right foot ended at the ankle in a swath of bandages and dried blood. His voice was so even it shocked him.

"What happened?" he asked the old Matai, who had been watching him carefully. He was aware the question lacked brilliance, but at the moment he didn't feel very witty.

"He did not take you, Sea-Doctor Poplar. Perhaps so close to the surface, the sun blinded it at the last moment. Perhaps He lost you against the bottom of the boat."

"You don't believe any of that," said Poplar accusingly. He searched for pain but there wasn't any. Someone had made use of the Vatat1^ medical kit.

"No, Dr. Poplar, not really. Tangaroa knows why."

Poplar thought of something, started laughing. Elaine looked at him in alarm, but he quickly rea.s.sured her.

"No. I'm still sane, I think, 'Laine. It just occurred to me that I can't go stalking around the office like Ahab himself, with only a lousy foot taken. What a cruddy break."

"Don't joke about it," she blubbered, then managed a weak smile. "It will ruin your rhythm at the wedding."

He laughed, too, then slammed a fist against the deck. "We're going back to Tutuila. I'm going to get a ship from the Navy base, somehow, and harpoons. We'll come back here and ..."

"Poplar," began Ha'apu quietly, "no one will believe you. Your Navy people will laugh at you and make jokes."

"Well, then I'll get the funds to hire a bigger ship, someway. One big enough to haul that thing back on. My G.o.d, one day I'll see it stuffed and mounted in the Smithsonian!"

"They'll have to build a special wing," Elaine grinned tightly.

"Yeah. And don't you go putting out any fishing 162.

He lines on the way back, you hear? I don't want to lose you on the trip in."

"How about after we get back?" she replied, staring at him.

He looked at her evenly. "Not then, either. Not ever. Hey, you know something? I'm famished."

"You've been unconscious for five hours," she told him. "I'll fix you something." She rose, moved below decks.

"And now you are as I, Doctor, for you have gazed upon Him. He has changed you, and you are no longer yourself as before, and He has taken a piece of your soul."

"Listen, Ha'apu, I don't want to offend you by attacking your religion, but that was just a fish, that's all. A monstrous big fish, but no more. I'm the same sea-doctor, and you're the same Matai, and we're just lucky all I lost was a few toes and such. Understand?"

"Of course, Dr. Poplar." Ha'apu turned, went up to the bridge.

Changed indeed! He crawled over to the low railing near the stern, looked down into the waters. Small fish swam down there, magnified and distorted by the sea. He shivered just a little.

He would have married Elaine anyway, of course. And if she'd been threatened by anything, he'd have stepped in to defend her, wouldn't he? Ha'apu fired the engines and the Vatai started to move.

Well, wouldn't he?

Maybe He knew.

163.

Polonaise This was written for a volume of alternate-history stories, the "What if the South had won the Civil War?" type. I went back a bit further than that, to a period of European history little studied in this country. It all came out of my liking for a writer named Henryk Sienkewicz -and I don't mean his Quo Vadis? I'm talking about his other books, the good stuff.

Henryk who? Among other things, he won the n.o.bel Prize for literature in 1905. And his obscurity is one reason I chose the alternate history I did. Another is the fact that it could have happened.

Then we wouldn't have been stuck with all these American jokes.

"It's a very delicate situation, Michael, very delicate. We cannot afford an incident now, yet if we treat this too seriously it will invite unwanted attention. It all happened so fast. Quite ridiculous, when you view it from a distance."

Framed against the imposing panorama of sun- 164.

Polonaise steamed fog as seen through the ma.s.sive two-story window, the old man looked terribly tiny and fragile. Now and then a gull or two would sail past the twentieth-floor overlook and gift the men with a peek of sorrowful curiosity.

Beyond, solidifying now as the morning mists burned off the Baltic coast, was the long low spit of land known as the Hel Peninsula. Running parallel to the nothern sh.o.r.e of the Imperial Republic, it formed a surprisingly resistant barrier to the sea.

The flotilla of sightseeing boats was still growing. Like hovering bees they huddled together in anch.o.r.ed expectancy of the launch. Tall dark shapes were taking form off their bows, way down the peninsula. Vertical piers cradling a very different kind of vessel.

Michael Yan surveyed the scene visible on either side of the administrator and shook his head.

The Poles were a gentle people. If any of the boosters misfired, there would be a chance of serious injury to the growing mob of spectators, and considerable national hand-wringing would ensue. It was typical of the King that he'd agonized for days over whether or not to permit outsiders a good view of the launch. And equally typical that he'd given in.

"Can you at least tell me who he is?"

Administrator Longin ran a hand over his white crewcut, fingered the scar over his broken nose where he'd slammed into the computer console on the fourth moon-flight, and turned to face Michael.

"Not he, she. She planned it all very carefully." He nodded appreciatively. "She went straight to the American Emba.s.sy and then got in touch with us. Basically, she threatened to release the taped information she stole unless we agree to call off the shot and admit on-site inspectors to all subsequent multiple launchings."

"That's all? Look, why not let her go ahead and blab to the press? What harm can it do? What can she know? So we plan to launch six ships simultane- 165.

ously to celebrate the King's birthday. So what?" Longin was shaking his head dolefully.

"It's not as simple as that, Michael. The release of the tapes we could absorb. The problem is that she's convinced we've an ulterior motive concealed in the launch. She should know if we do." Michael's smile disappeared.

"Why is that?"

"She works .. . worked ... in your department."

"My . . . ?" He stopped, then continued guardedly, "What does she think is this 'ulterior reason' behind the shot?"

Longin sat down behind his desk. "She is quite convinced from her inside knowledge of material being loaded on board some of the ships, that we are planning to establish a permanent military base on Mars and claim the whole planet for the Republic."

Michael's grim smile turned to a look of honest bafflement. "That's the most nonsensical thing I ever heard. Doesn't she know the Imperial Edicts forbid acquisition of territory except by vote of independent peoples? You say she works in my department. I can't imagine what might motivate any of my people to jeopardize the King's birthday."

"Not citizens, no. But you have a number of exchange students working for you, do you not?"

"As part of our policy of sharing s.p.a.ce science, yes."

"Any Americans?"

"The Americans, the Americans!" Michael threw up his hands. "That's all you hear about, the American threat! Just because their newspaper columnists-"

"Do you know those who have access to restricted files?" pressed Longin softly.

"Oh, John Huxley, Marshall McGregor, and Dana Canning . . ." He paused, considered a moment. "You said 'she'? No, that's crazy, Henryk."

"Not as crazy as this situation we suddenly find ourselves in. I just finished talking to the American amba.s.sador. Her premise is absolutely mad, as we 166.

Polonaise know, but she's thrown enough real facts at him to get him unsettled. And we cannot do with prying this close to lift-off."

"No, of course not." Michael considered. "You don't really think the Americans would actually try and stop the launch?" Longin leaned back in his chair and gave an expressive shrug.

"Who knows?" His face was sad. "Americans are capable of anything-all that misdirected drive. They're even crazier than the French."

"You'd think we'd never helped them win then- independence from England," Michael added ruefully.

Longin nodded. "They never forgave us for that. Charity's never appreciated as much as it's resented. They're suspicious of us because they don't understand us."

"You'd think they'd worry more about the Russian Federalists."

"They might," Longin agreed, "if the Russians ever get strong enough. But we worry them more. According to their philosophy, our government should have collapsed a hundred years ago." He sighed.

"Their amba.s.sador pretends to understand, but of course he doesn't. I tried to explain to him. 'You elect a President/ I said, 'and we elect a King.' And he counters, 'But how can you give absolute power to a new person every five years?' I asked him the same question and of course he gave me that cow-eyed pitying look they all do whenever the subject comes up. Insists the American President doesn't have anywhere near the same kind of power. So I list historical examples for him and he gets all huffy and self-righteous.

"But he can cause real trouble. So that's why you've got to go over there and convince that girl she's got her tape systems crossed. So much planning has gone into this birthday present for the King-too much for the ravings of some neurotic adolescent to ruin it. We could take less orthodox steps to quiet her, but-well, you know that's just not our style. If we did that we'd be exactly the kind of folk she seems to think we are."

167.

Yan spread his hands. "Mars colonization! Honestly! But why me, sir? Why not someone from the Defense Ministry?"

"You know her, Michael. As a friend. None of her tirades included you. We know, we taped them. Either she doesn't believe you're involved, which is unlikely, or else she has a desire not to implicate you, which is better."

"Look, sir . . ." Michael squirmed uncomfortably.

*Tm an engineer. I have a fiancee, and I'm just not going to try and seduce some misguided teenager."

"We're not asking you to be nearly so melodramatic about this, Michael. Of course," the administrator murmured, "if you should happen to find the situation developing along apolitical lines, it wouldn't be..."

"All right, all right! I'll talk to her. For the project, mind. And for the King, of course."

"Naturally."

"How am I supposed to convince her the launch has nothing to do with Mars? I can't show her secret files."

"No, you can't. You must convince her that the Imperial Republic of Poland has embarked on the exploration of s.p.a.ce for the good of all mankind and nothing more, and that we have no intention of deviating from that principle with this launch. Our very strength renders this unnecessary. Just show her the truth, Michael -in a circ.u.mspect fashion, of course.

"Consider yourself fortunate. You have only a slightly hysterical young lady to convince, while I am forced to contend with high-pressure Hartford and his horde of foggy-headed foggy bottoms. I'd trade with you anytime."

Michael sighed. "Where do I meet her, and when?" "We'll set up something on the grounds of the American Emba.s.sy." Longin's expression took on overtones of disgust. "She's convinced if she leaves it she'll be cut down in the streets. Does she think Warsaw is Chicago?"

168.

Polonaise As arranged, she was waiting for him by the j.a.panese pool in the Emba.s.sy garden. The bull-necked Marine at the gate eyed him hostilely, but pa.s.sed him through. As requested, there was no one with her.

No doubt she was bugged from head to foot, while he was probably walking under the gaze of half a dozen sharpshooters. His neck itched. This wasn't his line at all.

Michael was less concerned with the bugs, since he packed enough antibugging equipment inside his jacket to electronically fumigate a skysc.r.a.per. Hopefully their would-be listeners wouldn't interfere, trusting in Dana to report to them later.

She was small, blonde, pretty, quiet: the last woman in the world he would have selected as a self-appointed martyr.

"h.e.l.lo Dana," he said gently, "Mr. Yan?" Not Michael, as in the office, but mister.

There was defiance in her voice, in her eyes, in her stance. He didn't know this girl at all. Longin had been wrong.

She was daring him. All right. Her Polish was better than his English, despite her odd accent. She was from Georgia. He remembered because he was always confusing it with Russian Georgia.

He gestured at the bridge leading over the pond and they started off toward it. The ripples on the surface were reflected in the surrounding gla.s.s walls of the Emba.s.sy buildings. How the Americans loved their gla.s.s!

"Dana, I love you." She stumbled and her expression changed drastically. At least he'd put her off her guard.

"You've got a funny sense of humor, Mr. Yan."

"Michael, please. I'm not old enough to be called 'mister.'"

"Michael, if you will. I don't believe-No, wait a minute." She smiled sardonically. "Of course you love 169.

me. You also love Maricella, Jean, Don-anna and all the other girls in the office. You love everybody."

"Yes, that's right. And everyone thinks we Poles are crazy because we love everybody. It causes us jo much trouble."

"You didn't love the Germans," she reminded him. He shrugged.

"What were we supposed to do? n.o.body else seemed ready to stand up to the maniac. Fortunately, the Germans declared war on us first. You didn't have to fight anybody. Why complain? We hated it. War isn't our style."

She looked at him challengingry, but with a little less belligerence, he thought. "You make such a big deal out of it. He was just another petty despot."

Just another petty despot! Michael shuddered. He'd read the madman's book. It was fortunate King Yampolsky XIX had recognized the danger and mobilized the armed forces early. The French, English, Americans, and others showed no inclination to fight, despite the madman's avowed intentions.

Six long months of war. But the madman had been killed and a form of democratic monarchism patterned on the Republic had been established in Germany, with that popular war hero-what was his name?-oh yes, Goering, elected first King. Germany had been well-behaved ever since.

It was the establishment of the Polish form of government hi Germany that really irked the Americans, though. But the Germans had had all examples to choose from and had chosen the best.

"Dana, this tantrum of yours is understandable, I suppose. An outsider could read all sorts of things into those loading specifications. But it's not true, about Mars."

"Is."

Spoiled child. Typical adolescent American messiah complex. He stared hard at her and tried to sound solemn.