“You must have quite a collection,” said Guy. “Which collection includes some of mine.”
“Some,” answered Laura sharply. “Most of my officers are true, though, and do not go off letting other girls pin their insignia on.”
Guy shrugged. This was not going according to plan at all. But best have it out. If he could get the upper hand in this argument with Laura, he’d feel better. Always before he had come off second best in disagreements with Laura Greggor. But he felt that he was dead right in this affair, and he was not going to back down now that she had flung his actions into his teeth.
“Well,” he said with an expansive wave of the hand, “you told me not to annoy you with petty trifles, and that you’d be glad to accept the patrol marshal’s nebula when I became sector marshal. I merely followed your wishes. To the letter, in fact.”
“You didn’t have to make a public show of yourself with that little waitress!”
“You mean Senior Aide Forbes?” asked Maynard, feeling the back of his neck bristle. If he’d been possessed of any kind of mane, it would have stood up in anger.
“Senior aide? How did she get that rank?” scorned Laura.
“She worked for it. And hard.”
“Slinging hash?”
“No, you little twirp. She went to a school for Patrol Nurse Corps and paid for her tuition by working nights.”
“She could have made a better night-living than working in a beanery,” snapped Laura.
Slap!
Maynard had been raised as a normal youngster. His mother had done her best to instill the instincts of a gentleman in her son Guy, and at an early age he discovered that little girls are not to be beaten over the skull with a toy truck, and that beebee guns make little round bruises when they hit little girls’ legs, and that produced bad evidence. Little girls, he learned, had no such restriction upon their action, but could let him have a few quick blows without suffering the consequences. On the other hand, he soon discovered that at best their blows didn’t count for much, and so he learned that hitting women was taking an unfair advantage.
But hitting with the tongue had never been explained to Maynard’s satisfaction. Laura Greggor was being just too open with her scorn. And so Maynard, who never had hit a lady before, slapped Laura Greggor across the face.
“You hit me,” she said in absolute surprise and equally absolute anger.
“You talk too rotten about someone far above you,” snapped Maynard.
“Don’t you call me rotten,” snarled Laura. “Go on back to that little trollop you prefer.”
“Can’t,” said Guy shortly. “She died up there!”
It made no impression on Laura. “And so now you come running back to me? Sorry, Guy. I don’t play second fiddle—even to a corpse!”
“You don’t have to,” he said evenly. He took the box from her hand. Then as she watched in amazement, Guy removed his own insignia and placed the starred nebulae on his own lapel. With that finished, he arose from the bench; flung the plain nebulae into the little lagoon, and left Laura sitting there.
Guy entered the room through the same door, and went immediately into the bar where he downed four drinks in rapid succession.
He felt as though he needed that alcoholic sterilization of his mouth. Maynard’s stomach was unused to liquor in such undilution. It reacted; got rid of the alcohol as soon as it could by filtering it into the blood stream. In other words,. Guy became slightly drunk on a total of five drinks. Unevenly, Guy went to the main room, where he was immediately taken in tow by two women.
“Now,” said the one on his right, “we have you to ourselves. Tell us about Mephisto.”
“How did you find it?”
I found it cold and forbidding.
“To think that it was undiscovered for all of these years!”
Too bad I did find it.
“You found it, and you conquered it, That makes it almost your own planet, Guy.”
I’ll trade it for a chance to seek it again.
They prattled on, not noticing his silence. They wouldn’t have heard him if he had spoken, for they poured the questions at him without waiting for an answer.
“Was it exciting to go all the way out there?”
It was deadly. They hit us with all they had.
“Tell us about the battle. We want to hear the final words on the finish of the fight. Tell us how you captured the weapon that destroyed all Mephisto. Was that thrilling?”
Thrilling! Maynard saw a white face with closed eyes, neatly placed in endless rows of other faces. He heard the voice of the chaplain saying again: “—vast though the universe be, and though you travel it endlessly, there you will find His work—”
How could death be thrilling?
“You make me sick,” said Maynard uncertainly.
“He’s drunk.”
“Yes, I’m drunk,” he roared. “And you’d be dead or worse than drunk if you’d seen what I had to live with. What do you know of death and of war? Thrilling? Exciting? Wonderful? Bah— It was rotten, as sordid, and as ungodly as running opium! Sending men to their death. Fighting a war against an enemy that knows it is fighting for its right to live.
“Fighting for what? So that you and your kind can sit here and praise the unlucky man who is destined to return for these medals.
“Fighting to make the Solar System bend to Terra’s will, that’s what it is. What did we want of Mephisto? Nothing except tribute. I’m sick and tired of people telling me that I did a wonderful job. A brilliant job of butchering, that’s what they mean!”
“Guy, take it easy. They mean no harm,” interposed Kane.
“If they want to see how thrilling war is,” blazed Guy, “let ‘em go out and see!”
“Take it easy!”
“Let ’em help cut the leg from a corpse so that it can be grafted onto a lad with his leg shot off!” stormed Guy. “Let ’em watch a ship fall ten thousand miles into a planet, and watch it blaze as it hits the air.”
“It’s all over,” Kane told him. He turned to the rapidly collecting group and said: “Permit me to apologize. Guy has been through hell, and shock still claims him.”
“It’s over?” asked Guy. “It’ll never be over. It’ll go on and on and on until the last Terran is dead and forgotten.”
“Well,” said Kane, “you’d better make the best of it, Guy. You’re Terran, and there’s no place else to go.”
“I’d like to find a planet that hasn’t seen war for a thousand years,” said Guy uncertainly. The alcohol-concentration was reaching new levels in Guy’s system, and his brain was feeling more and more the effects.
“We’d’ all like that,” said Kane. “Now break it up, Guy, and simmer down.”
The storm passed, then, and Kane walked Guy into the dining room and seated him at the speakers’ table.
The room hazed before Guy’s eyes as he sat down. The echo of his voice resounded in his brain: “A thousand years—”
What was it that Charalas said? A thousand years—no, it was more than that. Thousands of years since they had war. That was a planet! Ertene. The nomad world that wanted no part of Sol’s warfare and strife; killing and death. They knew—they knew from the things he said—that Terra was a planet of self-aggrandizement and that Terrans were proud, haughty, and belligerent.
Maynard laughed wildly.
His hand felt the clean-shaven face.
He’d go there!
“No strife for thousands of years,” he said aloud.
Space Marshal Mantley, at his side, turned in puzzlement and asked: “What was that?”
Maynard saw the other as a sheer maze of white; no features were visible to his befuddled mind.
“They haven’t had war for thousands of years,” he said.
“Who? What kind of dead, sterile place is that?”
“Ertene—and never call Ertene dead!” exploded Guy.
“What’s Ertene?”
“Ertene—the
nomad planet. The wanderers.”
“I do not follow?”
“They came and saw us. They decided not to have any.”
Mantley turned to Kane and said: “What is this young man talking about?”
“I should know?” asked Kane with a shrug. “He’s drunk—and though it is deplorable that he should pick this time to get that way, I, for one, don’t blame him.” “Well, after the circumstances, neither do I,” agreed Mantley with a sympathetic smile. “Those female predators would drive any man to murder with their thoughtless questions. But look, Kane, this tale of a nomad planet that preferred peace to association with Terra sounds too complicated to be the figment of a drunken imagination.”
“How could it be anything but?” “Not a drunken figment,” blurted Guy. “I was there, I should know.” “It must be a wonderful place,” said Mantley soothingly.
“It is a paradise,” insisted Guy.
“And you were there?”
“How would I-know about it otherwise?”
“All right,” laughed Kane. “Prove it!”
“How can I? They destroyed every shred of evidence.”
“Who did?”
“You did—you and your kind. Didn’t want Mars to know about Mardinex—shot up the lifeship. Made me memorize forged log— forged by Ertinians to fool you— and then burned log. Ha!” and Guy went into a paroxysm of laughter. “You forged a log from a forged log.”
“When was this visit?”
“When—right after capture by Martians. Came home to Terra.” “Kane,” said Mantley, “there may be nothing to this wild yarn. But to stop any wild talk on the part of observers here, I’m going to investigate thoroughly.”
“Please do. I’m certain that it will kill any rumors. Guy went through part of the Martian idea of torture, I think, and it may have deranged his mind somewhat.”
“I’ll look into it,” said Mantley. “We can permit no ugly rumor to mar the record of Guy Maynard,” insisted Kane. “He is too high a figure now to permit rumors—and there are those who would spread such rumors.”
Mantley nodded. “Some of them are here, and they have heard.”
“You don’t mind a bit of scorn?” “Of what kind?”
“My publications will break this, of course. We’ll do it in the light of an investigation made over the statements made in jest by Sector Marshal Maynard. You may find yourself an object of some scorn since you are willing to accept the prattlings of a slightly-drunken man, suffering from battle-shock, as basis for a formal investigation.”
“If you’ll paint me as an unwilling investigator, I’ll take it.” “Well,” smiled Kane, “you are unwilling, I know. You’ll be portrayed as a friend of Maynard’s who is forced to investigate and is doing so only because your duty to the Patrol insists that you do. Correct?”
“Yes. But let’s get it over with. I wouldn’t want this dragged out too far.”
XIV.
Guy Maynard faced the President of the Court, who said to him: “Maynard, your story is absurd. That you spent a year on an unknown planet sounds impossible. But—there is one bit of evidence which, if you can explain, will be discarded. Early medical records claim that you have a MacMillan burn beneath your right arm. It is further stated that if this scar is not removed, it will turn into cancer. No record can be found of its removal—yet it is gone. To clear yourself, name the surgeon that removed the dangerous scar.” Maynard blinked. He’d forgotten the scar entirely. It had been a minute speck that had never given him a bit of trouble.
“The record states that you got that scar at age twenty-two. You were a junior aide at die time, and you received the burn in a fight with the Martians during the Martio-Terran Incident.”
He’d gotten it before he went to Ertene!
“Can you recall the name of the doctor?”
Guy shook his head.
“I can not believe that you would visit a disreputable doctor for such treatment when the Base doctor is available—and the expense is no answer. Having received the wound in service, its treatment is a responsibility of the government. Yet we have searched the records of all reputable doctors and find no mention.”
Guy shook his head again.
“Maynard, I am beginning to assume that there is truth in your drunken story. Your developments —your inventions—were so startling and so brilliant. Memorized details of a civilization’s best efforts. The barrier-screen. Used, no doubt, to keep Ertene hidden as it passes from start to finish through the universe. A brilliant bit of adaptation, Maynard.”
“That’s a little harsh, Mantley,” said Kane.
“Are you in this with him?” asked Mantley sharply. “If I were you, Kane, I’d look to my own past and see if there are any loose ends. We may decide that you know about this, too.”
“You’re being overharsh to a man that should have the entire world at his feet.” ‘
“Maynard, will you swear upon your honor that no such planet exists?” demanded Mantley.
Maynard remained silent, convicting himself.
“Ha! Then it was not drunkenness entirely. Look, Maynard. Your high position as sector marshal will not help you in the face of this. The entire situation will’ be overlooked if you do your duty and lead us to Ertene now.”
Maynard made a soundless “No”.
“You are a valuable man,” insisted Mantley. “Copies though the originals may have been, your work at adaptation is nothing short 6f genius. To take an alien concept and reduce it to practice is no small feat, Guy. Do not fling your future into the’ drink. Lead us to Ertene, and we will consider your job well done.”
“They saved my life,” said Guy. “They gave me knowledge. I strived and worked enthusiastically in an effort to convince Ertene that Terra and Sol would ever be friendly, and offered her a place near Sol. I assured Ertene of our undying alliance and protection. They preferred eternal loneliness to joining a militant system such as ours. Since they felt that entering Sol’s system would bring about the death of Ertinian integrity, they offered me life in exchange for silence.”
“A fine bargain,” sneered Mantley.
“I swore to keep their secret. I shall.”
“Your honor is rooted in dishonor—”
“That I deny. I had no other alternative. I could bring their secrets to you only by swearing silence. If I had not sworn silence, I would have been executed. Alive, but silent, I brought to Terra the science by which she will gain mastery over the Solar System. Dead, I would have been able to do nothing, and Terra would not have the benefit of the things I brought. Give me that credit, at least!”
“You should have sworn silence,” said Mantley coldly. “And then taken us to them.”
“You would prefer an officer whose word means nothing?”
“False oaths. The only oath that is worth the breath of life is your oath to the Patrol.”
“I see. Dishonesty extends in only one direction? Be rotten to the core—for the Terran Space Patrol! Even a Martian spy has more honor than that!”
“Enough. We find you guilty of treasonable acts, Maynard. You will be removed from command, relieved of any connection with the Terran Space Patrol, and your citizenship in the Terran and Colonial Alliance destroyed. We’ll see how popular you are, Maynard. No matter how big a man may get, he still is less than the world itself. We‘ll find out whether you can find friends who trust you when you’ve been dishonorably discharged from the Patrol.
“There is this fact. To remove the Act of Treason from your record, you must remove the charge.
By leading us to Ertene you will remove any cause for action, and by doing so you will regain your position. Understand?”
Maynard’s lips curled in a sneer. He said nothing because there was nothing to say. The President of th£ Court approached him and harshly ripped the insignia from his uniform.
“Thus I remove the sacred shields of honor from a man of dishonor. He has defiled them.”
The in
signia were dropped into a small box, which was then burned so that no trace of the original shapes remained. During the firing of the insignia, Guy stood woodenly. His former friends looked past him, through him, ignoring him. They arose and filed out of the room, leaving Guy standing alone,
Completely alone.
Me stood on the edge of the great spaceport and watched the activity. It was hard to realize that he was no longer a part of it; he knew that he could return as soon as he grew tired of going hungry, of finding no work, of being without a single friend. But before he did that— well, he was not reduced to starvation yet. Perhaps something would turn up.
He heard a footstep beside him, and found it was Kane.
“Sorry,” he said to the publisher.
“So am I. Guy. But I believe with you. You should have been permitted your little secret Would they have preferred another Mephisto? A planet such as you describe ruined and sterilized because of pride? No—and believing that I know the mettle of the people on that mysterious planet, I know that they’d die before they’d permit invasion. Right?”
“Absolutely. That’s why I did nothing. They were human, Kane, as you and I are human. A dead specimen is no good in a zoo.”
“I know. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t take it too hard. I’m still the big publisher. I’ll see that your case reaches the public in the proper light. You’ll be a victim of Patrol politics, thrown out because of personal pettiness over practical action.”
“That may help.”
“They’ll never stand for it.”
“You should know.”
“I do. Now look, Guy. Will you take the Loki and head for Pluto? Get lost there on Pluto; hire out as a workman. When the time is ripe, you’ll know and can come back. I’m not going to see my friend broken because of their high-handed methods.”
“That’s offering a lot.”
“Not at all. I can pick the Loki up there. Right at the present time you’d get nowhere if you stay on Terra; your face is known to every man, woman, and child on the planet.”
Nomad (1944) Page 16