The Star Fox

“Mr. President! Point of order.” The camera wheeled around and closed in on Harold Twyman. He had jumped to his feet and looked angry. “In so grave a matter, a departure from precedence must be approved in the form of a motion.”

Coquelin raised his brows. “I fail to see why there should be any objection to France yielding precedence,” he said.

“Mr. President, distinguished members of this body,” Twyman rapped, “the honorable spokesman for France has warned us that he intends a surprise. This is a time for serious discussion, not for debater’s tricks. If we find ourselves forced to rebut an unexpected assertion, our meeting with the honorable delegates of Alerion may easily be postponed another week. There has already been too much delay. I insist that this chamber vote upon whether to let M. Coquelin play with us or not.”

“Mr. President—” The Frenchman’s retort was cut off. Fazil slammed his gavel and said:

“The chair finds the point well taken, if perhaps somewhat heatedly expressed. Does anyone wish to make a motion that the French statement be deferred until every other national spokesman has finished his remarks?”

“Oh, oh,” Vadász muttered. “This does not look good.”

Heim reached out and adjusted the ’pilot for top speed. The engine hum strengthened. Above it he heard a member of the Argentine group say, “I so move,” and a Dutchman, “I second.”

“It has been moved and seconded—”

“What if they don’t let him?” Lisa wailed.

“Then we’ve got to go like bats out of Venus,” Heim said.

Coquelin began to speak in favor of the motion. After a few minutes, Vadász clicked his tongue and said admiringly: “Never did I hear anything so long-winded. That man is an artist.”

“Um,” Wingate grunted. “He may antagonize ’em.”

“Obviously,” said Heim in a bleak tone, “he doesn’t expect to win, no matter what”

Debate droned back and forth. The flyer left the storm behind and fled over a huge wrinkled landscape. Far to the east gleamed the Sierra peaks. We could lose all that beauty someday, Heim thought.

Mojave Field sprawled into view. He slanted down on the beam and saw Connie Girl poised in the open. Garaging, formalities of clearance, the long walk across concrete under a glaring sun—was the light what blinded him?

They stopped at the ramp. “Well,” said Wingate gruffly, “you can’t waste time. God ride with you, Son.” He let the handclasp die.

Lisa came into Heim’s arms. “Daddy, Daddy, I’m sorry, I c-c-can’t help bawling.”

“Blaze to that.” He ruffled her hair and held her close against his chest. “We’ll be back, you know. Rich and famous and a million stories to tell.” He swallowed. “You … you’ve been … you are a good girl. I couldn’t have asked for a finer girl. So long. Plain old pa gensyn.”

He gave her to Vadász, who embraced her very lightly and bestowed a kiss on the wet cheek. “Isten veled,” the Magyar said low. “I shall bring you home a song.”

Hastily, then, they mounted the ramp, stood waving while it retracted, and saw the lock close before them.

“Thanks, Endre,” Heim said. He turned on his heel. “Let’s get cracking.”

The yacht could have sprung straight into orbit. But better not show unseemly haste. Heim took her up according to the beams. The sky darkened and stars awoke, until blackness was a jewel box. Vadász fiddled with the com controls and eventually succeeded in getting a satellite relay from Mexico.

Debate on a procedural motion was not unlimited. The voting started before Connie Girl had made rendezvous. A roll call tolled overwhelming defeat.

“Mr. President,” Coquelin’s voice lifted from the 3V, blurred, small as an insect’s, “this is a strange development. France had looked for the normal courtesies. Since I am required to make my country’s basic policy statement today, I will. However, I note the time is near midday, and I warn the distinguished representatives that I shall be speaking at some length. Accordingly, I suggest that first we adjourn for lunch.”

“The chair so rules,” Fazil conceded. “This meeting will resume at 1400 hours sharp.” His gavel clubbed down.

“An artist, I tell you,” Vadász laughed.

“A couple hours isn’t much time to get under way, with a crew new to the ship,” Heim reminded him.

The great torpedo shape hove in sight and waxed as he closed until it filled his bow vision. As yet she was un-camouflaged, and sunlight lay furious on the stern assembly; drive units, Mach rings, boathouses, turrets, hatches cast long shadows on the metal flanks.

“Yacht Connie Girl calling cruiser Fox II, We are coming in. Please stand by. Over.”

Wingate had argued about the change of cognomen. “I know what your old command meant to you, Gunnar,” he said. “But you’ll get enough people mad without taking the name of a Navy ship.”

“I’m not, exactly,” Heim said. “Last I heard, foxes were still in the public domain. Besides, I damn well figure to rub people’s noses in what the Navy ought to be doing. What it wants to do, in fact.”