Guardsmen of Tomorrow by Martin H. & Segriff Greenberg, Larry Segriff Page B

you never retired.”
    Dawes gripped Donovan’s arm. “You fired me when you canceled the Sabre .”
    “I put you on medical leave,” Straf shot back. “You’re blind, Chil.”
    Chilson Dawes felt his heart freeze. “Stay away from me, Sam,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just stay away!”
    “I’ll give you back the Sabre ,” Straf said. A controlled but unmistakable urgency filled in his voice. “I’m authorized. It’s fueled and ready.”
    “You’re full of it,” Dawes answered. But he listened. And shortly, he found himself sober on an atomic-powered tram from Tharsis City to the Guard starport at Valles Mari-naris.
    In two hundred years of starfaring, humans had discovered no other intelligent races.
    Recently, that had changed. Only a year after Dawes had lost his sight, the first exploratory ships had ventured past Vega into a sector named Burnham space after the astronomer who had mapped it. It was in Burnham space that the earthship Lancelot , under the command of Captain James Murray, first encountered the Kaxfen.
    “Murray barely got his ship back to our outpost on Orth,” Colonel Straf explained to Dawes over cups of steaming coffee. “The Kaxfen weapons weren’t necessarily superior, but their numbers were. They swarmed over the Lancelot like insects.”
    Donovan spoke from the window that overlooked the starport. “If you’ve got a name to call them by, you must have established some kind of communication.”
    “Nothing face-to-face,” Straf answered. “Only voice communications. They’ve warned us out of Burnham space. They’re claiming it as their exclusive backyard, and they’re quite territorial about it. They promise to destroy any ship that ventures near it.”
    Dawes sipped from his cup. “So humans have finally found neighbors in space, and managed to make enemies of them in our first meeting. I guess some things never change.” He leaned forward, felt for the edge of Straf’s desk, and set his cup down.
    “What do you expect me to do about it?”
    There was a brief silence. Straf cleared his throat. “You brought the Sabre home like a sighted man, Chil,” he said. “Even with your optic nerves burned out. Nobody knows that ship’s systems, controls, or capabilities better than you. Nobody’s touched her since you. No one dared.”
    “You can’t be asking what I’m thinking,” Donovan interrupted, his voice turning angry.
    Straf’s boots scuffed as he came around the desk closer to Dawes. ‘’I’m asking if you think you can pilot the Sabre .“
    Donovan exploded. “Goddamn you, he’s!…”
    “Shut up, Donovan!” Dawes yelled. His thoughts whirled. When Straf had mentioned giving him back the Sabre , Dawes had assumed the colonel had meant in an advisory or research capacity. Could he pilot her? Did Straf realize what he was offering? He answered, “Hell, yes!” Then he settled back in his chair, suspicious.
    “But you haven’t told me everything, Sam. The Sabre’s , only a prototype, not a warship.”
    “I wasn’t exactly truthful when I said no one had touched her,” Straf admitted. “I’ve had her outfitted with the new Kleinowski planet-killer lasers. She’s not totally defenseless.”
    “Or without offense either,” Dawes said. “But what’s this all about?”
    Sound of paper rattling, and a light breeze fanned over Dawes’ face. He envisioned Straf shaking a sheaf of pages as if Dawes could see them. It stopped suddenly, and Straf cleared his throat again. “We’ve got a cryo-ship…”
    “An ice-wagon?” Donovan said from the window. “Who the?…”
    “Don’t be crude,” Straf said, then he continued. “A cryo-ship. Yes, they’re antiquated, but certain religious groups prefer them to translight travel.”
    Dawes nodded. “Because they think the laws of nature and God don’t apply to hypespace, they refuse to go there. They’d rather travel like a tray of ice cubes.”
    Straf cleared his throat again. “They’re