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MEDAL OF HONOR
By MACK REYNOLDS
ILLUSTRATED by BERNKLAU
_According to tradition, the man who held the Galactic Medal of Honor could do no wrong. In a strange way, Captain Don Mathers was to learn that this was true._
Don Mathers snapped to attention, snapped a crisp salute to hissuperior, said, "Sub-lieutenant Donal Mathers reporting, sir."
The Commodore looked up at him, returned the salute, looked down at thereport on the desk. He murmured, "Mathers, One Man Scout V-102. SectorA22-K223."
"Yes, sir," Don said.
The Commodore looked up at him again. "You've been out only five days,Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir, on the third day I seemed to be developing trouble in my fuelinjectors. I stuck it out for a couple of days, but then decided I'dbetter come in for a check." Don Mathers added, "As per instructions,sir."
"Ummm, of course. In a Scout you can hardly make repairs in space. Ifyou have any doubts at all about your craft, orders are to return tobase. It happens to every pilot at one time or another."
"Yes, sir."
"However, Lieutenant, it has happened to you four times out of your lastsix patrols."
Don Mathers said nothing. His face remained expressionless.
"The mechanics report that they could find nothing wrong with yourengines, Lieutenant."
"Sometimes, sir, whatever is wrong fixes itself. Possibly a spot of badfuel. It finally burns out and you're back on good fuel again. But bythat time you're also back to the base."
* * * * *
The Commodore said impatiently, "I don't need a lesson in theshortcomings of the One Man Scout, Lieutenant. I piloted one for nearlyfive years. I know their shortcomings--and those of their pilots."
"I don't understand, sir."
The Commodore looked down at the ball of his thumb. "You're out in spacefor anywhere from two weeks to a month. All alone. You're looking forKraden ships which practically never turn up. In military history theonly remotely similar situation I can think of were the pilots of WorldWar One pursuit planes, in the early years of the war, when they stillflew singly, not in formation. But even they were up there alone foronly a couple of hours or so."
"Yes, sir," Don said meaninglessly.
The Commodore said, "We, here at command, figure on you fellows gettinga touch of space cafard once in a while and, ah, _imagining_ somethingwrong in the engines and coming in. But," here the Commodore cleared histhroat, "four times out of six? Are you sure you don't need a psych,Lieutenant?"
Don Mathers flushed. "No, sir, I don't think so."
The Commodore's voice went militarily expressionless. "Very well,Lieutenant. You'll have the customary three weeks leave before going outagain. Dismissed."
Don saluted snappily, wheeled and marched from the office.
Outside, in the corridor, he muttered a curse. What did that chairbornebrass hat know about space cafard? About the depthless blackness, thewretchedness of free fall, the tides of primitive terror that swept youwhen the animal realization hit that you were away, away, away from theenvironment that gave you birth. That you were alone, alone, _alone_. Amillion, a million-million miles from your nearest fellow human. Spacecafard, in a craft little larger than a good-sized closet! What did theCommodore know about it?
Don Mathers had conveniently forgotten the other's claim to five years'service in the Scouts.
* * * * *
He made his way from Space Command Headquarters, Third Division, toHarry's Nuevo Mexico Bar. He found the place empty at this time of theday and climbed onto a stool.
Harry said, "Hi, Lootenant, thought you were due for a patrol. How comeyou're back so soon?"
Don said coldly, "You prying into security subjects, Harry?"
"Well, gee, no Lootenant. You know me. I know all the boys. I was justmaking conversation."
"Look, how about some more credit, Harry? I don't have any pay coming upfor a week."
"Why, sure. I got a boy on the light cruiser _New Taos_. Any spaceman'scredit is good with me. What'll it be?"
"Tequila."
Tequila was the only concession the Nuevo Mexico Bar made to its name.Otherwise, it looked like every other bar has looked in every land andin every era. Harry poured, put out lemon and salt.
Harry said, "You hear the news this morning?"
"No, I just got in."
"Colin Casey died." Harry shook his head. "Only man in the system thatheld the Galactic Medal of Honor. Presidential proclamation, everybodyin the system is to hold five minutes of silence for him at two o'clock,Sol Time. You know how many times that medal's been awarded, Lootenant?"Before waiting for an answer, Harry added, "Just thirty-six times."
Don added dryly, "Twenty-eight of them posthumously."
"Yeah." Harry, leaning on the bar before his sole customer, added inwonder, "But imagine. The Galactic Medal of Honor, the bearer of whichcan do no wrong. Imagine. You come to some town, walk into the biggestjewelry store, pick up a diamond bracelet, and walk out. And whathappens?"
Don growled, "The jewelry store owner would be over-reimbursed bypopular subscription. And probably the mayor of the town would write youa letter thanking you for honoring his fair city by deigning to noticeone of the products of its shops. Just like that."
"Yeah." Harry shook his head in continued awe. "And, imagine, if youshoot somebody you don't like, you wouldn't spend even a single night inthe Nick."
Don said, "If you held the Medal of Honor, you wouldn't have to shootanybody. Look, Harry, mind if I use the phone?"
"Go right ahead, Lootenant."
Dian Fuller was obviously in the process of packing when the screensummoned her. She looked into his face and said, surprised, "Why, Don, Ithought you were on patrol."
"Yeah, I was. However, something came up."
She looked at him, a slight frown on her broad, fine forehead. "Again?"
He said impatiently, "Look, I called you to ask for a date. You'releaving for Callisto tomorrow. It's our last chance to be together.There's something in particular I wanted to ask you, Di."
She said, a touch irritated, "I'm packing, Don. I simply don't have timeto see you again. I thought we said our goodbyes five days ago."
"This is important, Di."
She tossed the two sweaters she was holding into a chair, or something,off-screen, and faced him, her hands on her hips.
"No it isn't, Don. Not to me, at least. We've been all over this. Whykeep torturing yourself? You're not ready for marriage, Don. I don'twant to hurt you, but you simply aren't. Look me up, Don, in a fewyears."
"Di, just a couple of hours this afternoon."
Dian looked him full in the face and said, "Colin Casey finally died ofhis wounds this morning. The President has asked for five minutes ofsilence at two o'clock. Don, I plan to spend that time here alone in myapartment, possibly crying a few tears for a man who died for me and therest of the human species under such extreme conditions of gallantrythat he was awarded the highest honor of which man has ever conceived. Iwouldn't want to spend that five minutes while on a date with anothermember of my race's armed forces who had deserted his post of duty."
Don Mathers turned, after the screen had gone blank, and walked stifflyto a booth. He sank onto a chair and called flatly to Harry, "Anothertequila. A double tequila. And don't bother with that lemon and saltroutine."
* * * * *
An hour or so later a voice said, "You Sub-lieutenant Donal Mathers?"
Don looked up and snarled. "So what? Go away."
There were t
wo of them. Twins, or could have been. Empty of expression,heavy of build. The kind of men fated to be ordered around at thepleasure of those with money, or brains, none of which they had or wouldever have.
The one who had spoken said, "The boss wants to see you."
"Who the hell is the boss?"
"Maybe he'll tell you when he sees you," the other said, patiently andreasonably.
"Well, go tell the boss he can go to the ..."
The second of the two had been standing silently, his hands in hisgreat-coat pockets. Now he brought his left hand out and placed a