Poul Anderson - The Star Fox

“I’m not,” he said harshly* “I’m more proud than I deserve. Now go to bed and rest. I’ll be home as fast as I can.”

“I missed you so much.”

She switched off. Then Heim could weep.

Connie Girl purred aloft, and down again a kilometer outside Krasnoe. Heim escorted Cynbe to the ground. It was frozen, and rang underfoot. A few lights shone from outlying houses, dim compared to the winter stars.

“Here.” Awkwardly, Heim proffered a heated cloak. “You’ll want this.”

“My thanks,” blew from under the frost-cold locks. “When your authorities fetch me, I shall tell as you suggested. Wisest for Alerion is thus; and for I, who would not see you further hurt.”

Heim stared at the thin snowcrust. It sparkled like Cynbe’s fur. “I’m sorry about what I did,” he mumbled. “It was no way to treat you.”

“No more of anger in-dwells.” Cynbe’s song dropped low. “I knew not humans hold their young so dear. Well may you fare.”

“Good-by.” This time Gunnar Heim shook hands.

The boat took off afresh, found orbital height, and went toward Mojave Port along a standard trajectory. As far as the world was concerned, she had gone out to check on the loading of the star cruiser. Heim was surprised to note how calmly he could now wait to see his daughter again.

And when it’d be for such a short time, too. The ship must depart in a few more days, with him her captain.

That had to be, he saw. The evil had grown so mighty that he dared not challenge it with less than his whole strength: which was found among the stars, not on this sick Earth. Nor would he be worthy to be Lisa’s father, if he sent men against that thing whose creatures had tried to devour her, and did not go himself.

She’d be safe in Wingate’s care_ As for the Heimdal company, it might or might not survive without him, but that really made no difference. Lisa’s grandfather would provide for her, whatever happened. And don’t forget the chance of prize money!

Laughter welled in Heim. Maybe I’m rationalizing a selfish, atavistic desire to raise hell. Okay, what if I am? This is the way it’s going to be.

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.