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“I’m losing one now,” Cogswell said grimly. “Vacuum Tube Transport has pulled a gimmick out of the hat and things have pickled for us. It will be debated before the Military Category Department, of course, and undoubtedly the Sov-world military attaches will have things to say. But as it appears now, the fracas as we have known it, has been revolutionized.”

“Revolutionized?” Even the Telly reporter was flabbergasted. “You mean by that thing?” He pointed upward, and the lenses of the cameras followed his finger.

“Yes,” Cogswell growled unhappily. “Do all of you need a blueprint? Do you think I can fight a fracas with that thing dangling above me, throughout the day hours? Do you understand the importance of reconnaissance in warfare?” His eyes glowered. “Do you think Napoleon would have lost Waterloo if he’d had the advantage of perfect reconnaissance such as that thing can deliver? Do you think Lee would have lost Gettysburg? Don’t be ridiculous.” He spun on Baron Zwerdling, who was stuttering his complete confusion.

“As it stands, Baron Haer knows every troop dispensation I make. All I know of his movements are from my cavalry scouts. I repeat, I am no butcher, sir. I will gladly cross swords with Baron Haer another day, when I, too, have … what did you call the confounded things, Paul?”

“Gliders,” Lieutenant Colonel Warren said.

XI

Major Joseph Mauser, now attired in his best off-duty Category Military uniform, spoke his credentials to the receptionist. “I have no definite appointment, but I am sure the Baron will see me,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” The receptionist did the things that receptionists do, then looked up at him again. “Right through that door, major.”

Joe Mauser gave the door a quick double rap and then entered before waiting an answer.

Balt Haer, in mufti, was standing at a far window, a drink in his hand, rather than his customary swagger stick. Nadine Haer sat in an easy-chair. The girl Joe Mauser loved had been crying.

Joe Mauser, suppressing his frown, made with the usual amenities.

Balt Haer without answering them, finished his drink in a gulp and stared at the newcomer. The old stare, the aloof stare, an aristocrat looking at an underling as though wondering what made the fellow tick. He said, finally, “I see you have been raised to Rank Major.”

“Yes, sir,” Joe said.

“We are obviously occupied, major. What can either my sister or I possibly do for you?”

Joe kept his voice even. He said, “I wanted to see the Baron.”

Nadine Haer looked up, a twinge of pain crossing her face.

“Indeed,” Balt Haer said flatly. “You are talking to the Baron, Major Mauser.”

Joe Mauser looked at him, then at his sister, who had taken to her handkerchief again. Consternation ebbed up and over him in a flood. He wanted to say something such as, “Oh no,” but not even that could he utter.

Haer was bitter. “I assume I know why you are here, major. You have come for your pound of flesh, undoubtedly. Even in these hours of our grief–“

“I … I didn’t know. Please believe …”

“… You are so constituted that your ambition has no decency. Well, Major Mauser, I can only say that your arrangement was with my father. Even if I thought it a reasonable one, I doubt if I would sponsor your ambitions myself.”

Nadine Haer looked up wearily. “Oh, Balt, come off it,” she said. “The fact is, the Haer fortunes contracted a debt to you, major. Unfortunately, it is a debt we cannot pay.” She looked into his face. “First, my father’s governmental connections do not apply to us. Second, six months ago, my father, worried about his health and attempting to avoid certain death taxes, transferred the family stocks into Balt’s name. And Balt saw fit, immediately before the fracas, to sell all Vacuum Tube Transport stocks, and invest in Hovercraft.”

“That’s enough, Nadine,” her brother snapped nastily.

“I see,” Joe said. He came to attention. “Dr. Haer, my apologies for intruding upon you in your time of bereavement.” He turned to the new Baron. “Baron Haer, my apologies for your bereavement.”

Balt Haer glowered at him.

Joe Mauser turned and marched for the door which he opened then closed behind him.

On the street, before the New York offices of Vacuum Tube Transport, he turned and for a moment looked up at the splendor of the building.

Well, at least the common shares of the concern had skyrocketed following the victory. His rank had been upped to Major, and old Stonewall Cogswell had offered him a permanent position on his staff in command of aerial operations, no small matter of prestige. The difficulty was, he wasn’t interested in the added money that would accrue to him, nor the higher rank–nor the prestige, for that matter.

He turned to go to his hotel.

An unbelievably beautiful girl came down the steps of the building. She said, “Joe.”

He looked at her. “Yes?”

She put a hand on his sleeve. “Let’s go somewhere and talk, Joe.”

“About what?” He was infinitely weary now.

“About goals,” she said. “As long as they exist, whether for individuals, or nations, or a whole species, life is still worth the living. Things are a bit bogged down right now, but at the risk of sounding very trite, there’s tomorrow.”