To The Stars

“Hello there,” he called out, knocking with his fist on the conning tower. Perhaps the door was on the other side. He was starting around it when a black opening suddenly appeared and men began to push their way out. One of them leaped on Aileen, stabbing her in the leg with something shining.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jan shouted, jumping at them; relief turned to anger in the instant. The nearest figure turned swiftly, raising his hand with something in it, bringing it down toward Jan.

He fought back, grabbed the arm and pressed hard. The man grunted in surprise as he stabbed himself — his eyes widened with shock. He gave one immense heave, then went limp. Jan pushed him aside, whirled toward the others, fists clenched and ready. They were spread in a circle before him, bent to attack, grunting in guttural voices to one another.

“Oh, hell,” one of them said, standing up straight and holding the others back with his hands. “No more fight­ing. We’ve botched this thing nicely.”

“We can’t stop now… “

“Yes we can. Get below.” He turned to Jan. “You as well.”

“What have you done to her?”

“Nothing important. An injection to make her sleep. We had one for you too, but poor Ota got the shot instead…”

“You can’t force me to go.

“Don’t be a fool!” the man shouted in sudden anger. “We could have left you to drown — but we surfaced to save your lives. And every moment we are exposed puts ours in danger. Stay here if you want.”

He turned and followed the others through the door­way, helping pass down the unconscious Aileen. Jan hesitated only an instant, then followed. He still was not going to commit suicide.

He blinked in the fierce red glow of the compart­ment, figures like ruddy devils around him. For the moment he was ignored as the hatch was sealed shut, orders shouted, the deck tilted abruptly. When they were safely below the surface, the man who had spoken to him on deck turned from the periscope and waved Jan toward the door at the end of the compartment.

“Let’s go to my cabin. Get some dry clothes for you, something warm to drink. The girl will be taken care of too, don’t worry.”

Jan sat on the edge of the neatly made bunk, glad of the warmth of the blanket about his shoulders, shivering strongly. He was handed a cup of sweet tea which he sipped at gratefully. His savior — or captor? — sat in the chair opposite lighting his pipe. A man in his fifties, gray hair and tanned skin, dressed in a worn khaki uniform with epaulets of rank on his shoulders.

“I am Captain Tachauer,” he said, blowing out a cloud of rank smoke. “Could I have your name?”

“Kulozik. Jan Kulozik. Who are you and what are you doing here? And why the attempt to knock us out?”

“It seemed a good idea at the time. No one wanted to leave you two up there to drown, though it was suggested at least once with a marked lack of enthusiasm. We are not murderers. Yet if we saved you it would reveal our pres­ence and there could be major repercussions. Finally the sleeping shots were suggested and approved. What else could we do? But it’s obvious we’re not professionals at this sort of thing. Ota got his own needle and is now having a good snore for himself.”

“Who are you?” Jan asked again, looking at the unfa­miliar uniform, at the books in a rack on the wall printed in an alphabet he had never seen before. Captain Tachauer sighed heavily.

“Israeli Navy,” he said. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you — and thank you as well for saving our lives. I just don’t understand why you were worried about us seeing you. If you are involved in security work for the UNO Navy, I’ll keep my mouth shut. I have a security clearance.”

“Please, Mr. Kulozik, no more.” The Captain raised his hand in a stopping motion. “You speak out of ignorance of the political situation here.”

“Ignorance! I’m no prole. My education contains two graduate degrees.”

The Captain’s eyebrows lifted in appreciation of the degrees, but he did not seem too excited by them. “I’m not referring to your technical expertise, which I am sure is considerable, but to certain gaps in your knowledge of world history produced by errors of fact that are firmly implanted in your textbooks.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Captain Tachauer. We have no censorship in our education in Britain. In the Soviet States, perhaps, but not in ours. I have complete freedom of access to any book in our libraries, as well as computer printouts of as many as I wish to consult.”