Children of Tomorrow Page 5

  Susan also moved forward. Mike took her arm, and the two of them walked rapidly, though not as fast as Dolores, toward the school, the grounds of which began slightly over a block away. Mike was puzzled. ‘What happened? How did all that start?’ ‘Oh!’ It required an effort for Susan to put her thoughts back to the event. Her attention had gone forward to something else. ‘Oh,’ she said, dismissingly, ‘she was lip-kissing Joe in there, and they didn’t see me coming.’ She broke off, ‘Mike, what happens when people grow up?’

  Mike did not immediately reply, He was watching a woman who was coming toward them along the street. The woman had her purse hanging open on her arm, and she was applying lipstick, all the while gazing intently at her face in the small hand mirror. She was not pretty, and so hers was essentially a wasted effort.

  The woman passed them, with Mike half turning around to observe her as she went by. Susan, who had been involved with her own thoughts, became aware of Mike’s wandering interest as he dragged his feet a little, and so held her back also. She turned her head and looked briefly, and then said chidingly, ‘Mike, it isn’t polite to stare at people.’

  Alike nodded; and they were quickly walking again at their former pace. ‘She reminded me,’ he said. ‘I see my mother every day looking into her mirror. She’s in her late thirties, but she acts as if it’s her late sixties. So’ - he shrugged - ‘part of the answer to your question is, they get scared of growing old and dying.’

  Susan made a negating gesture with her body. ‘Mike,’ she said. ‘I’m not interested in what’s wrong with people when they grow up, but with what’s right. What do they get out of it?’

  Alike frowned. ‘Growing up is inevitable, so what’s your problem?’

  ‘I’m just asking’ - with asperity - ‘1 thought you might have some thoughts about, but if you don’t - sack!’

  Once more, she had lost Mike. His gaze was on a man and a woman who were coming toward them along the street. The couple was oblivious of their surroundings. The man held the woman’s arm tightly; too tightly, for she kept tugging in an effort to pull away from him. But he was not about to let go. The woman’s expression, and her way of holding herself as she walked was reminiscent of Dolores Munroe at her most rebellious. The man’s face was dark with anger; the woman’s defiant.

  As the two older people walked by the boy and the girl, the man was saying. ‘If I ever catch you talking to that fellow again - ’ His manner, and a gesture he made, indicated that mayhem would result. But the woman was not cowed. Her accusing words came: ‘And what about you... and that woman?’

  They were past, and Alike, somewhat sobered, was facing about and walking strongly forward beside Susan. He shook his head. ‘I really don’t know what’s been good about growing up in the past, except you’re on you own. But’ - his lips tightened - ‘it’s going to have to be better in the future than it has been. The outfits are going to have to see to that.’

  “Howl, can they do that? They don’t exist anywhere but in Spaceport.’ Susan’s voice had a let’s-be-practical note in it.

  ‘Oh, we’re going to have to expand,’ said Mike. ‘There’s no question.’

  His words had no audience. Susan’s attenion, this time, had jumped elsewhere. ‘Oh, there’s Bud Jaeger,’ she said. ‘Did we decide what we were going to do with him?’

  ‘No, but’ - Mike’s face indicated that the problem had diverted him from the future of the adult world - ‘we might just as well go the routine. Give him some young kids to look after, and just make sure that we keep an eye on what he does.’

  The unseen watcher, moved a few feet behind Bud - as he came out of the side street and crossed over to the school grounds

  was the first to see Mike and Susan. Two of your outfit's members are coming, he telepathed to his child.

  They’re no problem during school hours, the boy replied. He changed the direction of his thought: My father, do I really have to keep going to this school? Why can’t you just look over this city of Spaceport the way you’re doing?

  Because, was the patient answer, it is not enough merely to have an external view of a culture. What we have to find out absolutely must include a careful, thorough infiltration, whereby one of our people discovers what is really going on. Now, remember, we had to pursue that fleet for an entire year. They used every trick they could think of to throw us off their track, and prevent us from tracing them to their planet. But here we are. Our fleet is waiting out in space; and there’s no hurry, my son. If we attack these villains and fail, it will be because of your impatience, or something you missed because of indifference. That must not happen.

  All right, all right, said the boy: But it sure is boring to have to learn things that you’ll never have any use for.

  Warfare and conquest have their own knowledge requirements, and knowledge is always a relation-to. So it is important. We do have use for what you learn . . . The invisible father presented these admonishing thoughts to his son, throughout showing no slightest criticism or judgement in any emotional way.

  The conversation between them ended as Mike and Susan joined the shuffling Bud. The three greeted each other, and walked into the school building near that street.

  Again, the unseen watcher stationed himself near that door - waited.

  John Lane emerged from Exit Eight of the monorail elevator. Directly in front of him, as he walked forth, was a sign which read:

  WARNING CLASSIFIED TERRITORY Identification Required

  After ten years’ absence from ground rules, during which time he had moved up to top command of a fleet of space battleships, it was a little irksome to have to step into a cubbyhole and submit to a computer check, But he did it now with the faint, fixed smile of a superior officer who is prepared at all times to prove that, if a system is necessary, he is not above it.

  Naturally, he was in the cubbyhole very briefly. After instants only, a green light flashed in the panel in front of him. Behind him, the door unlocked with a click. The same color of green was glowing from a source at the top of the check station outside. Which, of course, was to be expected, but it degraded him - slightly - to have to have it there.

  In emerging, Lane faced a long, wide, gleaming corridor. There were many men, particularly men in officers’ uniforms, visible as far as the eye could see. They emerged from one door, walked a distance, and disappeared into another. Always, evidently by chance alone, by the time one group had performed this operation, another group was in process of doing it.

  It was out of this tangle of people that a familiar figure presently came forth. Lane recognised Desmond Reid, and walked briskly forward to meet him. The two men shook hands. Reid apologised: “Hope you haven’t been waiting long?’'

  ‘No, no, just got here!’ Lane replied truthfully.

  The older man took his arm and led the way to a side corridor. He was shaking his head. He was grave. “Hard day ahead for you, John. It’s another debriefing session, and it’s going to be rough,’ ‘Same problem?’

  Reid nodded. “Everybody’s in a state over that clash you had with the aliens. I sense fear, tension, the feeling that not enough precautions were taken.’

  Lane was calm. ‘When we began to run out of fuel, we had a simple choice. Either never return at all - just die out there - or

  bring the fleet here in the belief that it would be valuable in an emergency. It took a long time to build those ships, remember?’ ‘I remember,’ said Reid, grimly. He pointed. ‘This way.’ It was another corridor. As they walked along it, now, Reid continued. ‘Will you swear that only military consideration motivated your return?’ He broke off. ‘I’m sure you’ll be asked that question. What I mean is, you didn’t let consideration for Estelle and Susan influence you.’

  Lane stopped. He was scowling, and angry. 'Are you out of your mind? Of course, I did. Not only my Estelle and my Susan but all the Estelles and Susans of forty-eight thousand men.’ He laughed curtly. ‘You don’t think for one second that
the officers could have retained control of those vessels if we had ever announced that we were not coming home.’ As he spoke, his frown became positively ferocious. ‘If that’s the kind of thinking that’s going on, I won’t even talk to the bastards. I only mentioned the alternative to coming home. No one - not me or anyone — ever considered it seriously.’

  ‘The fate of the entire planet may be in the balance,’ said Reid, slowly. ‘What about that?’ He was abruptly apologetic again. ‘I’m only asking, John, because in a few minutes this is what you’re going to be facing.’

  Absently, Lane patted his friend’s arm. His eyes were still narrowed, but he was suddenly concerned and not in a rage. Finally, he said, ‘I’m glad you’re doing this, Dez. These kind of thoughts are a year behind me, all resolved, answered, and put away in their little cubbyholes. I appreciate what you’ve done for me just now. For the first time I understand why I didn’t get home yesterday until Estelle was ready to jump out of her skin. The debriefing committee handled me with such respect, I didn’t get the real direction of their thinking.’

  His stem face relaxed. He stood there staring, initially thoughtfully, but presently with a faint humorless smile at the gleaming wall above Reid’s head. At last, he nodded. His gaze came back to his friend. Reid, who had been watching him, parted his lips to speak again. But the younger man held up his hand, demanding silence. ‘No more,’ he said. ‘I’ve remembered the whole discussion I had with my staff at the time. Listen! The key fact is, that there is a villainous - from our point of view — race out there. They attacked us without warning, refused all communication, and were obviously out to lull. Got that?’

  Reid nodded.

  Lane continued, ‘They’re not that far away, Dez, that we’ll ever be safe. Only Twenty-one light-years. At such a relatively short distance, there’s no escaping a confrontation sooner or later. On the other hand, suppose we had decided against coming home. Then, the enemy would know that earth existed, but earth wouldn’t know that they were out there. Presumably, there would be anxiety and suspicion if we never returned. But people wouldn’t actually know. Now, they do. And in addition we have the fleet that skillfully fought an engagement with a powerful force.’ He spread his hands. ‘That’s it. That’s the reasoning. I can see no flaw in it.’

  Desmond Reid was nodding. ‘Nor I, he said. His face was thoughtful. “What should we be doing, John?’

  ‘Building new vessels. Analysing what weapons they used against us from the damage we suffered.’

  ‘Good man.’ With abrupt warmth, the older man now patted Lane’s arm. ‘I knew my confidence in you when it comes to matters like this was not misplaced. But’ - he smiled wryly - ‘how did you make out last night with Susan?’

  Lane did not reply immediately. His attenion had moved over to a young officer in full dress who was approaching along the hallway. The man wore an active flight badge, and he swaggered a little. When the youthful officer had passed by, Lane stared after him with a smile. He said in a significant tone, ‘They’re handsome, aren’t they, these heroes of space?’

  He turned, and saw that Reid was staring at him with a puzzled expression in his face. ‘I presume,’ said the older man finally, ‘that that is your answer to my question about Susan.’ Lane laughed, caught his friend’s arm, urged him into motion again, and, it was as they were walking, that he said, ‘Don’t worry about Susan. She’ll never even know what happened to her; it will all be so smoothly done.’ He broke off. '"When does the debriefing session begin?’

  ‘It’s already in session, but they’re questioning your chief officer, Villi 6^

  ‘Then I’ve got time to locate my new office, and sit in the chair behind the desk, and admire myself?’

  ‘I’ll take you there, myself,’ answered Reid. ‘But, now, about Susan.’

  The younger man shook his head with a slow, wide, firm movement. , I'd rather not discuss the matter.’

  His friend accepted the second avoidance of the subject. They walked silently the rest of the way to a door that was marked:

  'SPACE CONTROL HEADQUARTERS. John Lane, Senior Fleet Commander.’

  Lane paused to read the lettering, and then shook his head good-naturedly, and said, ‘I’m not yet quite clear what it means.' Reid laughed, ‘It’s got to have its place somewhere on the upper

  part of the totem pole. You’ll discover where when you pick up the intercom and find out who’s calling you about what.’ He held out his hand. As Lane took it questioningly, the other man continued, ‘I’ve got to get back to the debriefing session. You’ll be called soon.’

  ‘How will I find my way through this labyrinth?’ Lane waved vaguely, taking in all the corridors they had traversed and others that were visible in the distance ahead.

  ‘Have one of your people bring you.’

  With that perfectly sensible suggestion, he waved and, turning, walked back the way they had come. Lane stood for a moment watching the fine, firmly held body, the slightly graying hair on 8 distinguished-looking head. His eyes grew thoughtful, and he nodded gently to himself; and then abruptly, his gaze still on the receding figure, he made a gesture that was half-salute, halfwave of respect.

  Whereupon, he brought his hand down upon the knob, spun it, and entered a large room that, at his first quick glance, looked very much like the control desk of a large spaceship. Slowly, Lane pushed the door shut behind him. Then, with wondering face, he walked toward the left wall, which was nothing more nor less than a huge viewplate. The shiny screen was at the moment showing a view of space: Blackness with a dusting of stars in the background. The man’s eyes grew misty, as he gazed at that scene so familiar to him from so many years out there. He continued his investigatory tour, walking past the glass window and door leading to what looked like a conference room, and past the viewplate to the machine that covered almost the entire rear wall. The purpose of this second machanism was equally obvious to his experienced eyes. It was an advanced type computer. The lights that played over its transparent windows, and the coding that built up in those windows, made meaningful patterns to Lane. He nodded half to himself, and there was pride in his face now.

  Still nodding, he said softly to himself, ‘I guess it won’t be such a bad job after all. I won’t be as out of touch as I feared, I will, in effect, be out there, and yet live at home with my

  family ’

  As he spoke the word ‘family,’ his eyes narrowed slightly. He had been walking slowly in the direction of the other side wall, which was lined with a series of small gadgetry. Now, he stopped, spun on his heel and walked to the large metal desk that stood in front of the huge computer. There was an intercom on the desk. Lane pressed a button on it; and when a man’s voice presently answered, he said. This is Commander Lane, Who am I talking to?’

  ‘Scott, sir. Andrew Scott, A sort of liaison secretary, sir, is my job.’

  ‘Good,’ said Lane. ‘Mr Scott, I noticed that there were several junior officers aboard this building. Get me a list of the active flight men in port.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  ‘How long will it take to get such a list?’

  Well, sir,’ was the reply. ‘I’m in the room on the other side of the computer that is also in your private office. And - right now

  I - am - programming - the - computer - and here is the list, sir. May I bring it in?’

  Lane had to smile. ‘You certainly may,’ he said. He stepped back from the intercom, and looked around. He had noticed no doors, on entering, except the one to the corridor, and of course the beautiful glass entrance to the conference room. As he waited, there was a small sound at the far left of the rear wall, where the computer did seem to narrow down a bit. One of the metal panels swung open and a man of about his own age came in. He was a dark-haired, brown-eyed, thick-jowled, slightly plumpish individual, dressed in civilian clothes — as was Lane. The latter accepted the computer printout sheet that was handed to him, and said, ‘Wait.’

&nbs
p; It was not a long list. The active flight officer aboard consisted of aproximately thirty-four names by quick glance estimate. There were only four captains on the list. Lane indicated them, said, ‘How old are they? Let me have pictures of the two youngest?’

  Scott did not even leave the room. Moments later, he came back with the printout that the computer had unrolled for him in the small alcove directly behind Lane’s desk. There were the four photos, and the ages of each man. One was twenty-seven, and one all of twenty-six and one half, and the other two were both twenty-eight. Three of the men were adequately good-looking, but on the photo the fourth man was sensationally handsome. He was unfortunately one of the two twenty-eight-year-olds. But Lane quickly decided that would have to be unimportant.

  He looked up. ‘Mr Scott.’

  Yes, Commander.’

  ‘This man, Captain Peter Sennes -I want you to locate him for me. Have him here in my office - let me see.’ He stroked his jaw, and mused out loud, ‘Yesterday, the debriefing committee adjourned for lunch a 12:30 - so ask him to be here at one. Tell him that I intend to invite him to my home for dinner tonight or tomorrow, whichever is more suitable for him. Will you do that?’ 'Of course, sir.’

  "And Mr Scott’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  'Cali ray wife, and tell her that I may have a guest for dinner tonight or tomorrow. Will you do that?’

  ‘Naturally, sir.’

  As Scott turned away, the intercom buzzer sounded. The plump man walked over quickly, and pressed the button. ‘Commander Lane’s office,’ he said.

  A voice said, ‘The President’s Space Committee is ready to resume its debriefing of Commander Lane. Will you have him step over as soon as possible.5

  ‘I’ll need a guide,’ said Lane to Scott. He spoke quickly.