“I’ll try, sir,” Nielson said, looking at the gunfire panel again.
“But I hear voices sometimes.
I can’t promise anything, sir.”
“Ed,” Margraves began again, “that representative—”
“Coming.
Good boy, Nielson.”
The lieutenant didn’t look up as Branch and Margraves left.
“I escorted him to the bridge,” Margraves said, listing slightly to starboard as he walked.
“Offered him a drink, but he didn’t want one.”
“All right,” Branch said.
“He was bursting with questions,” Margraves continued, chuckling to himself.
“One of those earnest, tanned State Department men, out to win the war in five minutes flat.
Very friendly boy.
Wanted to know why I, personally, thought the fleet had been maneuvering in space for a year with no action.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Said we were waiting for a consignment of zap guns,” Margraves said.
“I think he almost believed me.
Then he started talking about logistics.”
“Hm-m-m,” Branch said.
There was no telling what Margraves, half drunk, had told the representative.
Not that it mattered.
An official inquiry into the prosecution of the war had been due for a long time.
“I’m going to leave you here,” Margraves said.
“I’ve got some unfinished business to attend to.”
“Right,” Branch said, since it was all he could say. He knew that Margraves’ unfinished business concerned a bottle.
He walked alone to the bridge.
The President’s representative was looking at the huge location screen.
It covered one entire wall, glowing with a slowly shifting pattern of dots.
The thousands of green dots on the left represented the Earth fleet, separated by a black void from the orange of the enemy.
As he watched, the fluid, three-dimensional front slowly changed.
The armies of dots clustered, shifted, retreated, advanced, moving with hypnotic slowness.
But the black void remained between them.
General Branch had been watching that sight for almost a year.
As far as he was concerned, the screen was a luxury.
He couldn’t determine from it what was really happening.
Only the CPC calculators could, and they didn’t need it.
“How do you do, General Branch?” the President’s representative said, coming forward and offering his hand.
“My name’s Richard Ellsner.”
Branch shook hands, noticing that Margraves’ description had been pretty good.
The representative was no more than thirty. His tan looked strange, after a year of pallid faces.
“My credentials,” Ellsner said, handing Branch a sheaf of papers.
The general skimmed through them, noting Ellsner’s authorization as Presidential Voice in Space.
A high honor for so young a man.
“How are things on Earth?” Branch asked, just to say something.
He ushered Ellsner to a chair, and sat down himself.
“Tight,” Ellsner said.
“We’ve been stripping the planet bare of radioactives to keep your fleet operating. To say nothing of the tremendous cost of shipping food, oxygen, spare parts, and all the other equipment you need to keep a fleet this size in the field.”
“I know,” Branch murmured, his broad face expressionless.
“I’d like to start right in with the President’s complaints,” Ellsner said with an apologetic little laugh.
“Just to get them off my chest.”