A bunch of kids in bright new uniforms,
transiting the constellations in a disreputable
old bucket of a space-ship—why should the
leathery-tentacled, chlorine-breathing
Eridans take them seriously?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1949.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
HQ TELWING CSN 30 JAN 27 TO CMDR DAVID FARRAGUT STRYKALSKI VII COTRS CLEOPATRA FLEET BASE CANALOPOLIS MARS STOP SUBJECT ORDERS STOPROUTE LUNA PHOBOS SYRTIS MAJOR TRANSSENDERS PRIORITY AAA STOP MESSAGEFOLLOWS STOP TRS CLEOPATRA AND ALL ATTACHED AND OR ASSIGNED PERSONNELHEREBY RELIEVED ASSIGNMENT AND DUTY INNER PLANET PATROL GROUP STOPASSIGNED TEMP DUTY BUREAU RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT STOP SUBJECT VESSELWILL PROCEED WITHOUT DELAY FLEET EXPERIMENTAL SUBSTATION PROVINGGROUNDS TETHYS SATURNIAN GROUP STOP CO WILL REPORT UPON ARRIVAL TOCAPT IVY HENDRICKS ENGINEERING OFFICER PROJECT WARP STOP SIGNED H.GORMAN SPACE ADMIRAL COMMANDING STOP END MESSAGE END MESSAGE ENDMESSAGE.
"Amen! Amen! Amen! Stop." Commander Strykalski smoothed out thewrinkled flimsy by spreading it carefully on the wet bar.
Coburn Whitley, the T.R.S. Cleopatra's Executive, set down his Martiniand leaned over very slowly to give the paper a microscopic examinationin the mellow light.
"Maybe," he began hopefully, "It could be a forgery?"
Strike shook his head.
Lieutenant Whitley looked crestfallen. "Then perhaps old Brass-bottomGorman means some other guy named Strykalski?" To Cob, eight Martinismade anything possible.
"Could there be two Strykalskis?" demanded the owner of the name underdiscussion.
"No." Whitley sighed unhappily. "And there's only one Tellurian RocketShip Cleopatra in the Combined Solarian Navies, bless her little ironrump! Gorman means us. And I think we've been had, that's what I think!"
"Tethys isn't so bad," protested Strike.
Cob raised a hand to his eyes as though to blot out the sight of thatdistant moonlet. "Not so bad, he says! All you care about is seeing IvyHendricks again, I know you! Tethys!"
Strike made a passing effort to look stern and failed. "You meanCaptain Hendricks, don't you, Mister Whitley? Captain Hendricks ofProject Warp?"
Cob made a sour face. "Project Warp, yet! Sounds like a dog barking!"He growled deep in his throat and barked once or twice experimentally.The officer's club was silent, and a silver-braided Commodore sittingnearby scowled at Whitley. The Lieutenant subsided with a final small,"Warp!"
An imported Venusian quartet began to play softly. Strike orderedanother round of drinks from the red-skinned Martian tending bar andturned on his stool to survey the small dance floor. The music and thesubdued lights made him think of Ivy Hendricks. He really wanted to seeher again. It had been a long time since that memorable flight whenthey had worked together to pull Admiral Gorman's flagship Atroposout of a tight spot on a perihelion run. Ivy was good to work with ...good to be around.
But there was apparently more to this transfer than just Ivy pullingwires to see him again. Things were tense in the System since ProbeFleet skeeterboats had discovered a race of group-minded, non-humanintelligences on the planets of 40 Eridani C. They lived in frozenworlds that were untenable for humans. And they were apparently allparts of a single entity that never left the home globe ... a thing nohuman had seen. The group-mind. They were rabidly isolationist and theyhad refused any commerce with the Solar Combine.
Only CSN Intelligence knew th