Mark Twain, Jack London, mystery novels, and stacked-up Arizona Flyways
as well as engineering references; a bowling trophy; pictures on the
walls that included me with my high school football team and me canoeing
in the North Woods; also on the wall, a cutlass that sailed with Decatur
and afterward went on a journey more long and strange; my pistol, which
I still used for target shooting, locked away, but a faint fragrance of
Hoppe’s No. 9 in the air–
We took our seats, she on the edge of hers. My swivel chair creaked as I
leaned back, crossed my legs, and bridged my fingers. Otherwise we kept
silent maybe half a minute. The blue eyes were enormous. For the first
time in years, I missed my pipe.
“Val,” I said at last, “you probably think we owe you an apology and an
explanation. In a way we do. Trouble is, right now it’s impossible, and
will be for some while to come. Back in the war, men got told to do this
or not do that. Period. Usually the reason seemed plain. Like clearing
the enemy off a hill that gave him too good a position for his
artillery. Sometimes, though, we didn’t know sh–diddly about why. And
we never were briefed on the overall tactics. That’d have been bound to
leak to the enemy, and he’d know what to prepare for and where’d be the
place to strike back at us. Nor were those tactics fair. Some units got
thrown into a meat grinder, and their officers knew beforehand that
would happen.
Others stayed in reserve and mainly were bored to death. It was how
things worked out.
“I know this is ancient history to you, buried in the books with
Waterloo and Gettysburg. But plenty of guys are above ground yet to whom
it was grunt reality. And it’s still in the nature of conflict, of life
itself. If you haven’t read the Book of Job let me recommend it to you.”
Val gulped and shivered.
“All right,” I continued after another stillness, “that affair at the
Point was, is, more than a malicious prank. It turns out to involve
truly dark Powers. What they are, what they want, and how powerful they
are, we can only guess. Your mother and I have taken part in trying to
find out more and do something about it. We wanted to spare our children
fear and nightmares. So we evaded questions. Maybe now and then we lied.
It was well intentioned. But to suppose that you, at your age, with your
intelligence, would not soon realize we weren’t leveling with you–too
late, I see that was an insult. For this we do must humbly apologize.”
“Oh, Dad!” She half reached toward me. The hand dropped. But sudden
tears glimmered on her lashes.
“We still can’t tell you much,” I said. “This is a sort of war
situation. Not that we’re high brass with any clear understanding. But
we do need to keep certain things secret.”
“Yes, it’s a gitzy business,” she whispered. “Scabrous, too.”
I smiled. “What we can do, if you’re willing, is enlist you.”
She leaped to her feet. “What? Me? Yes, sir!” she whooped. “Molly
O’Kay!”
“Whoa, pony, whoa down.” I waved her back to her chair. “It’ll be Home
Guard duty, keeping alert, standing by, a lot of KP. Which is vital
stuff. Your Uncle Will did as much toward winning the Caliph’s War as
most front-line soldiers. Likewise for military mechanics,
quartermasters, and, yes, clerks. We’ll depend on you.”
Her lip quivered, the rest of her shuddered, then she sat quietly and
replied, “Yes, I, I understand. If I can just have an idea of what it’s
all for.”
“It seems the bad guys mean to sabotage the American space
program–permanently,” I said. “The FBI and other agencies are working
on that. Your mother and I were able to contribute a little, and we’ve
called on the wisdom of her friend, the Zuni priest.” This much I could
tell her. Part of it was no more than common sense could deduce from
available facts; part was by now known to both the Feds and the foe. “I