"You are of course entitled to take that view," Fong replied. ''But there is also the point to be borne in mind that he happened to be, through some quirk of chance, the nearest ship to the Orphelin system at the time of the tragedy. However, that is unimportant. What is a great deal more serious is the fact that, having reported his presence to Venturer Twelve in accordance with Emergency Procedure—which, as you know, makes the acceptance of orders from the Corps officer in charge obligatory upon any merchant ship in the vicinity—he then saw fit to leave the Orphelin system in direct contravention of Bruce's orders."
Niebohr frowned. "He no doubt had a good reason for doing so."
"Possibly. . ." Fong said thoughtfully. "At any rate, he will have ample opportunity to explain to the tribunal."
"Tribunal! What the devil are you talking about?"
"Merely the fact that Bruce has filed preliminary charges against Robert Prince for having disobeyed orders in a Triple A Emergency situation."
"Bruce! That stiff-necked martinet!" exclaimed Niebohr angrily. "He's only doing this out of personal spite."
"Really? Now that's interesting," Fong said. "I was under the impression that he and Prince were longstanding friends, but perhaps you know something more on the subject?"
"I know nothing, except the fact that Bruce would do anything to get at me in any way possible—whether through Robert Prince or anyone else."
Henry Fong regarded his visitor, his head slightly to one side. "Well, of course, if you would like to file a counter-charge along those lines, I'm sure the tribunal would be pleased to hear your evidence—but even so I doubt that it would entirely nullify the seriousness of Prince's situation. You see, as an ex-Corps-man himself, he must be fully aware of the manner in which he has violated Regulations."
"Where is Medusa now?" asked Niebohr.
Fong spread his bony hands, palms uppermost. "As far as we know she is on her way back to Earth. Prince will be arrested as soon as he lands, of course." He rose to his feet and stood for a moment looking down at his guest. His face had once more resumed its egg-like inscrutability. "And now I must ask you to excuse me. There are several urgent matters pressing. In the meantime, please give my sincere regards to your charming daughter."
Elkan Niebohr left the Presidential presence aware of a vague, uncomfortable feeling at the back of his mind that when Henry Fong spoke of the mysterious workings of the Supreme Being, he was in some oblique manner referring to the complicated web of his own maneuvers. The idea that it was possible he was being used was not one which Elkan Niebohr could accept with complacency.
Chapter Twenty
Nature has given women so much power that the law has very wisely given them little.
SAMUEL JOHNSON
She came in through the doorway of his private study wearing a pants suit of a filmy material that looked like spun gold. Her hair was upswept in an elaborately lacquered style, emphasizing the strong beauty of her features.
"Tell me how I look, Poppa," she said, grinning at him.
"You know darned well how you look," he said with a fond chuckle. "But don't you think you might have put some underwear on beneath that thing?"
"And spoil the effect?"
"Any woman who walks around looking like that is asking to be either fucked or arrested."
"I don't want to go to jail, Poppa," she said, moving across the room and perching herself on the corner of his desk like some golden bird. "When do I get my Prince Charming back?"
"I thought you'd made other arrangements," he said, looking up at her with some surprise.
"Like that bastard Bruce? Don't remind me! Next time I'll fix him."
"Hell hath no fury...?"
"Aw Christ, Poppa, do you have to be so angular?" she said grimacing. "I don't give a damn about him really—but he left me wanting, and that's not the way I operate." . -
"You'll have another score to settle with him when he gets back," said Niebohr. "He's filed charges against Robert for disobeying orders in an emergency situation and leaving the Orphelin system without his permission. The President himself told me a couple of hours ago."
"The bastard!" she repeated. "And I thought he and Robert were supposed to be such old chums."
"They were, but that doesn't count for much with a Corps-lover like Bruce. He's the kind who goes by the book whoever is involved."
"And if these charges stick—what then?"
"A big fine, and maybe the loss of his master's certificate for a year or two," Niebohr said. "We can handle it. But that kind of thing doesn't look good on the man I've named as my successor."
"You'll fix it, Poppa—you always do," she said. 'Take this Orphelin deal, for instance."
Niebohr stiffened. "We don't talk about that, not even between ourselves," he said.
She grinned down at him like a sensual cat-creature. "What's the matter—you afraid dear old Henry Fong might have slipped a few bugs in? Relax, Poppa, the whole thing's over now. The Kilroys Strike Again— that's the name of the comedy, isn't it?"
"I can't see anything funny in the death of five million people," Niebohr said frowning.
"Five, six million—what difference does it make?
At that distance they're just statistics, and you know it," Elsa said. "Don't try to be pious with me, Poppa —if you're really grieving over anything, it's the sixty million credits a year you're going to lose in imports from Orphelin Three."
He looked up at her, aware of a curious mixture of disapproval and admiration in his mind. Those five million people might well be statistics to Elsa, but for him there were certain faces he remembered—Charles Cromlech, the Excelsior administrator on Orphelin Three, his wife, a striking blonde with brown eyes, and their three small daughters. . . He thrust the train of thought aside impatiently. There was no point in looking back. Nothing could be undone. Orphelin Three had shown a profit for over twenty years—that was on the credit side. He had no illusions about the permanency of the writing off—there would be no attempt made to resettle the planet during his lifetime. But while it remained uninhabited there would be no twenty-five-year inspection by the Colonization Commission experts, and no question of the secret uncovered by MacGuinness being exposed again.
"What the hell was Bob doing in the Orphelin system anyway?" Elsa's voice broke in on his thoughts. "I thought he was supposed to go on to Balomain after dropping off Kurt Wernher and his team?"
"He was—but when he heard the Emergency signal about Orphelin, he turned back."
She shook her head from side to side, smiling quietly. "Good old Bob. . .I can just picture him riding to the rescue like a knight in shining amor. I know you think he's a pompous fool, but he really is— what was that old word?—chivalrous? When he talks in his stiff-upper-lip way about things like Honesty and Truth you begin to wonder if maybe they might not exist after all."
Was she serious? He looked up at her, scrutinizing the beautiful mystery of her face, and found himself reminded yet again that, although she was his own flesh and the dearest human being in the universe to him, she remained an enigma.
"You're laughing at me, Poppa," she accused,
"No, never that, baby," he said. "Never that."
She dropped from her perch on the desk and moved restlessly about the room.
"I've been wondering about Kurt Wernher," she said thoughtfully. "Do you think that after this we shall be able to go on trusting him?"
"Why shouldn't we?"
"He's ambitious, Poppa, and he knows a great deal..."
"Knowledge is power, you mean?"
"He could ruin you, if he wanted to."
"And himself at the same time," Niebohr pointed out. "That is not something Kurt Wernher would undertake lightly. He's good—the best there is in his own specialty."
"There are other hatchet men."
"But few of them with his intelligence," said Niebohr.
"But he's dangerous, make no mistake about that, Poppa," Elsa said. "He's goin
g to use what he knows one way or another."
"You may be right," Niebohr said. "I'll have to think about it"
"Yes, you do that, Poppa," she said with a sudden smile as she moved back towards the desk. "And now I must go. I've got a date at an interesting little place in fifth-level Denton." She leaned over and kissed him on his forehead.
He took hold of her wrist, sensing the electric warmth of her flesh. "Would I find it interesting?" he asked.
"I wouldn't dream of taking you to such a place," she said grinning. "You might be corrupted."
"Whore!" he said fondly.
She paused once again in the doorway on her way out. "I just remembered, there's a big blonde gets along there who's just your style. I'll ship her over to you gift-wrapped. You look as though you could do with a bit of relaxation."
"There are other kinds, you know," he said.
"Poppa, I do believe you're getting old" Elsa chuckled. "Better take a couple of hormone shots before she arrives, huh?"
Chapter Twenty-one
When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
CONAN DOYLE
Henry Fong sat in the semi-darkness looking at the sleek, deadly image of the thing on the screen. He felt a sudden chill crawl up his spine and blow like a cold wind from nowhere into his mind, bringing with it dark, fearful thoughts.
"Have you considered the implications of what you are saying, Commander Bruce?" he said. "You re quite sure that there could not be some other explanation for the presence of this object on Orphelin Three?"
Tom Bruce was standing near the screen, his strong features partly lit by reflection. "Mr. President, there is absolutely no doubt at all that what you see before you is one of the warhead sections of a Mark IV Dekapod missile."
"One of the sections?"
Bruce nodded. "The other nine detonated on impact. Lieutenant Lee, who is a specialist in such matters, believes that the destruction on the northern continent of Orphelin Three could have been—and most likely was—produced by the patterned delivery of just such a multiple-warhead missile."
Fong found himself still struggling to erect a comforting doubt between himself and the ghastly truth he had already sensed.
"Couldn't the presence of this missile be accounted for in any other way? Some long-forgotten accident, perhaps? I understand that Corps maneuvers were held in that area some ten years ago. Isn't it possible that at that time such an unarmed missile could have gone astray?"
"I'm afraid that has been eliminated quite definitely," Bruce said. "He turned to the young officer who was operating the projector. "Slide fifteen again, please, Lieutenant."
There was a moment's delay, then the general view of the object that had been on the screen was replaced by a closeup. The fluorescent arrow of Bruce's pointer moved over the picture, coming to rest at the beginning of a row of letters and figures stamped into the metal casing.
"These serial numbers give all essential details of the missile concerned," Bruce explained. "It was manufactured some eighteen months ago in the Murmansk munitions plant and allocated to the Corps Central Arsenal in the Urals."
"And after that?" asked Fong.
"According to Central records, the missile is still stockpiled in Bay 16 of the Underground Storage Bunker number 45. However, a physical check was made on my instructions, and it was found that no missile corresponding to these serial numbers was in Bay 16. The officer in charge of the section suggested the possibility of a computer error; he was not, of course, informed of the reason for the inquiry at this time/'
"Such an error is possible?"
"Possible—but highly improbable under the circumstances." Bruce's voice was grim.
"And the alternative?"
"Distasteful as it may be, I'm afraid we have to face the fact that the missile was removed from the Central Arsenal by some unauthorized person or persons."
"Stolen, you mean?"
"Either by the use of some forged requisition order, all traces of which were afterwards erased from the records of the section, or with the direct cooperation of the personnel in charge of the Bay at the time."
Fong shifted in his seat. "I find it a very disturbing possibility."
"No less so than I and my colleagues," said Bruce. "Corps- Security has begun an exhaustive investigation of the incident. There have been no concrete results as yet, but such a coup could only have been planned and carried out by someone with a detailed knowledge of Corps procedure. The missile was stolen by someone who knew just what he was doing down to the smallest detail. It seems reasonable to assume that it was stolen for the specific purpose in which it was eventually employed, because there could be no other use for such a weapon.
Fong fought against the sick horror that threatened to paralyze his thought processes. To think of the murder of millions of innocent colonists as being perpetrated by the inhuman aliens known as Kilroys had been terrible enough, but the idea that those people had been deliberately murdered by their own species—this was beyond belief and bearing.
"Thank you, Commander Bruce," he said softly. "You have made your points very clearly."
"Would you like me to run through the slides again?" Bruce asked.
"No. . .no," Fong said. "I've seen quite enough." He turned to the officer by the projector. "Lieutenant—you will please leave us now."
As soon as the young officer had left the room Fong rose to his feet and walked across to the light switches. Commander Bruce was standing quite still next to the dead screen, his strong features grim and his eyes staring unseeing into some other space than that of the luxuriously furnished lounge. Fong had known and respected Bruce for many years, and he understood with some sympathy that recent events had shaken the very foundations of his beliefs, both as a man and a devoted Corps officer.
"Please sit down, Commander," he said. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No thank you, Mr. President," Bruce said.
The refusal was typical of the man, thought Fong. He would deliberately not dull the edge of the anguish. Fong lowered his spare body into an armchair and gestured to Bruce to do the same.
Bruce obeyed. I'm sorry, Mr. President, but right now I'm finding it rather difficult to think of anything but one single conclusion. Whichever road I take in my reasoning, I seem to get to the same place, and it's not a place I ever thought I'd be. I trained with Robert Prince for five years, and served with him after that for another three. We were. . . I know it sounds trite—but we were like brothers. I thought I knew him as well as I've ever known any human being."
"A notoriously unreliable breed," said Fong. "It may be a sad judgment, but the older I become, the less I learn to expect from people in matters that truly offer them a free choice. It often seems to me that under such circumstances they are more than fifty percent likely to take the wrong path. But then again, one must bear in mind that even an apparent choice between good and evil is merely a matter of viewpoint in many cases. In a specific instance my good may well be your evil, or vice versa."
Fong watched the expression of alert impatience grow on Brace's face, and he realized with some satisfaction that his ponderous philosophizing had had the intended effect.
"I'm sorry, Mr. President," Bruce said with a new alertness. "But I can only deal in facts.. Abstractions are not my line of country."
"Fine, Commander!" Fong said. "Let's start by my telling you the way the facts look to me. If I get out of line anywhere, I want you to put me right. Understood?"
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Right—we'll start from the beginning. Elkan Niebohr called me to say that there had been a communications break with Orphelin Three for almost two days."
"When such a break should have been reported, under Regulations, within twenty-four hours," Bruce pointed out.
Fong nodded. "But, as I said at the time, Niebohr doesn't lightly call for Corps assistance, not even when his own pet colonial project is
involved. Now . . .some hundred and forty-odd hours later you arrive at Orphelin, to find the entire inhabited northern continent devastated by atomic bombardment, presumably instigated by the aliens we call Kilroys, and you send down a party under the command of Lieutenant Commander Lindstrom to investigate further and to pick up any survivors. While this investigation is going on, Venturer Twelve remains in orbit and an apparent UFO is detected approaching the Orphelin system. The alarm proves to be a false one. The UFO is identified as Excelsior Corporation ship Medusa, commanded by Robert Prince, who explains that he passed through the Orphelin system only three days previously on his way to Balomain. He says that he has returned upon receiving the alarm call about the breakdown in communications with Orphelin Three, is apparently shocked when you tell him of the destruction of the colony, and offers assistance."
"After suggesting that he should first pick up the team of engineers and geologists he dropped off at Orphelin Four on the way out," interrupted Bruce.
"A suggestion to which you raised no objection?"
"There seemed no reason to do so, particularly as there was a possibility—admittedly remote—that the party on Orphelin Four might be able to give us some information about the presumed Kilroy attack."
"And that was your last contact with Medusa?" asked Fong.
"No. Shortly after that I called Prince again to tell him that Lindstrom had at last managed to find a single survivor and that we guessed him to be MacGuinness, the biologist whom Prince himself had mentioned."
"An assumption which has since been proved correct, I understand," said Fong. "Although I'm afraid that the reports on the poor fellow's condition are not at all encouraging, even though he is getting the best attention that the staff of the Corps Infirmary can provide. He was still unconscious and completely dependent on artificial life-support systems when I last spoke to Surgeon General Hurwitz."
"George Maseba did his best, but he apparently missed out on some fast-breeding, mutated virus," said Bruce.
"Considering the number of things that were wrong with MacGuinness when we picked him up, that's hardly surprising, but I'm afraid Maseba doesn't see it that way. He's hard on the people who work with him—but he's a great deal tougher on himself."
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