Poul Anderson - Ensign Flandry

“Eloquent,” Hauksberg said. “His Majesty’s government’ll have to decide how big a bureaucratic empire it wants to create for the benefit of some primitives. Out o’ my department.” He got up. Ridenour did too. “Good day.”

“Good day, my lord,” the xenologist said. “Thank you for calling. Oh. Ensign Flandry. What’d you want?”

“I came to say good-bye, sir.” Flandry stood at attention. “My transport leaves in a few hours.”

“Well, good-bye, then. Good luck.” Ridenour went so far as to come shake hands. But even before Hauksberg, with Flandry behind, was out the door, Ridenour was back at his desk.

“Let’s take a stroll beyond town,” Hauksberg said. “Want to stretch my legs. No, beside me. We’ve things to discuss boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nothing further was said until they halted in a meadow of long silvery quasigrass. A breeze slid from the glaciers where mountains dreamed. A pair of wings cruised overhead. Were every last sentient Starkadian rescued, Flandry thought, they would be no more than the tiniest fraction of the life which joyed on this world.

Hauksberg’s cloak flapped. He drew it about him. “Well,” he said, looking steadily at the other. “We meet again, eh?”

Flandry made himself give stare for stare. “Yes sir I trust the remainder of my lord’s stay on Merseia was pleasant.”

Hauksberg uttered a laugh. “You are shameless! Will go far indeed, if no one shoots you first. Yes, I may say Councillor Brechdan and I had some rather int’restin’ talks after the word came from here.”

“I … I understand you agreed to, uh, say the space battle was only due to both commanders mistaking their orders.”

“Right. Merseia was astonished as us to learn about the rogue after our forces found it by accident.” Hauksberg’s geniality vanished. He seized Flandry’s arm with unexpected force and said sternly: “Any information to the contrary is a secret of state. Revealin’ it to anyone, ever so much as hintin’ at it, will be high treason. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord. I’ve been briefed.”

“And’s to your benefit, too,” Hauksberg said in a milder voice. “Keepin’ the secret necessarily involves quashin’ the charges against you. The very fact that they were ever brought, that anything very special happened after we reached Merseia, goes in the ultrasecret file also. You’re safe, my boy.”

Flandry put his hands behind his back, to hide how they doubled into fists. He’d have given ten years, off this end of his life, to smash that smiling face. Instead he must say, “Is my lord so kind as to add his personal pardon?”

“Oh, my, yes!” Hauksberg beamed and clapped his shoulder. “You did absolutely right. For absolutely the wrong reasons, to be sure, but by pure luck you accomplished my purpose for me, peace with Merseia. Why should I carry a grudge?” He winked. “Regardin” a certain lady, nothin’ between friends, eh? Forgotten.”

Flandry could not play along. “But we have no peace!” he exploded.

“Hey? Now, now, realize you’ve been under strain and so forth, but—”

“My lord, they were planning to destroy us. How can we let them go without even a scolding?”

“Ease down. I’m sure they’d no such intention. It was a weapon to use against us if we forced ’em to. Nothin’ else. If we’d shown a genuine desire to cooperate, they’d’ve warned us in ample time.”

“How can you say that?” Flandry choked. “Haven’t you read any history? Haven’t you listened to Merseian speeches, looked at Merseian books, seen our dead and wounded come back from meeting Merseians in space? They want us out of the universe!”

Hauksberg’s nostrils dilated. “That will do, Ensign. Don’t get above yourself. And spare me the spewed-back propaganda. The full story of this incident is bein’ suppressed precisely because it’d be subject to your kind of misinterpretation and so embarrass future relations between the governments. Brechdan’s already shown his desire for peace, by withdrawin’ his forces in toto from Starkad.”

“Throwing the whole expensive job of rescue onto us. Sure.”

“I told you to control yourself, Ensign. You’re not quite old enough to set Imperial policy.”

Flandry swallowed a foul taste. “Apologies, my lord.”

Hauksberg regarded him for a minute. Abruptly the viscount smiled. “No. Now I was gloatin’. Apologies to you. Really, I’m not a bad sort. And you mean well too. One day you’ll be wiser. Let’s shake on that.”

Flandry saw no choice.

Hauksberg winked again. “B’lieve I’ll continue my stroll alone. If you’d like to say good-bye to Donna d’Io, she’s in the guest suite.”

Flandry departed with long strides.

By the time he had reached HQ and gone through the rigamarole of gaining admittance, fury had faded. In its place lay emptiness. He walked into the living room and stopped. Why go further? Why do anything?

Persis ran to him. She wore a golden gown and diamonds in her hair. “Oh, Nicky, Nicky!” She laid her head on his breast and sobbed.

He consoled her in a mechanical fashion. They hadn’t had many times together since he came back from the rogue. There had been too much work for him, in Ujanka on Ridenour’s behalf. And that had occupied him so greatly that he almost resented the occasions when he must return to Highport. She was brave and intelligent and fun, and twice she had stepped between him and catastrophe, but she did not face the end of her world. Nor was her own world the same as his: could never be.

They sat down on a divan. He had an arm around her waist, a cigaret in his free hand. She looked at the floor. “Will I see you on Terra?” she asked dully.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Not for some time anyway, I’m afraid. My orders have come through officially, I’m posted to the Intelligence academy for training, and Commander Abrams warns me they work the candidates hard.”

“You couldn’t transfer out again? I’m sure I could arrange an assignment—”

“A nice, cushy office job with regular hours? No, thanks, I’m not about to become anyone’s kept man.”

She stiffened as if he had struck her. “I’m sorry,” he floundered. “Didn’t mean that. It’s only, well, here’s a job I am fitted for, that serves a purpose. If I don’t take it, what meaning has life got?”

“I could answer that,” she said low, “but I guess you wouldn’t understand.”

He wondered what the devil to say.

Her lips brushed his cheek. “Go ahead, then,” she said. “Fly.”

“Uh … you’re not in trouble, Persis?”

“No, no. Mark’s a most civilized man. We might even stay together a while longer, on Terra. Not that that makes any big difference. No matter how censored, some account of my adventures is bound to circulate. I’ll be quite a novelty, quite in demand. Don’t worry about me. Dancers know how to land on their feet.”

A slight gladness stirred in him, largely because he was relieved of any obligation to fret about her. He kissed her farewell with a good imitation of warmth.

It was so good, in fact, that his loneliness returned redoubled once he was in the street again. He fled to Max Abrams.

The commander was in his office, straightening out details before leaving on the same transport that would bear Flandry home. From Terra, though, he would go on furlough to Dayan. His stocky frame leaned back as Flandry burst through the doorway. “Well, hello, hero,” he said. “What ails you?”

The ensign flung himself into a chair. “Why do we keep trying?” he cried. “What’s the use?”

“Hey-hey. You need a drink.” Abrarns took a bottle from a drawer and poured into two glasses. “Wouldn’t mind one myself. Hardly set foot on Starkad before they tell me I’m shipping out again.” He lifted his tumbler. “Shalom.”