The SF Hall of Fame Volume Two B (37 page)

As he reached the door, there was a sudden slap of running
sandals down the hall. A second later, Major Kane burst into the office, his
face white and terrified.

"Colonel," he gasped, "the I.G.'s here!"

"Nonsense," said Blick. "I'm the I.G.
now!"

"Oh yeah?" whimpered Kane. "Go look out the
window. He's here, and he's brought the whole Imperial fleet with him!"

Blick dashed to the window and looked up. High above, so
high that he could see them only as silver specks, hung hundreds of ships.

"Headquarters
does
exist!" he gasped.

He stood stunned. What to do . . . what to do . . . what to
do— The question swirled around in his brain until he was dizzy. He looked to
Kane for advice, but the other was as bewildered as he was.

"Don't stand there, man," he stormed. "Do
something!"

"Yes, sir," said Kane. "What?"

Blick thought for a long, silent moment. The answer was
obvious, but there was a short, fierce inner struggle before he could bring
himself to accept it.

"Get Colonel Harris up here at once. He'll know what we
should do."

A stubborn look came across Kane's face. "We're running
things now," he said angrily.

Blick's face hardened and he let out a roar that shook the
walls. "Listen, you pup, when you get an order, you follow it. Now
get!"

Forty seconds later, Colonel Harris stormed into the office.
"What kind of a mess have you got us into this time?" he demanded.

"Look up there, sir," said Blick leading him to
the window.

Colonel Harris snapped back into command as if he'd never
left it.

"Major Kane!" he shouted.

Kane popped into the office like a frightened rabbit.

"Evacuate the garrison at once! I want everyone off the
plateau and into the jungle immediately. Get litters for the sick and the
veterans who can't walk and take them to the hunting camps. Start the rest
moving north as soon as you can."

"Really, sir," protested Kane, looking to Blick
for a cue.

"You heard the colonel," barked Blick. "On
your way!" Kane bolted.

Colonel Harris turned to Blick and said in a frosty voice:
"I appreciate your help, colonel, but I feel perfectly competent to
enforce my own orders."

"Sorry, sir," said the other meekly. "It
won't happen again."

Harris smiled. "O.K., Jimmie," he said,
"let's forget it. We've got work to do!"

It seemed to Kurt as if time was standing still. His nerves
were screwed up to the breaking point and although he maintained an air of
outward composure for the benefit of those in the control room of the flagship,
it took all his will power to keep the hand that was resting over the firing
stud from quivering. One slip and they'd be on him. Actually it was only a
matter of minutes between the time the scout was dispatched to the garrison
below and the time it returned, but to him it seemed as if hours had passed
before the familiar form of his commanding officer strode briskly into the
control room.

Colonel Harris came to a halt just inside the door and swept
the room with a keen penetrating gaze.

"What's up, son?" he asked Kurt.

"I'm not quite sure. All that I know is that they're
here to blast the garrison. As long as I've got control of this," he
indicated the firing stud, "I'm top dog, but you'd better work something
out in a hurry."

The look of strain on Kurt's face was enough for the
colonel.

"Who's in command here?" he demanded.

Krogson stepped forward and bowed stiffly. "Commander
Conrad Krogson of War Base Three of the Galactic Protectorate."

"Colonel Marcus Harris, 427th Light Maintenance
Battalion of the Imperial Space Marines," replied the other briskly.
"Now that the formalities are out of the way, let's get to work. Is there
some place here where we can talk?"

Krogson gestured toward a small cubicle that opened off the
control room. The two men entered and shut the door behind them.

A half hour went by without agreement. "There may be an
answer somewhere," Colonel Harris said finally, "but I can't find it.
We can't surrender to you, and we can't afford to have you surrender to us. We
haven't the food, facilities, or anything else to keep fifty thousand men under
guard. If we turn you loose, there's nothing to keep you from coming back to
blast us—except your word, that is, and since it would obviously be given under
duress, I'm afraid that we couldn't attach much weight to it. It's a nice
problem. I wish we had more time to spend on it, but unless you can come up
with something workable during the next five minutes, I'm going to give Kurt
orders to blow the fleet."

Krogson's mind was operating at a furious pace. One by one
he snatched at possible solutions, and one by one he gave them up as he
realized that they would never stand up under the scrutiny of the razor-sharp
mind that sat opposite him.

"Look," he burst out finally, "your empire is
dead and our protectorate is about to fall apart. Give us a chance to come down
and join you and we'll chuck the past. We need each other and you know
it!"

"I know we do," said the colonel soberly,
"and I rather think you are being honest with me. But we just can't take
the chance. There are too many of you for us to digest and if you should change
your mind—" He threw up his hands in a helpless gesture.

"But I wouldn't," protested Krogson. "You've
told me what your life is like down there and you know what kind of a rat race
I've been caught up in. I'd welcome the chance to get out of it. All of us
would!"

"You might to begin with," said Harris, "but
then you might start thinking what your Lord Protector would give to get his
hands on several hundred trained technicians. No, commander," he said,
"we just couldn't chance it." He stretched his hand out to Krogson
and the other after a second's hesitation took it.

Commander Krogson had reached the end of the road and he
knew it. The odd thing about it was that now he found himself there, he didn't
particularly mind. He sat and watched his own reactions with a sense of vague
bewilderment. The strong drive for self-preservation that had kept him struggling
ahead for so long was petering out and there was nothing to take its place. He
was immersed in a strange feeling of emptiness and though a faint something
within him said that he should go out fighting, it seemed pointless and without
reason.

Suddenly the moment of quiet was broken. From the control
room came a muffled sound of angry voices and scuffling feet. With one quick
stride, Colonel Harris reached the door and swung it open. He was almost bowled
over by a small disheveled figure who darted past him into the cubicle. Close
behind came several of the ship's officers. As the figure came to a stop before
Commander Krogson, one of them grabbed him and started to drag him back into
the control room.

"Sorry, sir," the officer said to Krogson,
"but he came busting in demanding to see you at once. He wouldn't tell us
why and when we tried to stop him, he broke away."

"Release him!" ordered the commander. He looked
sternly at the little figure. "Well, Schninkle," he said sternly,
"what is it this time?"

"Did you get my message?"

Krogson snorted. "So it was you in that scout! I might
have known it. We got it all right, but Communication still hasn't got it
figured out. What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be back at base
keeping knives out of my back!"

"It's private, sir," said Schninkle.

"The rest of you clear out!" ordered Krogson. A
second later, with the exception of Colonel Harris, the cubicle stood empty.
Schninkle looked questioningly at the oddly uniformed officer.

"Couldn't put him out if I wanted to," said
Krogson, "now go ahead."

Schninkle closed the door carefully and then turned to the
commander and said in a hushed voice, "There's been a blowup at Prime
Base. General Carr was hiding out there after all. He hit at noon yesterday. He
had two-thirds of the Elite Guard secretly on his side and the Lord Protector
didn't have a chance. He tried to run but they chopped him down before he got
out of the atmosphere."

Krogson digested the news in silence for a moment. "So
the Lord Protector is dead." He laughed bitterly. "Well, long live
the Lord Protector!" He turned slowly to Colonel Harris. "I guess
this lets us both off. Now that the heat's off me, you're safe. Call off your
boy out there, and we'll make ourselves scarce. I've got to get back to the new
Lord Protector to pay my respects. If some of my boys get to Carr first, I'm
apt to be out of a job."

Harris shook his head. "It isn't as simple as that.
Your new leader needs technicians as much as your old one did. I'm afraid we
are still back where we started."

As Krogson broke into an impatient denial, Schninkle
interrupted him. "You can't go back, commander. None of us can. Carr has
the whole staff down on his 'out' list. He's making a clean sweep of all
possible competition. We'd all be under arrest now if he knew where we
were!"

Krogson gave a slow whistle. "Doesn't leave me much
choice, does it?" he said to Colonel Harris. "If you don't turn me
loose, I get blown up; if you do, I get shot down."

Schninkle looked puzzled. "What's up, sir?" he
asked.

Krogson gave a bitter laugh. "In case you didn't notice
on your way in, there is a young man sitting at the fire controls out there who
can blow up the whole fleet at the touch of a button. Down below is an ideal
base with hundreds of techs, but the colonel here won't take us in, and he's
afraid to let us go."

"I wouldn't," admitted Harris, "but the last
few minutes have rather changed the picture. My empire has been dead for five
hundred years and your protectorate doesn't seem to want you around any more.
It looks like we're both out of a job. Maybe we both ought to find a new one.
What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think," said Krogson.
"I can't go back and I can't stay here, and there isn't any place else.
The fleet can't keep going without a base."

A broad grin came over the face of Colonel Harris. "You
know,"

he said, "I've got a hunch that maybe we can do
business after all. Come on!" He threw open the cubicle door and strode
briskly into the control room, Krogson and Schninkle following close at his
heels. He walked over to Kurt who was still poised stiffly at the fire-control
board.

"You can relax now, lad. Everything is under
control."

Kurt gave a sigh of relief and pulling himself to his feet,
stretched luxuriantly. As the other officers saw the firing stud deserted, they
tensed and looked to Commander Krogson questioningly. He frowned for a second
and then slowly shook his head.

"Well?" he said to Colonel Harris.

"It's obvious," said the other, "you've a
fleet, a darn good fleet, but it's falling apart for lack of decent
maintenance. I've got a base down there with five thousand lads who can think
with their fingers. This knucklehead of mine is a good example." He walked
over to Kurt and slapped him affectionately on the shoulder. "There's
nothing on this ship that he couldn't tear down and put back together
blindfolded if he was given a little time to think about it. I think he'll
enjoy having some real work to do for a change."

"I may seem dense," said Krogson with a bewildered
expression on his face, "but wasn't that the idea that I was trying to
sell you?"

"The idea is the same," said Harris, "but the
context isn't. You're in a position now where you have to cooperate. That makes
a difference. A big difference!"

"It sounds good," said Krogson, "but now
you're overlooking something. Carr will be looking for me. We can't stand off
the whole galaxy!"

"You're overlooking something too, sir," Schninkle
interrupted. "He hasn't the slightest idea where we are. It will be months
before he has things well enough under control to start an organized search for
us. When he does, his chances of ever spotting the fleet are mighty slim if we
take reasonable precautions. Remember that it was only by a fluke that we ever
happened to spot this place to begin with."

As he talked a calculating look came into his eyes. "A
year of training and refitting here, and there wouldn't be a fleet in the
galaxy that could stand against us." He casually edged over until he
occupied a position between Kurt and the fire-control board. "If things
went right, there's no reason why you couldn't become Lord Protector,
commander."

A
flash of the old fire stirred within Krogson and
then quickly flickered out. "No, Schninkle," he said heavily.
"That's all past now. I've had enough. It's time to try something
new."

"In that case," said Colonel Harris, "let's
begin! Out there a whole galaxy is breaking up. Soon the time will come when a
strong hand is going to be needed to piece it back together and put it in
running order again. You know," he continued reflectively, "the name
of the old empire still has a certain magic to it. It might not be a bad idea
to use it until we are ready to move on to something better."

He walked silently to the vision port and looked down on the
lush greenness spreading far below. "But whatever we call ourselves,"
he continued slowly, half talking to himself, "we have something to work
for now." A quizzical smile played over his lips and his wise old eyes
seemed to be scanning the years ahead. "You know, Kurt; there's nothing
like a visit from the Inspector General once in a while to keep things in line.
The galaxy is a big place, but when the time comes, we'll make our
rounds!"

XVI

On the parade ground behind the low buildings of the
garrison, the 427th Light Maintenance Battalion of the Imperial Space Marines
stood in rigid formation, the feathers of their war bonnets moving slightly in
the little breeze that blew in from the west and their war paint glowing redly
in the slanting rays of the setting sun.