Tales of the Flying Mountains by Poul Anderson Page A

all when a North American ship drops in on a North American station .
    â€œIs … er … is there some international crisis brewing?” he inquired.
    â€œWhy, no.” Ellen straightened from the telescope. “I’d say relations have seldom been as good as they are now. What makes you ask?”
    â€œWell, the reason your captain didn’t——”
    â€œNever mind,” Warburton said. “We’d better continue the tour, if you please.”
    Blades filed his misgivings for later reference. He might have fretted immediately, but Ellen Ziska’s presence forbade that. A sort of Pauli exclusion principle. One can’t have two spins simultaneously, can one? He gave her his arm again. “Let’s go on to Central Control,” he proposed. “That’s right behind the people section.”
    â€œYou know, I can’t get over it,” she told him softly. “This miracle you’ve wrought. I’ve never been more proud of being human.”
    â€œIs this your first long space trip?”
    â€œYes. I was stationed at Port Colorado before the new Administration reshuffled armed service assignments.”
    â€œThey did? How come?”
    â€œI don’t know. Well, that is, during the election campaign the Social Justice party did talk a lot about oldline officers who were too hidebound to carry out modern policies effectively. But it sounded rather silly to me.”
    Warburton compressed his lips. “I do not believe it is proper for service officers to discuss political issues publicly,” he said like a machine gun.
    Ellen flushed. “S-sorry, Commander.”
    Blades felt a helpless anger on her account. He wasn’t sure why. What was she to him? He’d probably never see her again. A hell of an attractive target, to be sure; and after so much celibacy he was highly vulnerable; but did she really matter?
    He turned his back on Warburton and his eyes on her—a 5,000 percent improvement—and diverted her from her embarrassment by asking, “Are you from Colorado, then, Miss Ziska?”
    â€œOh, no. Toronto.”
    â€œHow’d you happen to join the Navy, if I may make so bold?”
    â€œGosh, that’s hard to say. But I guess mostly I felt so crowded at home. So pigeonholed. The world seemed to be nothing but neat little pigeonholes.”
    â€œUh-huh. Same here. I was also a square pigeon in a round hole.” She laughed. “Luckily,” he added, “space is too big for compartments.”
    Her agreement lacked vigor. The Navy must have been a disappointment to her. But she couldn’t very well say so in front of her shipmates.
    Hm-m-m … if she could be gotten away from them.… “How long will you be here?” he inquired. His pulse thuttered.
    â€œWe haven’t been told,” she said.
    â€œSome work must be done on the missile launchers,” Warburton said. “That’s best carried out here, where extra facilities are available if we need them. Not that I expect we will.” He paused. “I hope we won’t interfere with your own operations.”
    â€œFar from it.” Blades beamed at Ellen. “Or, more accurately, this kind of interference I don’t mind in the least.”
    She blushed and her eyelids fluttered. Not that she was a fluffhead, he realized. But to avoid incidents, Navy regulations enforced an inhuman correctness between personnel of opposite sexes. After weeks in the black, meeting a man who could pay a compliment without risking court-martial must be like a shot of adrenalin. Better and better!
    â€œAre you sure?” Warburton persisted. “For instance, won’t we be in the way when the next ship comes from Jupiter?”
    â€œShe’ll approach the opposite end of the asteroid,” Blades said. “Won’t stay long, either.”
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œOne watch, so the crew can relax a bit among