Galactic Medal of Honor

Maximilian Rostoff handed back the identification papers to Don and said to his colleague, after checking a solar system sector chart, "You were right, Demming. He's the man."

Demming shifted his great bulk and his beach chair and took up his cordial glass again. He sipped it daintily and said, "Very well. How would you like to hold the Galactic Medal of Honor, Lieutenant Mathers?"

IV

Don Mathers laughed sarcastically. "How would you?" he said.

The fat tycoon scowled. "I am not jesting, Lieutenant Mathers. I never jest. I considered it, but for various reasons I do not believe it practical.

Obviously, I am not of the military. It would be quite unusual if not impossible for me to gain such an award. But you are the pilot of a One Man Scout. I also lack the charisma. You are young, moderately handsome and have a certain air of dash about you. You would make a very popular holder of the Galactic Medal of Honor."

Don said, disgust in his voice, "I've got just about as much chance of winning the Galactic Medal of Honor as I have of giving birth to triplets."

The transportation and uranium magnate wiggled a disgustingly fat finger at him and said, "I'll arrange for it, in collaboration with my colleague, here, Mr. Rostoff."

Don Mathers gawked at him. He blurted finally,

'Like hell you will. There's not enough money in the solar system to fiddle with the awarding of the Galactic Medal of Honor. There comes a point, Demming, where even your kind of bread can't carry the load.

Corruption we might have, on all levels of government, but it doesn't touch the Galactic Medal of Honor. And it never will The people wouldn't stand for it."

Demming settled back in his chair again, laced his fat hands over his belly, closed his eyes and said, "Dirck, brief us on the space defenses of the solar system."

The neat, quiet young man who had been hovering in the background, stepped forward. He was a bland-faced type with secretary written all over him. Although seemingly alert and ever ready to obey, his eyes had a disconcerting empty quality. And his mouth was not the type to indulge in smiling.

He said, in a brisk voice, "Yes, sir. The patrolling spacecraft have major bases on Earth, Luna and Mars. There are smaller bases on the Jupiter satellites, Io, Europa, Ganymede and Callisto. There is another base on the Saturn satellite Titan. When the planetary engineering problems have been worked out, there are plans to establish another base on the Neptune satellite Triton. The One and Two Men Scouts patrol nearest to their home bases, and for the shortest periods. They are the last line of warning, in case a Kraden sneaks through. Beyond them, in scantier numbers, are Destroyers holding four men. The Destroyers stay out for as long as two months at a time. Beyond them, are eight to ten men Light Cruisers, which stay out for as much as three months at a time. They are the first warning and are expected to stand and fight in case Kradens appear.

These are all warning craft. Nearer in, closer to Earth and the other bases, are the Monitors. They are continually in orbit, having been built in space and quite impossible to land due to their size. They have a crew of approximately thirty. Fresh crews are sent up to them every six months to relieve them. They are the heavies, ready to zero-in on the enemy when and if the Kradens get through the initial defense. Also in the defense screen are the Space Platforms, the permanent artificial satellites which are hardly maneuverable at all but carry the heaviest of our defenses, short of those based on Earth itself. In all, the Solar System defenses include at least twenty thousand spacecraft, not to mention the permanent installations on Earth, Luna, Mars and the Jupiter and Saturn satellites.

More than a billion men and women are in the armed forces."

The secretary came to an end.

Don said, "Is any of that supposed to be news to me?"

Demming ignored that and muttered, his eyes still closed, "Thank you, Dirck. Max?"

The other magnate took over after taking a swallow from the glass of sparkling wine before him. He looked at Don calculatingly and said, "A few days ago, Mr. Demming and I flew in from Io in his private space yacht, accompanied only by his secretary here, Dirck Bosch. The yacht is completely automated, without crew. As a matter of fact, I am sorry Mr.

Demming was along, and he is sorry I was along. It required that we become partners when we made our discovery."

Don said, "Look, could I have another cognac?" A feeling of excitement was growing within him and the drinks he'd had earlier had worn away.

Something very big, very, very big, was developing. He hadn't the vaguest idea what it might be.

The secretary stepped forward and dialed the fresh drink.

Maximilian Rostoff ran a hand back over his bald pate and went on, saying, "Lieutenant, how would you like to capture a Kraden cruiser? If I am not incorrect, the Space Service calls them Miro Class."