by Hank Davis
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 anymore. 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 damn 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 sam
e,” 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.
A quiver ran through the hard surface soil of the plateau as the great mass of the fleet flagship settled down ponderously to rest. There was a moment of expectant silence as a great port clanged open and a gangplank extended to the ground. From somewhere within the ship a fanfare of trumpets sounded. Slowly and with solemn dignity, surrounded by his staff, Conrad Krogson, Inspector General of the Imperial Space Marines, advanced to review the troops.
