They had celebrated an early Christmas. The tree glittered forlorn in the living room. Outside, a surf of rain drove against the windows.
“It’s so awful,” Lisa said. “That there has to be war.”
“There doesn’t, pony,” Heim answered. “In fact, that’s what we’re trying to prevent.”
She regarded him in bewilderment.
“If we don’t stand up to Alerion,” Heim said, “there’ll be trouble and more trouble, worse each time, and we’ll forever lose, until at last Earth is driven into a corner. And when it’s cornered, the human race always does fight, with everything it’s got. Planet against planet—that would be the real Ragnarok. What we have to do is show them right now that we aren’t going to be pushed. Then we and they can talk business. Because space truly is big enough for everybody, as long as they respect each other’s right to exist” He put on his cloak. “We’d better start.”
They went downshaft in silence to the garage, and entered his flyer—himself, his daughter, her grandfather, two hard-looking men who must keep watch over her until this affair had been outlived, and Vadász. Out the doors they glided, and rose through storm. The hull shivered and resounded. But when they got into the upper lanes, blue stillness encompassed them, with clouds below like snow mountains.
Wingate lit a cigar and puffed, his nutcracker face squinched together. Finally he barked, “I hate these good-by waits, sitting around wishing you could think of something to say. Let’s tune in Parliament”
“Not worth while,” Heim replied. “They expect a full week of preliminary debate before they invite the Aleriona delegation. Every two-cent politician wants to make sure he’s heard at least once.”
“But according to the news yesterday, France came out near the top of the alphabetical draw. Coquelin will probably start to speak any minute.”
“Hell—oh, go ahead.” Heim was chiefly conscious of the slight form huddled between him and Vadász.
The time was not much later in Mexico City than here, but you couldn’t tell that from inside the Capitol. The view swept across the Chamber of Council, faces and faces and faces, white, brown, black, amber, their eyes zeroed on the rostrum as the speaker for Finland stepped down. President Fazil knocked with his gavel; through that waiting quiet, the sound was like nails being driven into a coffin. Wingate, whose Spanish was not the best, dialed for English translation.
“—the honorable spokesman for France, M. Michel Coquelin.”
Heim set the ’pilot and leaned back to watch. The square shape trudged down the aisle deliberately, almost scornfully, and took a stance at the lectern. The camera zoomed in on a countenance shockingly aged, but one which might have been cast in iron.
“Mr. President, distinguished delegates, ladies and gentlemen. I shall not detain you long at this point The world knows the French feeling about New Europe. My country wishes to make her position entirely clear and to advance a certain argument. Since this is sure to precipitate considerable discussion, I request leave to defer my address until the other honorable spokesmen have finished theirs.”
“You see?” Heim said. “He has to gain time for us to get clear. It was bad luck that France came on so early in the session, but he’ll handle it.”
“What’s he going to say, anyhow, Daddy?” Lisa asked. “He can’t let you be called pirates!”
Heim grinned. “You’ll find out.”
“Mr. President! Point of order.” The camera wheeled around and closed in on Harold Twyman. He had jumped to his feet and looked angry. “In so grave a matter, a departure from precedence must be approved in the form of a motion.”
Coquelin raised his brows. “I fail to see why there should be any objection to France yielding precedence,” he said.
“Mr. President, distinguished members of this body,” Twyman rapped, “the honorable spokesman for France has warned us that he intends a surprise. This is a time for serious discussion, not for debater’s tricks. If we find ourselves forced to rebut an unexpected assertion, our meeting with the honorable delegates of Alerion may easily be postponed another week. There has already been too much delay. I insist that this chamber vote upon whether to let M. Coquelin play with us or not.”
“Mr. President—” The Frenchman’s retort was cut off. Fazil slammed his gavel and said:
“The chair finds the point well taken, if perhaps somewhat heatedly expressed. Does anyone wish to make a motion that the French statement be deferred until every other national spokesman has finished his remarks?”
“Oh, oh,” Vadász muttered. “This does not look good.”
Heim reached out and adjusted the ’pilot for top speed. The engine hum strengthened. Above it he heard a member of the Argentine group say, “I so move,” and a Dutchman, “I second.”
“It has been moved and seconded—”
“What if they don’t let him?” Lisa wailed.
“Then we’ve got to go like bats out of Venus,” Heim said.
Coquelin began to speak in favor of the motion. After a few minutes, Vadász clicked his tongue and said admiringly: “Never did I hear anything so long-winded. That man is an artist.”
“Um,” Wingate grunted. “He may antagonize ’em.”
“Obviously,” said Heim in a bleak tone, “he doesn’t expect to win, no matter what”
Debate droned back and forth. The flyer left the storm behind and fled over a huge wrinkled landscape. Far to the east gleamed the Sierra peaks. We could lose all that beauty someday, Heim thought.
Mojave Field sprawled into view. He slanted down on the beam and saw Connie Girl poised in the open. Garaging, formalities of clearance, the long walk across concrete under a glaring sun—was the light what blinded him?
They stopped at the ramp. “Well,” said Wingate gruffly, “you can’t waste time. God ride with you, Son.” He let the handclasp die.
Lisa came into Heim’s arms. “Daddy, Daddy, I’m sorry, I c-c-can’t help bawling.”
“Blaze to that.” He ruffled her hair and held her close against his chest. “We’ll be back, you know. Rich and famous and a million stories to tell.” He swallowed. “You … you’ve been … you are a good girl. I couldn’t have asked for a finer girl. So long. Plain old pa gensyn.”
He gave her to Vadász, who embraced her very lightly and bestowed a kiss on the wet cheek. “Isten veled,” the Magyar said low. “I shall bring you home a song.”
Hastily, then, they mounted the ramp, stood waving while it retracted, and saw the lock close before them.
“Thanks, Endre,” Heim said. He turned on his heel. “Let’s get cracking.”
The yacht could have sprung straight into orbit. But better not show unseemly haste. Heim took her up according to the beams. The sky darkened and stars awoke, until blackness was a jewel box. Vadász fiddled with the com controls and eventually succeeded in getting a satellite relay from Mexico.
Debate on a procedural motion was not unlimited. The voting started before Connie Girl had made rendezvous. A roll call tolled overwhelming defeat.
“Mr. President,” Coquelin’s voice lifted from the 3V, blurred, small as an insect’s, “this is a strange development. France had looked for the normal courtesies. Since I am required to make my country’s basic policy statement today, I will. However, I note the time is near midday, and I warn the distinguished representatives that I shall be speaking at some length. Accordingly, I suggest that first we adjourn for lunch.”
“The chair so rules,” Fazil conceded. “This meeting will resume at 1400 hours sharp.” His gavel clubbed down.
“An artist, I tell you,” Vadász laughed.
“A couple hours isn’t much time to get under way, with a crew new to the ship,” Heim reminded him.
The great torpedo shape hove in sight and waxed as he closed until it filled his bow vision. As yet she was un-camouflaged, and sunlight lay furious on the stern assembly; drive units, Mach rings, boathouses, turrets, hatches cast long shadows on the metal flanks.
“Yacht Connie Girl calling cruiser Fox II, We are coming in. Please stand by. Over.”
Wingate had argued about the change of cognomen. “I know what your old command meant to you, Gunnar,” he said. “But you’ll get enough people mad without taking the name of a Navy ship.”
“I’m not, exactly,” Heim said. “Last I heard, foxes were still in the public domain. Besides, I damn well figure to rub people’s noses in what the Navy ought to be doing. What it wants to do, in fact.”
Number Four boathouse stood open for him. He cradled the yacht—she was about the size of a regular auxiliary—and fretted while airpumps filled the shell. The corridors beyond were bustle and clangor. He’d had the men aboard for assignments and instruction, but nonetheless he wished terribly there had been time for a shakedown cruise.
First Officer Penoyer saluted on the bridge. “Welcome, sir.” Until Dave greeted him so, he had not really remembered how alone the captain is. “Full roster present Work proceeding. Estimated time of acceleration, 2300 hours GMT.”
“Knock at least an hour off that,” Heim said.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.” Heim sat down and riffled through the manual of operations. “Here, for instance. The C.E. doesn’t have to check out the internal field compensators again. If they fail, we’ll accelerate at no more than one-point-five gee; once in free fall, we can stand weightlessness till they’re fixed. Not that I expect any trouble in his department anyway. He’s good. Have him proceed directly to tuning the pulse manifolds. The more carefully that job is done, the nearer Sol we can go FTL.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” With noticeable distaste, Penoyer flicked the intercom and spoke to Uthg-a-K’thaq. Heim continued his search for corners that might be cut.
And somehow, in some typically human left-handed fashion, the job was done. At 2145 klaxons hooted, orders echoed, atoms flamed in fusion generators, and gravitational forces laid hold of space. Slowly, smoothly, with a deep purr felt less within the ears than the bones, Fox II slipped her moorings to Earth and departed orbit.
Heim stood on the bridge and watched his world recede. Still she dominated heaven, vast and infinitely fair, clouds and seas and a sapphire rim of sky. He had observed the continents in their nights and days as he rounded her: Africa, whence man came; Asia, where first he was more than a savage; Europe, where he outgrew myth and measured the stars; Australia, long-sought dream; Antarctica of the heroes. But he was happy that his last sight as he drove star-ward was of America, where the law was first written that all men are free.
Doubts and fears, even homesickness, had fallen away. He was committed now, and joy dwelt within him.
“Stations report condition satisfactory,” Penoyer announced after a while.
“Very good. Carry on.” Heim found the intercom and called the steward’s department. “Endre? D’you have things in hand so they can get along without you for a spell? … Okay, come onto the bridge. And bring your guitar. We’ll want a song or two.”
The Magyar’s voice was troubled. “Captain, have you been listening to Parliament?”
“Uh … no. Too busy. Good Lord, they started fresh more than an hour ago, didn’t they?”
“Yes. We’re picking up the beam to Mars. I have watched and—well, they did not let Coquelin delay. He tried, with a long introductory speech, and the chair ruled he must keep to the point Then he tried to introduce the evidence about New Europe, and someone objected and they decided to vote on whether that was germane now. The roll is still being called, but already he has a majority against him.”
“Oh-oh.” Heim was not shaken, on this day when he commanded anew a ship for Earth. But the need for action stabbed through his nerves. “Mr. Penoyer,” he directed, “signal for maximum acceleration and order all hands to emergency stations.”
The mate gulped and obeyed. “Have Sparks shunt that debate to our 3V,” Heim went on. “Mr. Vadász, please come to the bridge.” His chuckle was fiat. “Yes, bring your guitar.”
“What’s the problem, sir?” Penoyer asked in unease.
“You’ll see,” Heim replied. “France is about to throw a nuke into the whole machine. Our plan was to have Fox well away by then. Now we’ll need luck as well as brains and beauty.”
The screen flickered to fuzzy motion. Coquelin was nearly drowned out by the risen rumble of engines. Earth dwindled among the stars and Luna’s pocked face grew nearer.
“—this assembly is determined to give my country not one centimeter. As you like, ladies and gentlemen. I wished to say this gradually, for the blow is heavy at best. Now you must hear me whether you are ready or not.”
The camera zoomed so close that Coquelin’s visage filled the screen. That was a lousy trick, Heim thought. But, if he wasn’t letting his own prejudices hoodwink him, this time it didn’t work. Instead of underscoring every blemish—warts, moles, hairs, wrinkles—the close-up showed anger and unbreakable strength. Heim believed himself confirmed when the view moved back after a minute, to make Coquelin another man shuffling papers on a lectern.
“Mr. President, honorable delegates—” The translation could only suggest how the voice shifted, became the dry detached recital of an attorney making a technical point. “The Federation was founded and still exists to end the tragic anarchy that prevailed among nations before, to bring them under a law that serves the good of all. Now law cannot endure without equal justice. The popularity of an argument must be irrelevant. Only the lawful cause may be admitted. In the name of France, I therefore advance the following points.”
“1. The Constitution forbids each member nation to keep armed forces above the police level or to violate the territorial integrity of any other member nation in any way. To enforce this, the Peace Control Authority is vested with the sole military power. It may and must take such measures as are necessary to stop aggressive acts, including conspiracy to commit such acts. The individuals responsible must be arrested and brought to trial before the World Court.”
“2. The naval branch of the Authority has been used beyond the Solar System, albeit only in relatively minor actions to suppress insurrection and riot or to protect the lives and property of humans on distant planets. By authorizing such action, and by negotiating agreements with various aliens, the Federation has de facto and de jure assumed the posture with respect to non-human societies that was traditional between governments on Earth prior to the Constitution. Hence Earth as a whole is a sovereign state with the lawful prerogative of self-defense.”
“3. By attacking New Europe and subsequently occupying it, Alerion has committed an act of territorial aggression.
“4. If Alerion is not regarded as a sovereign state, negotiation of this dispute is legally impossible, and the Authority is required to take military measures against what can only be considered banditry.”
A roar went through the hall. Fazil banged his desk. Coquelin waited, sardonicism playing over his mouth. When order had been restored, the spokesman of France said:
“Evidently this assembly does consider Alerion to be sovereign like Earth. So, to proceed—
“5. If Alerion is indeed a legitimate state, then by the preamble to the Constitution it belongs to the family of nations. Therefore it must be regarded as either (a) obliged to refrain from territorial aggression on pain of military sanctions, or (b) not so obliged, since it is not a member of the Federation.
“6. In case (a), Alerion is automatically subject to military sanctions by the Peace Control Authority. But in case (b), the Authority is also required, by the Constitution and by past precedent, to safeguard the interests of individual humans and of member states of the Federation. Note well, the Authority has that obligation. Not this honorable assembly, not the World Court, but the Peace Control Authority, whose action must under the circumstances be of a military nature.
“7. Accordingly, in either case an automatic state of war now exists between Alerion and the World Federation.”
Chaos broke loose.
Vadász had come in. He watched the scene for a time, as hundreds stood booing or cheering or screaming to be recognized, before he murmured: “Is that not a weak point there?”
“No,” said Heim. “Remember the Moslem League case. Also, I reread the Constitution, and it’s quite clear. Of course, it helps that the thing was written before we’d met any non-humans comparable to us.” He turned to the mate. “Radar reports?”
“Eh? Oh—oh, yes. A large craft about 10,000 kilometers starboard high, vector roughly like ours.”
“Damn! That’d be one of the Navy units, pulled in to guard Earth. Well, we’ll have to see what happens.” Heim ignored the mob scene on the 3V, rested his eyes on the cold serenity of the Milky Way and thought that this, at least, would endure.
Somehow quiet was enforced. Coquelin waited until the silence had become deathly. He raised another typewritten sheet and resumed in the same parched tone:
“8. In the event of territorial aggression, member states of the Federation are required to give every appropriate assistance to the Peace Control Authority, in the name of the Federation.”
“9. In the judgment of France, this imposes an inescapable duty to provide armed assistance to the colonists of New Europe. However, a member of the Federation is prohibited the manufacture or possession of nuclear weapons.”
“10. There is no prohibition on individuals obtaining such weapons outside the Solar System for themselves, provided that they do not bring them back to the Solar System.”
“11. Nor is there any prohibition on the unilateral authorization by a member state of the Federation of a private military expedition which so outfits itself. We grant that privateers were formerly required to be citizens of the country whose flag they flew, and that this might conflict with the national disarmament law. We grant also that eventually the issuance of letters of marque and reprisal was banned, by the Declaration of Paris in 1856. But while such treaties remain binding on their signatories, including France, they are not binding on the Federation as a whole, which is not a signatory and indeed has members such as the United States of America which never were signatories. And we have seen that the Federation is a sovereign state, possessing all rights and responsibilities not explicitly waived.
“12. Therefore the Federation has the unrestricted right to issue letters of marque and reprisal.
“13. Therefore, and in view of paragraphs 7, 8, and 9, France has the right and the duty to issue letters of marque and reprisal in the name of the Federation.
“France has done so.”
The 3V shrieked—more faintly each minute, as Fox II accelerated outward and outward. When she lost the Mars beam and reception ended, the racket in the Capitol had not yet subsided.
Penoyer said, “Whew! What’s next?”
“An interminable debate,” Heim said. “Coquelin will fight for every comma. Meanwhile nothing can be done about jellyfishing to Alerion. Hopefully, the people with guts will see they aren’t beaten at the outset, will rally round and—I don’t know.”
“But us?”
“Maybe we can escape before someone realizes who that French privateer must be. Not that they can legally stop us without an Admiralty warrant; and you know how long that takes to get. But a nuclear shell is kind of final, and whoever fires it will have powerful friends in court.”
Vadász strummed his guitar and began to sing softly: “Morgenrot, Morgenrot—” Heim wondered what that was, until he remembered the old, old Austrian cavalry song:
Morning red, morning red, Wilt thou shine upon me dead? Soon the trumpets will be blowing, Then must I to death be going, I and many trusty friends!—
But it wasn’t really sad, it had been chorused by troops of young merry men as they galloped with sunlight wild on banners and lances.
He laughed aloud. “Hey! An idea. There were exactly thirteen points in Coquelin’s speech. I wonder if he did that on purpose?”
None answered, except the plangent strings. He gave himself to thoughts … Lisa, Connie, Madelon, Jocelyn … Earth and Moon lay far behind.
“PCA-SN Neptune to cruiser Fox II. Come in, Fox II.”
The voice rocketed them from their seats. “Judas,” Penoyer whispered, “that’s a blastship.”
Heim checked the radar tapes. “The one paralleling us. She’s gone to an interception course. And if they use English on us, when we’ve got a French registry, they know—” He bit his lip and settled before the com relay console. “Fox II to Neptune,” he said. “We read you. The master speaking. What’s on your mind? Over.”
“This is Rear Admiral Ching-Kuo, commanding Neptune. Cease acceleration and stand by to be boarded. Over.”
Sickness fountained in Heim. “What do you mean?” he blustered. “We have clearance. Over.”
“You are suspected of illegal intentions. You are ordered to return to Earth orbit. Over.”
“Have you a warrant? Over.”
“I will show you my authorization when I board, Captain. Over.”
“That’ll be too late, if you don’t have any. Establish video contact and show me now. Otherwise I am not bound to obey. Over.”
“Captain,” said Ching-Kuo, “I have my orders. If you do not follow instructions, I shall be forced to fire on you. Over.”
Heim’s gaze flew among the stars. No, no, no, not this! Another hour and we’d have been away! One hour!
A flaring went through him. “You win, Admiral,” he said; it sounded like a stranger talking. “Under protest, I yield. Give us time to compute a velocity-matching vector and we’ll meet you. Over and out.”
He slammed down the switch and opened the intercom to the engine room. “Captain to chief engineer,” he said. “Are you there?”
“Indeed,” Uthg-a-K’thaq belched. “All is satiswactory.”
“No. Somebody’s uncorked the bottle on hell. There’s a blastship which says if we don’t stop and surrender, he’ll shoot. Prepare for Mach drive.”
“Captain!” Penoyer yelled. “This deep in the sun’s field?”
“If the sync is perfect, we can do it,” Heim said. “If not … we’re dead, no more. Uthg-a-K’thaq, do you believe we can?”
“Gwurru! What a thing to ask!”
“You overhauled those engines yourself,” Heim said. “I trust you.”
Vadász’s guitar shouted at his back.
For a moment the intercom bore only the throb of machines. Then: “Cawtain, I am not God. Wut I think the chance is good for us. And I trust you.”
Heim opened the general intercom. “Now hear this,” he said; music raged around the words. “All hands stand by for Mach drive.”
Penoyer clenched his fists. “Aye, aye, sir.” The drone from aft rose until it was the noise of gales and great waters. Space twisted. Stars danced in the viewports.
Long ago, Ernst Mach of Austria (“Morgenrot, Morgenrot—“) had held the key. Nothing exists in isolation. Inertia has no meaning without an inertial frame of reference: which must be the entire universe. Einstein showed inertial and gravitational mass are the same. But as for the phenomena themselves—Gravitation is describable by equations of a warped space. Inertia is, then, an inductive effect of the cosmic gravitational field on mass. If your gravitrons can bend space, not the small amount needed for lift and thrust, but through a closed curve, your ship has no resistance to accelerative force. Theoretically, you can go as fast as you like. There are no more boundaries.
Neptune fired. The missile lagged by a million kilometers. Her captain yammered for instrument readings. Perhaps, oh, surely, surely, his prey had been torn apart by the forces generated with imperfect mesh of space curvatures here where the sun’s power was still all-dominant. Nothing registered, no wreckage, no trace, except the howl of hydrogen atoms flung in bow wave and wake by a ship outpacing light. He dared not pursue.
Heim straightened. One by one, he eased his muscles. “Well,” he said, “we got away with it.” The words were poor for the victory within him. Vadász was doing better: