Part 15 (2/2)

One s.h.i.+p vanished. It had gone into overdrive, heading for Dara at many times the speed of light. Another. Two more.

That was all. The remainder of the fleet hung clumsily in emptiness. And Calhoun worriedly went over in his mind the lessons he'd given in such a pathetically small number of days. If the four s.h.i.+ps reached Dara, their pilots would be heroes. Calhoun had presented them with that estate over their bitter objection. But they would glory in it, if they reached Dara.

Maril looked at him with very strange eyes.

”Now what?” she asked.

”We hang around,” said Calhoun, ”to see if anybody comes up from Weald to find out what's happened. It's always possible to pick up a sort of signal when a s.h.i.+p goes into overdrive. Usually it doesn't mean a thing.

n.o.body pays any attention. But if somebody comes out here--”

”What?”

”It'll be regrettable,” said Calhoun. He was suddenly very tired. ”It'll spoil any chance of our coming back and stealing some more food--like interstellar mice. If they find out what we've done they'll expect us to try it again. They might get set to fight. Or they might simply land the rest of these s.h.i.+ps.”

”If I'd realized what you were about,” said Maril, ”I'd have joined in the lessons. I could have piloted a s.h.i.+p.”

”You wouldn't have wanted to,” said Calhoun. He yawned. ”You wouldn't want to be a heroine.”

”Why?”

”Korvan,” said Calhoun. He yawned again. ”I've asked about him. He's been trying very desperately to deserve well of his fellow blueskins.

All he's accomplished is develop a way to starve painlessly. He wouldn't feel comfortable with a girl who'd helped make starving unnecessary.

He'd admire you politely, but he'd never marry you. And you know it.”

She shook her head, but it was not easy to tell whether she denied the reaction of Korvan--whom Calhoun had never met--or denied that he was more important to her than anything else. The last was what Calhoun plainly implied.

”You don't seem to be trying to be a hero!” she protested.

”I'd enjoy it,” admitted Calhoun, ”but I have a job to do. It's got to be done. It's much more important than being admired.”

”You could take another s.h.i.+p back,” she told him. ”It would be worth more to Dara than the Med s.h.i.+p is! And then everybody would realize that you'd planned everything.”

”Ah!” said Calhoun. ”But you've no idea how much this s.h.i.+p matters to Dara!”

He seated himself at the controls. He slipped headphones over his ears.

He listened. Very, very carefully, he monitored all the wave-lengths and wave-forms he could discover in use on Weald. There was no mention of the oddity of behavior of s.h.i.+ploads of surplus grain aloft. There was no mention of the s.h.i.+ps at all. But there was plenty of mention of Dara, and blueskins, and of the vicious political fight now going on to see which political party could promise the most complete protection against blueskins.

After a full hour of it, Calhoun flipped off his receptor and swung the Med s.h.i.+p to an exact, painstakingly precise aim at the sun around which Dara rolled. He said;

”Overdrive coming, Murgatroyd!”

Murgatroyd grabbed. The stars went out and the universe reeled and the Med s.h.i.+p became a sort of cosmos all its own.

Calhoun yawned again.

<script>