The Star Fox

“The universe is too big for any one pattern. No man can understand or control it, let alone a government. The proof is right at hand. We had to trick and tease and browbeat the Federation into doing what we could see, with our own eyes, was necessary—because it didn’t see. It wasn’t able to see. If man is going to live throughout the galaxy, he’s got to be free to take his own roads, the ones his direct experience shows him are best for his circumstances. And that way, won’t the race realize all its potential? Is there any other way we can, than by trying everything out, everywhere?” Heim clapped Peretz’s back. “I know. You’re afraid of interstellar wars in the future, if planets are sovereign. Don’t worry. It’s ridiculous. What do entire, self-sufficient, isolated worlds have to fight about?”

“We just finished an interstellar war,” Peretz said.

“Uh-huh. What brought it on? Somebody who wasn’t willing to let the human race develop as it should. Moshe, instead of trying .to freeze ourselves into one shape, instead of staying small because we’re scared of losing control, let’s work out something different. Let’s find how many kinds of society, human and non-human, can get along without a policeman’s gun pointed at them. I don’t think there is any limit.”

“Well—” Peretz shook his head. “Maybe. I hope you are right. Because you have committed .us, blast you.” He spoke without animosity.

After a minute: “I must confess I felt better when President de Vigny apologized officially for keeping our ship at arm’s length.”

“You have my personal apologies,” Heim said low.

“All right!” Peretz thrust out his hand, features crinkled with abrupt laughter. “Accepted and forgotten, you damned old squarehead.”

His trouble lifted from Heim, too. “Great!” he exclaimed.

“Come on inside and we’ll buckle down to getting drunk. Lord, how much yarning we’ve got to catch up on!”

They entered the living room and settled themselves. A maid curtsied. “What’ll you have?” Heim asked. “Some items of food are still in short supply, and of course machinery’s scarce, which is why I employ so many live servants. But these Frenchmen built big wine cellars.”

“Brandy and soda, thanks,” Peretz said.

“Me too. We are out of Scotch on New Europe. Uh will there be cargoes from Earth soon?”

Peretz nodded. “Some are already on the way. Parliament will scream when I report what you have done, and there will be talk of an embargo, but you know that won’t come to anything. If we aren’t going to fight, to hold you against your will, it is senseless to antagonize you with annoyances.”

“Which bears out what I said.” Heim put the drink orders into French.

“Please, don’t argue any more. I told you I have accepted your fait accompli.” Peretz leaned forward. “But may I ask something, Gunnar? I see why New Europe did what it did. But you yourself—You could have come home, been a world hero, and a billionaire with your prize money. Instead you take citizenship here—well, blaze, they are nice people,. but they aren’t yours!”

“They are now,” Heim said quietly.

He took out his pipe and tamped it full. His words ran on, almost of themselves:

“Mixed motives, as usual. I had to stay till the war was over. There was a lot of fighting, and afterward somebody must mount guard. And … well … I’d been lonely on Earth. Here I found a common purpose with a lot of absolutely first-class men. And a whole new world, elbow room, infinite possibilities. It dawned on me one day, when I was feeling homesick—what was I homesick for? To go back and rot among my dollars?

“So now, instead, I’m New Europe’s minister of space and the navy. We’re short of hands, training, equipment, everything; you name it and we probably haven’t got it. But I can see us grow, day by day. And that’s my doing!”

He struck fire and puffed. “Not that I intend to stay in government any longer than necessary,” he went on. “I want to experiment with pelagic farming; and prospect the other planets and asteroids in this system; and start a merchant spaceship yard; and—shucks, I can’t begin to tell you how much there is. I can’t wait to become a private citizen again.”

“But you do wait,” Peretz said.

“Heim looked out a window at sea and sun and sky. “Well,” he said, “it’s worth some sacrifice. There’s more involved than this world. We’re laying the foundations of—he hunted for words—“admiralty. Man’s, throughout the universe.”

The maid came in with her tray. Heim welcomed her not only for refreshment, but as an excuse to change the subject.

He wasn’t much of a talker on serious matters. A man did what he must; that sufficed.

The girl ducked her head. “Un voleur s’apgroche, monsieur,” she reported.

“Good,” Heim said. “That’ll be Endre Vadász and his wife. You’ll like them, Moshe. He was the man who really bailed us out of this mess. Now he’s giving his Magyar genes full rein on a 10,000-hectare ranch in the Bordes Valley—and he’s still one solar flare of a singer.”