Eric Russell: Next of Kin

“No repairs and no replacements in enemy territory, no means of getting back,” Leeming offered.

“Correct. And the vessel would have to be destroyed. From that moment the pilot, if still surviving, has isolated himself somewhere within the mists of Creation, His chance of seeing. humankind again is remote enough to verge on the impossible.”

“There could, be worse situations. I’d rather be alive someplace than stone-dead here. While there’s life there’s hope.”

“You still wish to go through with this?”

“Sure thing; sir:”

“Then upon your own head be it,” said Markham with grim humour. “Go along the corridor, seventh door on the right, report to Colonel Farmer. Tell him I sent you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And before you go try that damned zipper again.”

Obediently, Leeming tried it. The thing slid all the way as smoothly as if oiled. He stared at the other with a mixture of astonishment and injured innocence.

“I started in the ranks and I haven’t forgotten it,” said Markham, pointedly. “You can’t fool me.”

Colonel Farmer, of Military Intelligence, was a beefy, florid-faced character who looked slightly dumb but had a sharp mind. He was examining a huge star-map’ hung upon one wall when Leeming walked in. Farmer swung around as if expecting to be stabbed in the back.

“Haven’t you been taught to knock before you enter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I forgot, sir. My mind was occupied with the interview I’ve just had with Fleet-Admiral Markham.”

“Did he send you to me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Oh, so you’re the long-range reconnaissance pilot, eh? I don’t suppose Commodore Keen will be sorry to see you go. You’ve been somewhat of a thorn in his side, haven’t you?”

“No, sir,” denied Leeming. “I have been a pain in his. seat-every time he’s tried to sit on me.”

“In the armed forces one must get used to that sort of thing.”

“Sorry, sir, but I don’t agree. One joins the forces to help win a war and for no other purpose. I am not a juvenile delinquent called up for reformation by the Commodore or by anyone else.”

“He’d differ from you there. He’s a stickler for discipline.” Farmer let go a chuckle at some secret joke, added, “Keen by name and keen by nature.” He contemplated the other a short while, went on more soberly, “You’ve picked yourself a tough job.”

“That doesn’t worry me,” Leeming assured. “Birth, marriage and death are tough jobs.”

“You might never come back.”

“Makes little difference. Eventually we’ll all take a ride from which we’ll never come back.”

“Well, you needn’t mention it with such ghoulish satisfaction,” Farmer complained. “Are you married?”

“No, sir. Whenever I get the urge I just lie down quietly until the feeling passes off.”

Farmer eyed the ceiling and said, “God!”

“What else do you expect?” asked Leeming, displaying slight aggressiveness. “A scout-pilot operates single-handed. He’s like a bug in a metal can and has to learn to dispense with a lot of things; especially companionship. It’s surprising how much one can do without if one really tries.”

“I’m sure,” soothed Farmer. He gestured toward the starmap. “On that the nearest points of light are arrayed across the enemy’s front. The mist of stars behind them are unknown territory. The Combine may be far weaker than we think because its front is wafer-thin. Or it may be more powerful because its authority stretches far to the rear. The only way to find out exactly what we’re up against is to effect a deep penetration through the enemy’s spatial lines.”

Leeming said nothing.

“We propose to sent a special scout-ship through this area where occupied worlds lie far apart, the Combine’s defences are somewhat scattered and their detector devices are relatively sparse.” Farmer put his finger on a dark patch on the map. “With the speed your vessel possesses the enemy will have hardly enough time to identify you as hostile before they lose trace of you We have every reason to believe that you’ll be able to slip through into their rear without trouble”

“I hope so,” contributed Leeming seeing that a response was expected.

“The only danger point is here.” Shifting his finger an inch, Farmer placed it on a bright star. “A Lathian-held solar system containing at least four large space-navy stations. If those fleets happen to be zooming around the bolt-hole they might intercept you more by accident than good judgment. So you’ll be accompanied that far by a strong escort.”

“That’s nice.”

“If the escort should become involved in a fight you will not attempt to take part. it would be futile to do so, anyway, because your vessel carries no offensive armament. You will take full advantage of the diversion to race out of range and dive through the Combine’s front. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“After you get through you must use your initiative. Bear in mind that we don’t want to know how far beyond there are worlds holding intelligent life-you would never reach the end of those even if you continued to the crack of doom: We want to know only how far back there are such worlds in regular communication with various members of the Combine. Whenever you come across an organised planet playing ball with the Combine you will at once transmit all the details you can offer.”

“I will.”

“Immediately you are satisfied that you have gained the measure of the enemy’s depth you will return as quickly as possible. You must get the ship back here if it can be done. If for any reason you cannot return, the ship must be converted into scrap. No abandoning it in free space, no dumping it into an ocean or anything like that. The ship must be destroyed. Markham has emphasised this, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. We’re giving you forty-eight hours in which to clear up your personal affairs. After that, you will report to Number Ten Spaceport.” Farmer held out his hand. I Wish you all the luck you can get.”

“Thinking I’ll need it?” Leeming grinned and went on, “You’re laying very heavy odds against ever seeing me again. It’s written across your face. I’ll be back-want to bet on it?”

“No,” said Farmer. “I never gamble because I’m a bad loser. But if and when you do return I’ll tuck you into bed With my own two hands.”

“That’s a promise,” warned Leeming.

He went to his tiny room, found another fellow already in occupation. This character eyed him with faint embarrassment.

“You Leeming?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m Davies, Jack Davies.”

“Glad to know you.” Grabbing his bags, Leeming started packing them, stuffing away with careless haste shirts, collars and handkerchiefs.

Sitting on the bed, Davies informed, “They told me to take over your room. They said you’d be leaving today.”

“Correct.”

“Going far?”

“Don’t know for certain. It might be too far.”

“Are you pleased to go?”

“Sure am,” Leeming enthused.

“Can’t say I blame you.” Davies ruminated a moment in glum silence; went on, “I arrived a couple of hours ago and reported to the Base C.O. An autocratic type if ever I saw one.” He gave a brief, unflattering description of Commodore Keen. “I don’t know his name.”

“Mallarqui,” Leeming informed.

“That so? Uncommon, isn’t it?”

“No.” Closing the case, Leeming kneeled on its lid while he locked it, started on the next one. “It’s as old as the hills. You’ve heard of a lot of Mallarqui, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I. have.”