. As for the women, sometimes I think it's even worse. You've seen them in a hundred Officers' Messes—flat-chested, leathery-faced creatures who either drink too much or go off in some weird sexual orbit."
Bruce nodded. "Yes, I've seen them. But who's to say that they'd be any happier changing diapers and working as a house robot for some slob of a man with half their brains?"
"There's more to a marriage than that," Prince said.
Bruce eyed his old friend with suspicion. "What are you doing—missionary work? I get my share of sex, and plenty of variety."
"And she?" Prince nodded in the direction of Helen Lindstrom.
"I don't see what that has to do with it."
"Yes, you do—and it hurts sometimes, doesn't it, when you know she's laying some slob just to relieve the ache of the old hormones? And with a body like that, don't try to tell me she doesn't."
"What are you trying to do, needle me?" Bruce said. "That's the way things are, and there's nothing to be done about it." "There might be," Prince said.
"Now what's that supposed to mean?"
"I can think of a way that you could have your cake and eat it—Helen too," said Prince. "The post of Fleet Director at Excelsior pays a lot better than the Corps, and you'd need a good assistant"
The Neutral Stars Page 4