The Star Fox

Diane was up. Such light as came through the leaves made the forest a shifting bewilderment of black and white, where his flash-beam bobbed lonely. The air had warmed and cleared. He heard summery noises, whistles, chirps, croaks, flutters, none of them quite like home. When he emerged on the shore, the lake was a somehow bright sable, each little wave tipped with moonfire. The snowpeaks stood hoar be-nearth a universe of stars. He remembered the time on Staurn when he had tried to pick out Achernar; tonight he could do so with surety, for it burned great in this sky. His triumph, just about when Danielle was being born—“Vous n’etes pas vieux, Monsieur le Capitaine.”

He stripped, left the beam on to mark the spot, and waded out. The water was cold, but he needed less will power than usual to take the plunge when it was waist deep. For a time he threshed about, warming himself, then struck out with long quiet strokes. Moonlight rippled in his wake. The fluid slid over his skin like a girl’s fingers.

Things are looking up, he thought with a growing gladness. We really do have a good chance to rescue this planet. And if part of the price is that I stop raiding—why, I’ll be on Earth too.

Did it sing within him, or had a bird called from the ness ahead?

No. Birds don’t chord on twelve strings. Heim grinned and swam forward as softly as he was able. Endre’s adrenal glands would benefit from a clammy hand laid on him from behind and a shouted “Boo!”

The song strengthened in his ears:

“Roslein, Roslein, Roslein rot,

Roslein auf der Heiden.”

As it ended, Heim saw Vadász seated on a log, silhouetted against the sky. He was not alone.

Her voice came clear through the night. “Oh, c’est beau. Je n’aurais jamais cru que les allemands pouvaient avoir une telle sensibilité.”

Vadász laughed. “Vous savez, Goethe vecut il y a long-temps. Mais pourquoi rappeler de vieilles haines pendant une si belle nuit?” .

She shivered. “L’haine n’est pas morte. Elle nous entoure.”

He drew his cloak around them both. “Oubliez tout cela, mademoiselle. L’affaire est en bonne mains. Nous sommes Venus id pour admirer, parler, et chanter, n’est-ce pas?”

“Out.” Hesitantly: “Mais mes parents—”

“Pff! Il n’est pas tard. La nuit, le jour, c’est la même chose pour les Neo-Européens. Vous n’avez pas confiance en moi? Je suis aussi innocent qu’une grenouille perdue de rhumatismes. Vous avez entendu mes coassements.”

Danielle giggled. “Coassez encore, je vous en prie.”

“Le souhait d’une si charmante demoiselle est un ordre. Ah … quelque chose à la Magyar? Un chant d’amour.”

The strings toned very softly, made themselves a part of night and woods and water. Vadász’s words twined among them. Danielle sighed and leaned a bit closer. Heim swam away. No, he told himself, and again: No. Endre isn’t being a bastard. He asked me.

The grip on his throat did not loosen. He ended his quietness and churned the water with steamboat violence. He’s…

He’s young. I could have been her father. But I junked the chance.

I thought it had come back.

No. I’m being ridiculous. Oh, Connie, Connie!

Ved Guid—His brain went in rage to the tongue of his^childhood. By God, if he does anything—I’m not too old to break a man’s neck.

What the hell business is it of mine? He stormed ashore and abraded himself dry. Clothes on, he stumbled through the woods. There was a bottle in the tent, not quite empty.

A man waited for him. He recognized one of de Vigny’s aides. “Well?”

The officer sketched a salute. “I ’ave a message for you, monsieur. The colonel ’as contact the enemy. They receive a delegation in Bonne Chance after day ’as break.”

“Okay. Good night.”

“But, monsieur—”