Victory

  Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  Transcriber's Note: This e-text was produced from Astounding ScienceFiction, August, 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  VICTORY

  _It seemed Earth was a rich, and undefended planet in a warring,hating galaxy. Things can be deceptive though; children playingcan be quite rough--but that ain't war, friend!_

  BY LESTER del REY

  Illustrated by Rogers

  I

  From above came the sound of men singing. Captain Duke O'Neill stoppedclipping his heavy black beard to listen. It had been a long time sincehe'd heard such a sound--longer than the time since he'd last had abath or seen a woman. It had never been the singing type of war. Yetnow even the high tenor of old Teroini, who lay on a pad with neitherlegs nor arms, was mixed into the chorus. It could mean only one thing!

  As if to confirm his thoughts, Burke Thompson hobbled past the cabin,stopping just long enough to shout. "Duke, we're home! They've sightedMeloa!"

  "Thanks," Duke called after him, but the man was hobbling out of sight,eager to carry the good news to others.

  Fourteen years, Duke thought as he dragged out his hoarded bottle ofwater and began shaving. Five since he'd seen Ronda on his last leave.Now the battered old wreck that was left of the flagship was less thanan hour from home base, and the two other survivors of the originalfleet of eight hundred were limping along behind. Three out of eighthundred--but they'd won! Meloa had her victory.

  And far away, Earth could rest in unearned safety for a while.

  Duke grimaced bitterly. It was no time to think of Earth now. Heshucked off his patched and filthy clothes and reached for the dressgrays he had laid out in advance; at least they were still in goodcondition, almost unused. He dressed slowly, savoring the luxury ofclean clothes. The buttons gave him trouble; his left hand looked andbehaved almost like a real one, but in the three years since he got it,there had been no chance to handle buttons.

  Then he mastered the trick and stepped back to study the final results.He didn't look bad. Maybe a little gaunt and in need of a good haircut.But his face hadn't aged as much as he had thought. The worst part wasthe pasty white where his beard had covered his face, but a few daysunder Meloa's sun would fix that. Maybe he could spend a month withRonda at a beach. He still had most of his share of his salary--nearlya quarter million Meloan credits; even if the rumors of inflation weretrue, that should be enough.

  He stared at his few possessions, then shrugged and left them. Heheaded up the officers' lift toward the control room, where he couldsee Meloa swim into view and later see the homeport of Kordule as theylanded.

  The pilot and navigator were replacements, sent out to bring the oldship home, and their faces showed none of the jubilation of the crew.They nodded at him as he entered, staring toward the screens withoutexpression. Aside from the blueness of their skins and the completeabsence of hair, they looked almost human, and Duke had long sincestopped thinking of them as anything else.

  "How long?" he asked.

  The pilot shrugged. "Half an hour, captain. We're too low on fuel towait for clearance, even if control is working. Don't worry. There'llbe plenty of time to catch the next ship to Earth."

  "Earth?" Duke glowered at him, suspecting a joke, but there was nohumor on the blue face. "I'm not going back!" Then he frowned. "What'san Earth ship doing on Meloa?"

  The navigator exchanged a surprised look with the pilot, and nodded asif some signal had passed between them. His voice was as devoid ofexpression as his face. "Earth resumed communication with us the daythe truce was signed," he answered. He paused, studying Duke. "They'regiving free passage back to Earth to all terran veterans, captain."

  Nice of them, Duke thought. They were willing to let the men who'dsurvived come back, just as they hadn't forbidden anyone to go. Verynice! They could keep their world--and all the other coward planetslike them! When the humanoid world of Meloa had been attacked by theinsectile monsters from Throm, Earth could have ended the invasion in ayear, as those with eyes to see had urged her. But she hadn't chosen todo so. Instead, she had stepped back on her high retreat of neutrality,and let the Throm aliens do as they liked. It wasn't the first timeshe'd acted like that, either.

  With more than half of the inhabited planets occupied by variousmonsters, it seemed obvious that the humanoid planets had to make acommon stand. If Meloa fell, it would be an alien stepping stone thatcould lead back eventually to Earth itself. And once the monstersrealized that Earth was unwilling to fight, her vast resources would nolonger scare them--she'd be only a rich plum, ripe for the plucking.

  When Duke had been one of the first to volunteer for Meloa, he hadnever realized his home world could refuse to join the battle. He'dbelieved in Earth and humanity then. He'd waited through all the grimdays when it seemed Throm must win--when the absence of replacementsproved the communiques from Meloa to be nothing but hopeful lies. Butthere had been no help. Earth's neutrality remained unshaken.

  And now, after fourteen years in battle hell, helping to fight off athree-planet system of monsters that might have swarmed against all thehumanoid races, Earth was willing to forgive him and take him back tothe shame of his birthright!

  * * * * *

  "I'm staying," he said flatly. "Unless you Meloans want to kick me outnow?"

  The pilot swung around, dropping a quick hand on his shoulder."Captain," he said, "that isn't something to joke about. We won'tforget that there would be no Meloa today without men like you. But wecan't ask you to stay. Things have changed--insanely. The news we sentto the fleet was pure propaganda!"

  "We guessed that," Duke told him. "We knew the Throm ships. And whenthe dispatches reported all those raids without any getting through, westopped reading them. How many did penetrate, anyhow?"

  "Thirty-one full raids," the navigator said woodenly. "Thirty-one inthe last four months!"

  "_Thirty-one!_ What happened to the home fleet?"

  "We broke it up and sent it out for your replacements," the pilotanswered dully. "It was the only chance we had to win."

  Duke swallowed the idea slowly. He couldn't picture a planet giving upits last protection for a desperate effort to end the war on purelyoffensive drive. Three billion people watching the home fleet take off,knowing the skies were open for all the hell that a savage enemy couldsend! On Earth, the World Senate hadn't permitted the building of onebattleship, for fear of reprisal.

  He swung to face the ports, avoiding the expression on the faces of thetwo Meloans. He'd felt something of the same on his own face when he'dfirst inspected Throm. But it couldn't be that bad on Meloa; she'd wonher hard-earned victory!

  They were entering the atmosphere now, staggering down on misfiringjets. The whole planet seemed to be covered with a gray-yellow hazethat spoke of countless tons of blast dust in the air. From below, Dukeheard the men beginning to move toward the big entrance lock, unable towait for the landing. But they were no longer his responsibility. He'dgiven up his command before embarking.

  The ship came down, threatening to tilt every second, and the pilot wassweating and swearing. The haze began to clear as they neared theground, but the ports were too high for Duke to see anything but theunderside of the thick clouds. He stood up and headed for the lift,bracing himself as the ship pitched.

  Suddenly there was a sickening jar and the blast cut off. The shipgroaned and seemed to twist, then was still. It was the worst landingDuke had known, but they were obviously down. A second later he heardthe port screech open and the thump of the landing ramp.

  The singing of the men had picked up into a rough marching beat. Nowabrup
tly it wavered. For a moment, a few voices continued, and thendied away, like a record running down. There was a mutter of voices,followed by shouts that must have been the relief officers, takingover. Duke was nearly to the port before he heard the slow, doubtfulsound of steps moving down the ramp. By the time he reached it, thelast of the men was just leaving. He stopped, staring at the great portcity of Kordule.

  Most of the port was gone. Where the hangars and repair docks had been,a crater bored into the earth, still smoking faintly. A lone girderprojected above it, to mark the former great control building, and aMeloan skeleton was transfixed on it near the top. It shattered topieces as he looked and began dropping, probably from the delayedtremor of their landing.

  Even the section their ship stood on was part of the crater, he saw,with an Earth bulldozer working on it. There was room for no more thanten ships now. Two of the berths were occupied by fat Earth ships,sleek and well kept. Three others held the pitted, warped hulks ofMeloan battleships. There were no native freighters, and no sign oftending equipment or hangars.

  The pilot had come up behind him, following his gaze. Now the mannodded. "That's it, captain. Most cities are worse. Kordule escaped theblasts until our rocket cannon failed. Got any script on you?" AtDuke's nod, he pointed. "Better exchange it at the booth, before therate gets worse. Take Earth dollars. Our silver's no good."

  He held out a hand, and Duke shook it. "Good luck, captain," he said,and swung back into the ship.

  * * * * *_Mercifully, most of Kordule was blanketed by the dust fog. There wasthe beginning of a series of monstrous craters where men had begunrebuilding underground, the ruined landing field, and a section of whathad been the great business district. Now it was only a field ofrubble, with bits of windowless walls leading up to a crazy tangle oftwisted girders. Only memory could locate where the major streets hadbeen. Over everything lay the green wash of _incandite_, and the windcarried the smell of a charnel house. There was no sign of theapartment where he and Ronda had lived.

  He started down the ramp at last, seeing for the first time the motleycrew that had come out to meet the heroes of the battle of Throm. Theyhad spotted him already, however, and some were deserting the men atthe sight of his officer's uniform. Their cries mingled into an insane,whining babble in his ears.

  "... Just a scrap for an old man, general ... three children at homestarving ... fought under Jones, captain ... cigarette?"

  It was a sea of clutching hands, ragged bodies with scrawny arms andbloated stomachs, trembling and writhing in its eagerness to get to himfirst. Then as one of the temporary officers swung back with a coupleof field attendants, it broke apart to let him pass, its gaze rivetedon him as he stumbled between the lines.

  He spotted a billboard one man was wearing, and his eyes focusedsharply on it. "Honest Feroiya," it announced. "Credit exchange. Bestrates in all Kordule." Below that, chalked into a black square, was theimportant part: "2,345 credits the dollar."

  Duke shook his head but the sign did not change. A quarter millioncredits for a hundred dollars. And he'd thought--

  "Help a poor old widow." A trembling hand plucked at his sleeve, and heswung to face a woman in worse rags than the others, her eyes dull andunfocused, her lips mouthing the words only by habit. "Help the widowof General Dayole!"

  He gasped as he recognized her. Five years before, he'd danced with herat a party given by Dayole--danced and agreed that the war was ruiningthem and that it couldn't get worse.

  He reached into his pocket, before remembering the worthlessness of hisbills. But there was half a pack of the wretched cigarettes issued themen. He tossed them to her and fled, while the other beggars scrambledtoward her.

  He walked woodenly across the leprous field, skirting away from theEarth ships, toward a collection of tents and tin huts that hadswallowed the other veterans. Then he stopped and cursed to himself asa motorcycle sprang into life near the Earth freighters and came towardhim. Naturally, they'd spotted his hair and skin color.

  The well-fed, smooth-faced young man swung the machine beside him."Captain O'Neill?" he asked, but his voice indicated that he wasalready certain. "Hop in, sir. Director Flannery has been lookingforward to meeting you!"

  Duke went steadily on, not varying his steps. The machine paced himuncertainly. "Director Flannery of Earth Foreign Office, CaptainO'Neill. He requests your presence," he shouted over the purr of hismachine. He started to swing ahead of the marching man.

  Duke kept his eyes on his goal. When his steady steps almost broughthim against the cycle, it roared out of his way. He could hear itbehind him as he walked, but it faded.

  There was only the sight and smell of Kordule ahead of him.