Rogue Moon

Barker jerked his arms up out of the suit, grasped the edges of the torso backplate, and pulled himself up to a sitting position. “I’ll take my own shirt off, so

Hawks frowned. Barker’s grin became even more distorted with irony. He looked around him. “Well, that’s one flunk. Anybody else care to try? Maybe I should tie one hand behind my back, too?”

The ensign said uncertainly to Hawks, “It’s a quotation from a play, Doctor.” He looked at Barker, who solemnly wet a fingertip and described an X in the air.

“Score one for the NROTC graduate.”

The other men in the dressing team kept their heads down and worked.

“What kind of a play, Ensign?” Hawks asked quietly.

“I read it in my English Lit course,” the ensign said uncomfortably, flushing as Barker winked. “Merlin the Magician has made an invincible suit of armor. He intended it for Sir Galahad, but as he was making it, the needs of the magic formula forced him to fit it to Lancelot’s proportions. And even though Lancelot has been betraying King Arthur, and they’ll be fighting in the joust that day, Merlin can’t let the armor just go unused. So he calls Lancelot into his workshop, and the first thing Lancelot says when he comes in and sees the magic armor is: ‘What’s this — new artifices, Mage?’ ”

Barker gri

“I see,” Hawks said. He looked thoughtfully at Barker, then asked the ensign, “What’s Merlin’s reply?”

“’Aye. Armorings.’”

Barker’s mouth hooked upward in glee. He said to Hawks, “’Armorings? Sooth, Philosopher, you’ve come to crafting in your tremblant years? You’ve put gnarled fingers to the metal-beater’s block, and hammered on Damascus plate to mime the armiger’s employe?’”

The ensign, looking uncertainly from Hawks to Barker, quoted: “’How I have done is no concern for you Content yourself that when an eagle bends to make his nest, such nests are built as only eagles may inhabit. — Or those who have an eagle’s leave.’”

Barker cocked an eyebrow. “’And I’ve your leave, old bird?’”

“’Leave and prayer, headbreaker,’” the ensign replied to him.

“’You like me not,’” Barker said, frowning at Hawks. “’And surely Arthur’d not command you to enwrap this body’s hale and heart beyond all mortal damage. Nay, not this body — he’s not fond of my health, eh? — Well, that’s another matter. You say this armor comes from you? Then it is proof, weav’d up with your incantings? ’Tis wondrous strong? For me? As I began, you like me not — why is this, then? Who has commanded you?’”

The ensign licked his lips and looked anxiously at Hawks. “Should I go on, Doctor?”

Hawks smiled thinly at Barker. “Why, yes — let’s see how it comes out. If I like the condensation, maybe I’ll go out and buy the book.”

“Yes, sir.” The ensign’s men had not looked up. Sampson was fumbling absorbedly with the buckles of the shoulder strap.

“’My craft commands me, Knight. As yours does you, in sign that craft loves man full well as wisely as a woman will. Take it. Never has armor such as this bestrode a horse. Never so good a craftsman’s eye has measured out its joinings, or wrought so tenderly. Never have maker’s eyes so earnestly conjoined with artificer’s hands and engine-shaper’s mind, as were met here to borrow from your thews that motive force which, in the sum, will take all glory. Take it — be damned to you! — take it, you that have overmastered more than is your measure, and seek to overmaster morel’”

“’There’s a jealousy in you, old man,’” Barker said.

“’You know not what of!’”

“’You know, then, so surely, the things my silent mind wots? Be not so proud, Magician. ’Tis as you say — I, too, know what it is to be of craft. And I’ve my pride, as well as you have yours. Will it entail me glory, do you think, to take with your gift what I well might giffless gain?’”

“’You must!’ “

“’Or where’s your mageing? Aye — and what’s my craft, to ware itself of yours? Take it I shall, though I misdoubt myself. You warrant it for proof? It will not fail, upon some field, against some lance unknown to your devising?’”

“’An it shall fall, then fail I with you, Knight.’”

Barker impatiently shrugged Sampson off and reached up to where the narrow band of leather had creased his shoulder permanently. He pulled it down and unbuckled the broad band across his stomach. “’Then fail not, Armiger,’” he whispered. “’I pray you — do not fail.’”

Hawks looked at Barker quietly for a moment. Then he wet a forefinger and described an X in the air. “Score one for the whole man,” he said. As he said it, a flash of pain crossed his face.

3

Fidanzato walked away with Barker’s leg. A technician came up to Hawks. “Your secretary’s on the phone, Ed,” he said. “Asked me to tell you it’s urgent.”

Hawks shook his head to himself. “Thanks,” he said distractedly, and went across the laboratory to an isolated wall box. He picked up the extension handset. “This is Hawks, Vivian. What is it — a call from Tom Phillips? No, it’s all right — I’ve been expecting it. I’ll take it here.” He held on, his eyes blank, waiting while the admiral’s call was switched to the laboratory. Then the diaphragm in the earpiece rattled again, and he said, “Yes, Tom. Oh, I’m all right. Yes. Hot in Washington, is it? No, not here. Just smog. Well.” He stood listening, and looking at the featureless wall before him.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Well, I rather thought the report on Rogan would have that effect. No, listen — we have a new approach. We’ve found a new man. I think he’ll work out all right. No, look — I mean a new kind of man; I think we’ve got a good chance with him. No, no — listen, why don’t you look up his record? Al Barker. Yes. Barker. There should be an Army 201 file from the Office of Strategic Services records. And an FBI security clearance. Yes. You see, the thing is, he’s a completely different kind of organism from a nice, decent kid like Rogan. Yes, the records would show it. How about a personal interview, if you need it for a convincer with the Committee? No, I know they’re upset about Rogan and the others, but maybe if you—”

His unoccupied left hand plucked blindly and persistently at one of the buttons of his smock.

“No, Tom — think. Think, now — Look, if this was just one more volunteer, what purpose would I think I was serving? No, he is different. Look, if you — All right, if there isn’t time, there isn’t time. When are they going to meet again? Well, it seems to me there’s plenty of flying time between now and day after tomorrow. You could come out here and—”

He shook his head at the wall and put the flat of his palm up against it. “All right. I know you’re a busy man. All right, then, if you’re on my side and you don’t need to fly out here because you trust me, why don’t you trust me? I mean, if I think the next shot’ll make it, why can’t you take my word for it?”

He listened, and said peevishly: “Well, damn it, if the Committee won’t make an official decision until day after tomorrow, why can’t I go ahead until then? I’ll have a successful shot on my record by then, we’ll be rolling with this thing, we’ll — Look — do you think I’d waste my own time if I didn’t think this man could do it?”

He sighed, and said huskily, “Look, if I could guarantee what the results were going to be, I wouldn’t need a research program! Let’s try and do this thing step by step, if we’re going to do it at all!”

He rubbed his hand over his face, pressing heavily against it. “O.K., we’re back to the same thing — what’s the good of arguing? You’ll give me money, rank, equipment, and everything, because it’s me, but the first time it comes down to taking my word for something, nobody out there can get out of his half-assed panic long enough to think who they’re dealing with. You think I’m doing all this by guesswork?”