Flandry slapped her in the most suitable place and hustled her along the hall. “You’re going to sit in on this! It’ll give you something to hope for. March!”
The guard outside Walton’s door was shocked. “Sir, my orders were to admit only you.”
“One side, junior.” Flandry picked up the marine by the gun belt and set him down a meter away. “The young lady is my portable expert on hypersquidgeronics. Also, she’s pretty.” He closed the door in the man’s face.
Admiral Walton started behind his desk. “What’s this, Captain?”
“I thought she could pour beer for us,” burbled Flandry.
“I don’t—” began Kit helplessly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Sit down.” Flandry pushed her into a corner chair. “After all, sir, we might need first-hand information about Vixen.”
His eyes clashed with Walton’s. “I think she’s earned a ringside seat,” he added.
The admiral sat unmoving a moment. Then his mouth crinkled. “You’re incorrigible,” he said. “And spare me that stock answer, ‘No, I’m Flandry.’ Very well, Miss Kittredge. You understand this is under top security. Captain Flandry, you know Commander Sugimoto.”
Flandry shook hands with the other Terran, who had been in charge of the first sneak expedition to Ardazir. They sat down. Flandry started a cigaret. “D’you find the place all right?” he asked.
“No trouble,” said Sugimoto. “Once you’d given me the correlation between their astronomical tables and ours, and explained the number system, it was elementary. Their star’s not in our own catalogues, because it’s on the other side of that dark nebula and there’s never been any exploration that way. So you’ve saved us maybe a year of search. Incidentally, when the war’s over the scientists will be interested in the nebula. Seen from the other side, it’s faintly luminous: a proto-sun. No one ever suspected that Population One got that young right in Sol’s own galactic neighborhood! Must be a freak, though.”
Flandry stiffened. “What’s the matter?” snapped Walton.
“Nothing, sir. Or maybe something. I don’t know. Go on, Commander.”
“No need to repeat in detail,” said Walton. “You’ll see the full report. Your overall picture of Ardazirho conditions, gained from your interrogations, is accurate. The sun is an A4 dwarf—actually no more than a dozen parsecs from here. The planet is terrestroid, biggish, rather dry, quite mountainous, three satellites. From all indications—you know the techniques, sneak landings, long-range telescopic spying, hidden cameras, random samples—the Urdahu hegemony is recent and none too stable.”
“One of our xenologists spotted what he swore was a typical rebellion,” said Sugimoto. “To me, his films are merely a lot of red hairy creatures in one kind of clothes, firing with gunpowder weapons at a modern-looking fortress where they wear different clothes. The sound track won’t mean a thing till your boys translate for us. But the xenologist says there are enough other signs to prove it’s the uprising of a backward tribe against more civilized conquerors.”
“A chance, then, to play them off against each other,” nodded Flandry. “Of course, before we can hope to do that, Intelligence must first gather a lot more information. Advertisement.”
“Have you anything to add, Captain?” asked Walton. “Anything you learned since your last progress report?”
“No, sir,” said Flandry. “It all hangs together pretty well. Except, naturally, the main question. The Urdahu couldn’t have invented all the modern paraphernalia that gave them control of Ardazir. Not that fast. They were still in the early nuclear age, two decades ago. Somebody supplied them, taught them, and sent them out a-conquering. Who?”
“Ymir,” said Walton flatly. “Our problem is, are the Ymirites working independently, or as allies of Merseia?”
“Or at all?” murmured Flandry.
“Hell and thunder! The Ardazirho ships and heavy equipment have Ymirite lines. The governor of Ogre ties up half our strength simply by refusing to speak. A Jovian colonist tried to murder you when you were on an official mission, didn’t he?”
“The ships could be made that way on purpose, to mislead us,” said Flandry. “You know the Ymirites are not a courteous race: even if they were, what difference would it make, since we can’t investigate them in detail? As for my little brush with Horx—”