Son of the Stars

by Raymond F. Jones

  Ron approached quickly. Pete had the guard down with one wrist gripped threateningly between his teeth. The gun had fallen to one side. Without allowing himself to be seen, Ron passed quickly by and disappeared into the forest.

  The man’s cries rose, and began ringing through the ravines while Ron raced heedlessly and almost blindly. At a distance, he risked his flashlight to see the pathway, approaching by the shortest route to the road at a point below the turn-off.

  When he reached the highway he was breathing heavily and his leg throbbed in agony. There was still a half mile to go.

  When he had covered half this distance, the road straightened out. He pointed the flashlight ahead of him and pressed the button intermittently. He had once taught Anne a little Morse code, but he doubted that much of it had soaked in. He tried anyway, spelling her name and then his.

  After a few moments, he saw the car lights go on and heard the welcome roar of its engine. She drew up beside him.

  “Ron, I thought you were never coming!”

  He climbed in beside her. “Turn the car around and wait a few minutes. Pete’s back there.”

  For minutes he had been hearing the commotion of pursuing guards in the underbrush and random shots being fired, evidently at Pete. With relief, he heard the sound he had been waiting for, the soft, swift padding of the collie’s feet on the road.

  “Come on, Pete!”

  The dog leaped over the rear section of the car and slid into the seat, crouching at Ron’s feet. The cries of the guards roared after them as Anne pressed the accelerator to the floor.

  Ron lay back with his eyes closed and breathed deeply, aware again of the pain in his leg.

  “I didn’t get it,” he said. “The trip was a failure.”

  Anne kept her eyes on the road. Her hands gripped the wheel in deft control of the speeding car.

  “Did you get hurt? You were limping.”

  “A scratch on the leg.” He told her the rest of the details of the fruitless trip.

  “Isn’t there any kind of law your father could use to make them stop destroying Clonar’s property that way?”

  “Middleton never heard of the law. He makes his own as he goes along.”

  As they approached their neighborhoods, Anne said, “You let me drive you home and take the car. I’ll bring it back in the morning.”

  He hesitated. “Well, all right, Anne, if you don’t mind I would appreciate that. I feel kind of woozy. Gosh—Dad will really throw the book at me for this!”

  She drew up to Ron’s house and stopped at the curb. They could see the figure of his father reading by the living-room lamp.

  “Might as well face it.” Ron took a deep breath and climbed out.

  “See you first thing in the morning. Good night.”

  “Night, Anne.”

  He watched the car until it disappeared around the corner. “I’m a lucky guy.” He patted the furry head of Pete. “Just about the luckiest guy there is,” he said.

  Pete muttered what seemed to be a low growl of approval, and they turned toward the house. Ron could feel fresh blood oozing down his leg as he reached the porch and opened the door.

  Then he was standing before his father, aware of how he must look. The older man glanced up and dropped his book with a start.

  “Ron! What in the world happened to you?”

  Ron crossed the room and flopped into a chair by the fireplace. He spilled out the entire story of his visit to Clonar, his promise, and the vain attempt to get his generator. Mr. Barron’s face was grim when Ron had finished.

  “How bad is the hurt? Let’s see that leg.”

  Ron drew up the trouser, exposing the long, deep gash. His father made a noise of exasperation.

  “That’s a job for Smithers. We’ll have to get him over here and have him work on it.”

  “It can go until morning, Dad. Let’s not get Doc out tonight.”

  “You know as well as I do that it needs immediate care.”

  George Barron went to the phone and dialed Smithers’ number.

  Ron heard the one-sided conversation. Doc was out on a delivery. He’d come when he got back.

  George Barron returned to the room and stood by the mantel looking down. “I don’t know what to say, Ron,” he said. “This was about the most foolish, irresponsible piece of business that I’ve ever known you to pull in your whole life. And yet, I suppose that from your point of view it looked like a sensible display of loyalty.”

  “I knew the risk I was taking and how you would feel, Dad, before I ever went up there.”

  “Do you know exactly why you went?”

  “I went because of what Colonel Middle ton, acting as Earth’s representative, has done to Clonar. I did it to try to make up for this—and to get Clonar home.”

  “And to make up for what I have done?”

  “I guess that’s about it. I know that all military men are not like Middleton. We should have tried one that’s not.”

  “I think this changes the whole picture of things quite radically,” said Mr. Barron, “and before we blame the Colonel for everything, let me give you another point of view. One that has persisted in the back of my mind in spite of my wanting to help Clonar.

  “The point is this: Have you fully thought out the possible reasons behind Clonar’s presence here?”

  “Of course. He told me they came for exploration and study. If you’re trying to say that they—”

  “Just a moment, son. I’m trying to say that we have only Clonar’s word for it. And we have no way whatever of testing how truthful that word is. I want to believe in him just as much as you do. So far, however, I have no real basis for that belief, and this present incident puts a wholly negative character on it.”

  “What does that have to do with it? Can’t you see how it is for him? The only survivor of his crew a million light-years from home. Can’t you understand how lonely and sick he must be inside?”

  “You’re not telling me anything about Clonar. You are telling me how Ron Barron would feel in those circumstances. Am I not right?”

  Ron squirmed miserably in his chair. “Isn’t that the natural way to feel? You can see it on his face and in the way he talks!”

  “Ron—Ron. You pride yourself on your ability to think. You know something of semantics, and take pride in its application. But you are not applying straight thinking now. You are thinking the way you want to think, instead of with the facts at hand. Be honest with me.”

  “I don’t have any evidence to think otherwise about him. Until I do, it’s as equally false to be suspicious of him.”

  “It is not false to be careful. In spite of Middleton’s faults, that is what he is doing. He had to treat this ship as one belonging to a potential enemy. It’s the only way we can think sanely about it at the moment.

  “We cannot be carried away by the fact that we want to be friends with a stranger. He is a representative of a race many hundreds of years ahead of us in science. We have only his word as to the reason for the ship’s presence near Earth.

  “And now, in view of the foolhardy mission upon which he sent you, I think we have a right to view him with a great deal of suspicion. Exactly why did he want this instrument so badly? Badly enough to have you risk your standing with your own people and possibly your life? He seems to have had no concern whatever for the greatness of the risk he asked you to undertake.”

  “It’s not that way at all, Dad.”

  “But it is! There is every possibility that he wants the instrument in order to guide the rest of the ships here—for conquest!”

  “No!” Ron jumped up, grimacing against the pain in his leg. “It isn’t that way, Dad! I will never believe that it is!”

  George Barron spread his hands in resignation. “All right, son. I don’t know that it is that way. But let us understand each other. Neither of us knows. Let us both do everything we can to find out. Is that good enough for you?”

  Ron nodded. “I’ll
do everything I can to prove Clonar’s intentions. And I know that in the end I will be able to show you he is our friend.”

  “I hope you can, Ron. I hope that you can.”

  At that moment there came a loud knocking and heavy steps upon the front porch.

  “Must be Doc,” said Ron. “But that doesn’t sound like his step.”

  George Barron opened the door. Two uniformed MP’s stood without. Pete uttered a low growl and strode toward them as Mr. Barron invited them in.

  “We were pretty sure it was you,” said one of them. “The dog was a dead give-away.”

  “What do you want?” said Mr. Barron.

  “A military warrant will be issued for this boy,” said the leader of the two. “He was found trespassing on a military preserve and has molested property of the United States Government.”

  “Just a moment,” said Mr. Barron. “The United States Government, as represented by Colonel Middleton, has seized property it had no right to seize. That property has been damaged beyond repair. My son attempted to recover useful portions before that happened. He failed to get there in time. The fumblers in charge of this operation had already stripped the vessel of irreplaceable mechanisms. I am preparing to see that suit is brought against this illegal seizure. Therefore, I would not be so glib if I were you in speaking about poaching upon military preserve.”

  Ron felt weak with appreciation as he saw his father’s eyes blaze the way they did in the court room when attacking a breach of justice. The two MP’s wilted visibly.

  “We’re just doing our duty,” said the leader doggedly. “And we were attacked in the course of that duty. No one can do that and get away without the penalty of the law. We shall bring charges before Colonel Middleton.”

  “You do that. I am taking my charges to Colonel Middleton’s superiors. Now if you will leave this house it will be appreciated. Good night, gentlemen.”

  They retreated to the doorway slowly. “You talk a good line of courtroom law, sir. But I think you had better reconsider. Everyone believes this is an enemy ship, and if that is true, tonight’s offense comes under the Espionage Act.”

  Chapter 10 With the Help of the Press

  Ron scarcely slept that night. Dr. Smithers had finally arrived at two o’clock in the morning and had taken eight stitches in his leg.

  The pain of that seemed unimportant, however, beside the turmoil his father had succeeded in stirring up in his mind. As he lay wide awake watching the sunrise over the distant hills, he went over the conversation again, word for word.

  The worst part of it was his own understanding of his father’s viewpoint. He almost wished he could be blind to it, and completely dogmatic about his own convictions.

  It was part of growing up, he thought, to learn to be suspicious of everything you wanted to believe in, and call it prudence. But surely some things could be taken at face value. Dogs and small children had the ability to pick such things. It was only as you grew up that you lost that precious ability. And he had lost it already, he thought, because his father’s argument sounded so reasonable to him.

  Pete hadn’t lost that ability, however, but you couldn’t expect the brass hats to trust the judgment of a collie dog—even if it were far better judgment than their own. Even Dr. Smithers last night had surprised him by agreeing somewhat reluctantly with his father that they had been incautious in accepting Clonar so readily.

  He beat the pillow as if to pound sleep out of it. His head was weary with the conflict of loyalties that churned within it.

  He must have dozed, for he was surprised by the turning of the door knob, and the sun was higher as he stirred.

  “Awake, Ron?” his father said. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Like a new two-dollar watch. I’m just about to get up.”

  “You’d better stay off that leg today. Give it a chance to heal. Anyway, I have a little bad news for you.”

  “It couldn’t be any worse than it already is.”

  “A little. Colonel Middleton just called. I have never known him in such an uproar. He has banned you from seeing Clonar again.”

  Ron shot up to a sitting position. “He can’t do that. It’s terrible! He’s making Clonar literally a prisoner.”

  George Barron nodded. “I told him he was going too far. He said there is a Lieutenant General Gillispie on his way from Washington to take over. He’ll be in today, and there’s a good chance he may call on you for your side of the story.

  “I don’t know this Gillispie, but if and when he comes it would be worth your while to make friends with him. He may be another Middleton, or he may not.”

  “But you’re not going to leave it all up to them, are you? You said something about calling the Senator.”

  His father nodded. “Yes, I’m going through those channels and see if I can get Clonar released in my custody. But that’s liable to be a tough job. National security is the military’s responsibility, you know.

  “I just wanted to tell you not to try to go up to the hospital today, and to be ready for Gillispie if he should call.”

  Mr. Barron turned toward the hall.

  “Wait a minute,” said Ron. “Middleton said I’m barred from seeing Clonar, but what about Anne?”

  His father grinned and shrugged. “Who knows? She might try. See you this evening.”

  Ron sat up in bed for a long time after his father was gone. He put his arms about his knees and stared out at the sunny splendor of the day.

  He wondered what he would be thinking about if he were alone among a strange people a million light-years from Earth with no chance of seeing home again. But Clonar wasn’t thinking of these things, he tried to tell himself. Clonar was thinking of ways to infiltrate into the confidence of Earthmen and betray them.

  It didn’t make sense. But whether it did or not, the final proof was not going to be determined by the methods they were using.

  Clonar had to be given freedom if anyone wanted to know what he was going to do. As he thought of it, Ron straightened suddenly in bed. There was one source of pressure for Clonar’s freedom that he had stupidly ignored. Dan Gibbons, the AP man!

  He had been so conscientious about keeping Dan out of this until the brass had their chance that he’d forgotten about his reporter friend. Well, the brass had done their bit. Now Dan could put the story before the people who would be the judge of Clonar.

  He got out of bed and put in a call to the news office from the upstairs extension.

  “Hi, Dan,” he said. “This is Ron Barron. Remember the story we talked about a couple of days ago?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” said Dan dryly. “I’m writing it up now.”

  “You’re what?”

  “It seems you told every kid in the Mercury Club about it first. Then it went all over town. Finally, I got the authentic dope from Colonel Middleton. I’m going to interview your friend, Clonar, and get some pictures today.”

  “No, wait, Dan! You can’t print Middleton’s story-he doesn’t know anything about this. Come out here and let me give it to you the way it really happened.”

  “Well, O.K.—if you’ve got something. Can’t you give it to me over the phone?”

  “I’d rather not. And I’m laid up with a game leg today or I’d come in to your office. I wish you’d come out to the house.”

  “O.K. Be out in an hour or so.”

  Ron dressed slowly, and went down the stairs irritated at himself for the way things had turned out. It looked as if he had not done a single thing right. He’d muffed every chance he’d had for getting Clonar a break.

  His mother looked up as he came into the kitchen. “I was hoping you were still asleep,” she said. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  “I’ll take a pair sunny side up and some grapefruit if you have any.”

  She moved from the refrigerator to the stove. “It seems good to have our home to ourselves again without that strange creature around,” she said.


  “Won’t you stop calling him a creature, Mother? Look, did you ever stop to think that a million light-years away there’s another home something like ours? A mother there is getting breakfast for what’s left of her family, but the father and a boy will never return. She has no idea whether they are alive or not. Can you understand a thing like that, Mother? That’s Clonar’s home. The one he’s never going to see again.”

  She smiled at Ron, her eyes wistful. “You almost make me understand. You almost make me want to take him in and comfort him, in spite of myself.

  “But I’m so used to the familiar things that the new repels me. Why is his hair so different? Why does he have to have six fingers? Why isn’t his heart in the right place? And what is a light-year? I don’t understand these things.”

  “A light-year is the distance that light travels through space in one of our years. His ship can travel so much faster than light that it can cross a million light-years in a fraction of a man’s lifetime. And Clonar is different because his world is a little different, and because the seed from which his race came was not the same as ours. But his feelings and ideals and desires are almost like ours. I’m sure of it. Those are the things that count. And they are the things that I have not been able to make the military understand.”

  “I’m afraid they are the things that people like me can never understand, either. But keep trying. It seems as if I get a faint glimpse of it every once in a while.”

  As he finished eating, the phone rang. “It’s Anne,” said Mrs. Barron.

  “Hi, Anne. Is everything all right?”

  “It is with me. How did you make out? How’s the leg?”

  “Doc fixed the leg, but otherwise things are rough. Middleton won’t let me see Clonar. I wonder if you would take over the few things I got away with last night and see if they are of any use to him? Middleton didn’t say you couldn’t go in. Maybe you could get away with it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “If you’re coming now, stop at the news office and pick up Dan Gibbons. I’ve got a date with him this morning. He’s got an O.K. to see Clonar for an interview. Maybe you could go with him.”