Medal of Honor, Page 3

ourfront man. Mr. Demming supplies the initial capital to get underway. AndI ..." He twisted his mouth with evil self-satisfaction. "I was presentwhen the Kraden ship was discovered, so I'll have to be cut in. I'llsupply the brains."

  Demming grunted his disgust, but added nothing.

  Don Mathers said slowly, looking down at the empty glass he was twirlingin his fingers, "Look, we're up to our necks in a war to the death withthe Kradens. In the long run it's either us or them. At a time likethis you're suggesting that we fake an action that will eventuallyenable us to milk the new satellites to the tune of billions."

  Demming grunted meaninglessly.

  Don said, "The theory is that all men, all of us, ought to have ourshoulders to the wheel. This project sounds to me like throwing rocksunder it."

  Demming closed his eyes.

  Rostoff said, "Lieutenant, it's a dog-eat-dog society. If we eventuallylick the Kradens, one of the very reasons will be because we're adog-eat-dog society. Every man for himself and the devil take thehindmost. Our apologists dream up some beautiful gobbledygook phrasesfor it, such as free enterprise, but actually it's dog-eat-dog.Surprisingly enough, it works, or at least has so far. Right now, thehuman race needs the radioactives of the Jupiter satellites. Inacquiring them, somebody is going to make a tremendous amount of money.Why shouldn't it be us?"

  "Why not, if you--or we--can do it honestly?"

  Demming's grunt was nearer a snort this time.

  Rostoff said sourly, "Don't be naive, Lieutenant. Whoever does it, isgoing to need little integrity. You don't win in a sharper's card gameby playing your cards honestly. The biggest sharper wins. We've justfound a joker somebody dropped on the floor; if we don't use it, we'resuckers."

  Demming opened his pig eyes and said, "All this is on the academic side.We checked your background thoroughly before approaching you, Mathers.We know your record, even before you entered the Space Service. Justbetween the three of us, wouldn't you like out? There are a full billionmen and women in our armed forces, you can be spared. Let's say you'vealready done your share. Can't you see the potentialities in spendingthe rest of your life with the Galactic Medal of Honor in your pocket?"

  * * * * *

  It was there all right, drifting slowly. Had he done a more thorough jobof his patrol, last time, he should have stumbled upon it himself.

  If he had, there was no doubt that he would have at first reported it asan active enemy cruiser. Demming and Rostoff had been right. The Kradenship looked untouched by battle.

  That is, if you approached it from the starboard and slightly abaft thebeam. From that angle, in particular, it looked untouched.

  It had taken several circlings of the craft to come to that conclusion.Don Mathers was playing it very safe. This thing wasn't quite so simpleas the others had thought. He wanted no slip-ups. His hand went to afood compartment and emerged with a space thermo which should havecontained fruit juice, but didn't. He took a long pull at it.

  Finally he dropped back into the position he'd decided upon, and flickedthe switch of his screen.

  A base lieutenant's face illuminated it. He yawned and lookedquestioningly at Don Mathers.

  Don said, allowing a touch of excitement in his voice, "Mathers, ScoutV-102, Sector A22-K223."

  "Yeah, yeah ..." the other began, still yawning.

  "I've spotted a Kraden cruiser. Miro class, I think."

  * * * * *

  The lieutenant flashed into movement. He slapped a button before him,the screen blinked, to be lit immediately again.

  A gray-haired Fleet Admiral looked up from papers on his desk.

  "Yes?"

  Don Mathers rapped, "Miro class Kraden in sector A22-K223, sir. I'mlying about fifty miles off. Undetected thus far--I think. He hasn'tfired on me yet, at least."

  The Admiral was already doing things with his hands. Two subalterns camewithin range of the screen, took orders, dashed off. The Admiral wasrapidly firing orders into two other screens. After a moment, he lookedup at Don Mathers again.

  "Hang on, Lieutenant. Keep him under observation as long as you can.What're your exact coordinates?"

  Don gave them to him and waited.

  A few minutes later the Admiral returned to him. "Let's take a look atit, Lieutenant."

  Don Mathers adjusted the screen to relay the Kraden cruiser. His palmswere moist now, but everything was going to plan. He wished that hecould take another drink.

  The Admiral said, "Miro class, all right. Don't get too close,Lieutenant. They'll blast you to hell and gone. We've got a task forcewithin an hour of you. Just hang on."

  "Yes, sir," Don said. An hour. He was glad to know that. He didn't havemuch time in which to operate.

  He let it go another five minutes, then he said, "Sir, they'reincreasing speed."

  "Damn," the Admiral said, then rapid fired some more into his otherscreens, barking one order after another.

  Don said, letting his voice go very flat, "I'm going in, sir. They'reputting on speed. In another five minutes they'll be underway to thepoint where I won't be able to follow. They'll get completely clear."

  The Admiral looked up, startled. "Don't be a fool."

  "They'll get away, sir." Knowing that the other could see his everymotion, Don Mathers hit the cocking lever of his flakflak gun with theheel of his right hand.

  The Admiral snapped, "Let it go, you fool. You won't last a second."Then, his voice higher, "That's an order, Lieutenant!"

  Don Mathers flicked off his screen. He grimaced sourly and thendescended on the Kraden ship, his flakflak gun beaming it. He was goingto have to expend every erg of energy in his Scout to burn the othership up to the point where his attack would look authentic, and toeliminate all signs of previous action.

  * * * * *

  The awarding of the Galactic Medal of Honor, as always, was done in thesimplest of ceremonies.

  Only the President and Captain Donal Mathers himself were present in theformer's office in the Presidential Palace.

  However, as they both knew, every screen in the Solar System was tunedinto the ceremony.

  Don Mathers saluted and stood to attention.

  The President read the citation. It was very short, as Medal of Honorcitations were always.

  _... for conspicuous gallantry far and beyond the call of duty, in whichyou single-handedly, and against unbelievable odds, attacked anddestroyed an enemy cruiser while flying a Scout armed only with ashort-beam flakflak gun ..._

  He pinned a small bit of ribbon and metal to Don Mathers' tunic. It wasan inconspicuous, inordinately ordinary medal, the Galactic Medal ofHonor.

  Don said hoarsely, "Thank you, sir."

  The President shook hands with him and said, "I am President of theUnited Solar System, Captain Mathers, supposedly the highest rank towhich a man can attain." He added simply, "I wish I were you."

  * * * * *

  Afterwards, alone in New Washington and wanting to remain alone, DonMathers strolled the streets for a time, bothered only occasionally whensomeone recognized his face and people would stop and applaud.

  He grinned inwardly.

  He had a suspicion already that after a time he'd get used to it andweary to death of it, but right now it was still new and fun. Who wasthe flyer, way back in history, the one who first flew the Atlantic in apropeller-driven aircraft? His popularity must have been something likethis.

  He went into O'Donnell's at lunch time and as he entered the orchestrabroke off the popular tune they were playing and struck up theInterplanetary Anthem. The manager himself escorted him to his table andmade suggestions as to the specialties and the wine.

  When he first sat down the other occupants of the restaurant, men andwomen, had stood and faced him and applauded. Don flushed. There couldbe too much of a good thing.

  After the meal, a fantastic production, Don finished his cigar and askedthe hea
d waiter for his bill, reaching for his wallet.

  The other smiled. "Captain, I am afraid your money is of no value inO'Donnell's, not for just this luncheon but whenever you honor us." Thehead waiter paused and added, "in fact, Captain, I doubt if there is arestaurant in the Solar System where your money holds value. Or thatthere will ever be."

  Don Mathers was taken aback. He was only beginning to realize theramifications of his holding his Galactic Medal of Honor.

  * * * * *

  At Space Command Headquarters, Third Division, Don came to attentionbefore the Commodore's desk and tossed the other a salute.

  The Commodore returned it snappily and leaned back in his chair. "Takea seat, Captain.