“But… ”
Mike stood up. “Come on, you.”
Don found himself shoved into a room packed with injured feelings. The Earthlings had no guards and no colonials in with them; they were giving vent freely to their opinions about events. “Outrage! We should blast every one of their settlements, level them to the ground!” “—I think we should send a committee to this commanding officer of theirs and say to him firmly—” “I told you we shouldn’t have come!” “Negotiate? That’s a sign of weakness.” “Don’t you realize that the war is already over? Man, this place isn’t just a traffic depot; it’s the main guided-missile control station. They can bomb every last city on Earth from here, like ducks on a pond!”
Don noticed the last remark, played it over in his mind, let it sink in. He was not used to thinking in terms of military tactics; up to this moment the significance of a raid on Circum-Terra had been lost on him. He had thought of it in purely personal terms, his own convenience.
Would they actually go that far? Bomb the Federation cities right off the map? Sure, the colonials had plenty to be sore about, but—of course, it had happened like that, once in the past, but that was history; people were more civilized now. Weren’t they?
‘Harvey! Donald Harvey!”
Everyone turned at the call. A Venus Guardsman was standing in the compartment door, shouting his name. Don answered, “Here.”
“Come along.”
Don picked up his bags and followed him out into the passageway, waited while the soldier relocked the door. “Where are you taking me?”
“The C. O. wants to see you.” He glanced at Don’s baggage. “No need to drag that stuff.”
“Uh, I guess I’d better keep it with me.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t take it into the C.O.’s office.” He took Don down two decks where the “gravity” was appreciably greater and stopped at a door guarded by a sentry. “Here’s the guy the Old Man sent for—Harvey.”
“Go right on in.”
Don did so. The room was large and ornate; it had been the office of the hotel manager. Now it was occupied by a man in uniform, a man still young though his hair was shot with grey. He looked up as Don came in; Don thought he looked alert but tired. “Donald Harvey?”
“Yes, sir.” Don got out his papers.
The commanding officer brushed them aside. “I’ve seen them. Harvey, you are a headache to me. I disposed of your case once.”
Don did not answer; the other went on, “Now it appears that I must reopen it. Do you know a Venerian named—” He whistled it.
“Slightly,” Don answered. “We shared a compartment in the Glory Road.”
“Hmm… I wonder if you planned it that way?”
“What? How could I?”
“It could have been arranged and it would not be the first time that a young person has been used as a spy.”
Don turned red. “You think I am a spy, sir?”
“No, it is just one of the possibilities I must consider. No military commander enjoys political pressure being used on him, Harvey, but they all have to yield to it. I’ve yielded. You aren’t going back to Earth; you are going to Venus.” He stood up. “But let me warn you; if you are a ringer who has been planted on me, all the dragons on Venus won’t save your skin.” He turned to a ship’s phone, punched its keys, and waited; presently he said, “Tell him his friend is here and that I’ve taken care of the matter.” He turned back to Don. “Take it.”
Shortly Don heard a warm Cockney voice, “Don, my dear boy, are you there?”
“Yes, Sir Isaac.”
The dragon shrilled relief. “When I inquired about you, I found some preposterous intention of shipping you back to that dreadful place we just quitted. I told them that a mistake had been made. I’m afraid I had to be quite firm about it. Shucks!”
“It’s all fixed up now, Sir Isaac. Thanks.”
“Not at all; I am still in your debt. Come to visit me when it is possible. You will, won’t you?”