Colonization_ Aftershocks Part 26

Things got better as the train picked up speed, but they never got very good. As far as Liu Han could tell, not very good not very good was about as good as rail travel ever got in China. was about as good as rail travel ever got in China.

And then, less then half an hour later, the train slowed to a stop again, not at a station but in the middle of the countryside. "Now what?" a woman behind Liu Han demanded indignantly.

"Have we broken down?" Three or four people asked the same question at the same time.

"Of course we've broken down," Liu Han murmured to Liu Mei. "The little scaly devils don't care whether trains work well, or even if they work at all, so they don't bother keeping them up."

But, for once, this wasn't something she could blame on the scaly devils. A conductor poked his head into the car and shouted, "We can't go on because bandits have blown up the tracks ahead of us. We are going to be here for a while. We may have to go back and find a way around the damage."

That set people yelling and screaming at him and at one another. He just kept repeating what he'd said the first time. Most of the unhappy pa.s.sengers cursed the bandits up one side and down the other. People would curse anything that made them late.

Liu Mei asked, "Do you suppose the People's Liberation Army sabotaged the track?"

"It could be," Liu Han said. "Not everyone will have known we were on this train. But it could have been the Kuomintang, too. No way to tell."

The sun beat down on the car. Because it was standing still, it got hotter and hotter. People started opening more windows. Some wouldn't open at all. People started breaking them. That brought in an angry conductor, but he had to flee in the face of the pa.s.sengers' wrath.

"Whoever it was probably wanted to make the train derail," Liu Han said. "That would really have done damage."

It would have done damage to us, she thought. Derailing trains was a favorite game of the People's Liberation Army, and of the Kuomintang as well. It taught people that the rule of the little scaly devils remained insecure. It also caused a lot of casualties. She and Liu Mei could have been among them as easily as not. she thought. Derailing trains was a favorite game of the People's Liberation Army, and of the Kuomintang as well. It taught people that the rule of the little scaly devils remained insecure. It also caused a lot of casualties. She and Liu Mei could have been among them as easily as not.

And, of course, a machine-gun crew might have been waiting to shoot up the train once it derailed, Liu Han thought. That was another game both the People's Liberation Army and the Kuomintang played. So did independent bandit outfits, who kept themselves in business by robbery. But no one started shooting here. Liu Han thought. That was another game both the People's Liberation Army and the Kuomintang played. So did independent bandit outfits, who kept themselves in business by robbery. But no one started shooting here.

After what seemed like forever, the train began to inch backwards. Because it was going in reverse, the smoke from the engine's stack blew away from the pa.s.senger cars, not into them. The breeze the slow motion stirred up wasn't very strong, but it was ever so much better than nothing. Sweat began to dry on Liu Han's face. She took off her conical straw hat and fanned herself with it. People all over the car were doing the same thing. They started smiling at one another. A couple of babies and a couple of dogs stopped howling. It was as pleasant a time on a train as Liu Han had ever known.

The train rolled back over a switch. Then it stopped, presumably so a couple of men from the engine could get down and use crowbars to shift the switch and let the train go down the other track. After that, the train started going forward again, and swung onto the route it hadn't used before.

With the exhaust now blowing back once more, the car filled with coal smoke. Since the pa.s.sengers had broken a good many windows, they couldn't do anything about it. The conductor laughed at them. "You see, you stupid turtles? It's your own fault," he said. Somebody threw a squishy plum at him, and hit him right in the face. Juice dribbled down the bra.s.s-b.u.t.toned front of his uniform. He let out a horrified squawk and retreated in disorder. Everyone cheered.

But then somebody not far from Liu Han said, "Since we're going up a track we're not supposed to, I hope there's no train coming down it toward us."

That produced exclamations of horror. "Eee!" "Eee!" Liu Han said. "May ten thousand little demons dance in your drawers for even thinking such a thing." Liu Han said. "May ten thousand little demons dance in your drawers for even thinking such a thing."

No train slammed head-on into theirs. No stretch of tracks on the new line had been blown up. Thoroughgoing guerrillas often did such things, which caused more than double the delay and aggravation of a single strike. On the receiving end for once, Liu Han was glad these raiders hadn't been thorough.

Her train was scheduled to get into Peking in the early evening. Even at the best of times, even under the little devils, railroad schedules in China were more optimistic guesses than statements of fact. When things went wrong... Trying to sleep sitting up on a hard seat, with the air full of smoke and other stinks and noise, was a daunting prospect. Liu Han thought she dozed a little, but she wasn't sure.

She was sure she watched the sun rise over the farmlands to the east a couple of hours before the train did at last roll into the railroad yard in the southwestern part of Peking. It took more time crawling up to the station itself. Liu Han minded that less. It let her look around the city.

Liu Mei was doing the same thing. "We fought them hard. We fought them with everything we had," she said, and pride rang in her voice.

"So we did," Liu Han agreed. Wrecked buildings outnumbered those still intact. Laborers carrying buckets on shoulder poles were everywhere, hauling away rubble. Liu Han sighed. "Fighting hard is important, but only up to a point. More important, even so much more important, is winning."

The little scaly devils had won this fight, and taken Peking back for their own. Liu Han found fresh proof of that at the station. Along with the other pa.s.sengers, she and her daughter had to walk through a machine that could tell if they were carrying weapons. They weren't, and had no trouble. Someone else in the car was. Chinese police, running dogs to the imperialist scaly devils, hustled him away. Liu Han and Liu Mei walked out of the station and into the city. "Home," Liu Mei said, and Liu Han had to nod.

.10.

Though Atvar had promised him his freedom, Straha found himself more nearly a prisoner in Cairo than he had been in Los Angeles. "Is this how you reward me?" he asked one of his interrogators, a female named Zeshpa.s.s. "I hoped to return to the society of the Race, not to be closed off from it forever."

"And so you will, superior sir," Zeshpa.s.s said soothingly. But Straha was not soothed. Back in the USA, even the Big Uglies who exploited him had called him Shiplord. Shiplord. Whatever he was here, he wasn't a shiplord, and he never would be again. Zeshpa.s.s went on, "As soon as the crisis is resolved, a final disposition of your situation will be made." Whatever he was here, he wasn't a shiplord, and he never would be again. Zeshpa.s.s went on, "As soon as the crisis is resolved, a final disposition of your situation will be made."

That sounded soothing, too-till Straha turned an eye turret toward it. "What did you just say?" he demanded. "Whatever it was, it did not mean anything."

"Of course it did." Zeshpa.s.s sounded irate. Like any interrogator, she took her own omniscience for granted, and resented it when others failed to do likewise.

"All right, then," Straha said. "Suppose you explain to me why my case cannot be disposed of now."

Most reluctantly, the female said, "I do not have that information."

Straha laughed at her. "I do. Atvar has not yet figured out what to do with me because he has not yet decided whether I am a hero or a nuisance or both at once. My opinion is that I am both at once, which is bound to make me more annoying to the exalted fleetlord." As he was in the habit of doing, he laced Atvar's t.i.tle with as much scorn as he could.

Her voice stiff with disapproval, Zeshpa.s.s said, "It is not for me to judge the exalted fleetlord's reasons. It is not for you, either."

"And if no one judges him, how will anyone know when he makes a mistake?" Straha inquired. "He has made enough of them already, in my not so humble opinion. How is he to be held accountable for them?"

"Held accountable? He is the fleetlord." Zeshpa.s.s sounded as if Straha had suddenly started speaking English rather than the language of the Race.

Plainly, the idea that the fleetlord, like any other mortal, needed to be questioned and criticized when he made a mistake had never crossed her mind.

Do you know what has happened to you? Straha asked himself. And he did know. Straha asked himself. And he did know. You have become a snoutcounter, at least in part. Living among the American Big Uglies for so long has rubbed off on you. You have become a snoutcounter, at least in part. Living among the American Big Uglies for so long has rubbed off on you.

Of course, he'd had a low opinion of Atvar's abilities even before fleeing to the United States. If he hadn't had a low opinion of Atvar's ability, if he hadn't tried to take command himself, he wouldn't have had to flee to the USA. But years spent in a land that inst.i.tutionalized snoutcounting and made it work had left him even less respectful of the Race's inst.i.tutions than he'd expected. We We are are a stodgy lot, a stodgy lot, he thought discontentedly. he thought discontentedly.

"He may be the fleetlord," Straha said aloud, "but he is not the Emperor."

"That is a truth," Zeshpa.s.s admitted, casting down her eye turrets. Straha had to remind himself to do the same thing. He hadn't realized how far his habits had slipped in exile till he returned to the society of the Race. Zeshpa.s.s continued, "In fact, Reffet, the fleetlord of the colonization fleet, has had frequent disagreements with Fleetlord Atvar."

"I believe that." Straha's voice was dry. As far as he was concerned, anyone who didn't disagree with Atvar had to have something wrong with him. "What sort of things have they disagreed about? Do you happen to know?"

Given the chance to gossip, Zeshpa.s.s didn't notice she'd gone from interrogator to interrogated. "I certainly do," she said. "If you can imagine it, Atvar has proposed to levy soldiers from among the males and females of the colonization fleet, to create what would be in effect a permanent Soldiers' Time on Tosev 3."

"Has he?" Straha said. That struck him as only common sense. Even Atvar, however much the returned renegade hated to admit it, wasn't stupid all the time. He sounded even more thoughtful as he asked, "And Reffet disapproves of this?"

"Of course he does," Zeshpa.s.s answered. "We came here to colonize this world, not to fight over it."

"I understand that," Straha said. "But if the Big Uglies continue to be ready to fight against us, what shall we do once the males of the conquest fleet begin to grow old and die?"

That plainly hadn't occurred to Zeshpa.s.s. After some thought, she said, "I suppose we shall have to finish the conquest before that happens. This hatching conflict with the United States gives us the opportunity to take a long stride in that direction."

"Truth-but only to a point," Straha said. "Even in lands we have supposedly conquered, rebellion continues. That must be one of the reasons you refuse to allow me to go out into Cairo and see for myself what sort of society the Race is building."

"You have also spoken truth, superior sir-but only to a point," Zeshpa.s.s replied. "The Big Uglies under our rule get arms and encouragement from the independent Tosevite not-empires. If there were no more independent not-empires, how could they continue the struggle against us?"

It was a good question. Straha could not answer it, not at once. After some thought of his own, he replied, "That is a possibility, I suppose. But, given what we of the conquest fleet have seen of Tosevite stubbornness and perversity, I believe it is folly to a.s.sume all resistance will die within a generation."

"We shall consider your opinions, of course," Zeshpa.s.s said. "But we are under no obligation to do anything more than consider them."

"I understand that." Straha sighed. "By my own actions, I made certain I would never again help form the Race's policy here on Tosev 3." He sounded resigned, even humble. He didn't feel humble, or anything close to it. He remained convinced he could have done a better job with the conquest fleet than Atvar had. And if Reffet couldn't see the need for soldiers from the colonization fleet, he was just another male with fancy body paint and with sand between his eye turrets.

Straha crossed the first and second fingers of his right hand, a gesture American Big Uglies sometimes used when they said something they didn't mean. That gesture meant nothing to Zeshpa.s.s, of course. To Zeshpa.s.s, Big Uglies were nuisances, annoyances, no more. Despite the war with the Deutsche, she didn't fully seem to grasp how dangerous they could be and, therefore, how important they were to study.

That gesture also summarized Straha's feelings about his return to the Race. The meeker and milder he seemed, the sooner his interrogators and those who did lead the Race these days would let him get on with his life. So he hoped, anyhow.

But Zeshpa.s.s, though naive about Tosevites, was by no means foolish about matters that had to do with the Race. She said, "When you delivered your information, superior sir, that act helped form our policy."

"I suppose it did," Straha admitted, "but that was not why I did it. As I have said before, I did it because my friend, Sam Yeager, had asked me to do it."

"Friendship with a Big Ugly counting for more than policy concerns of the Race?" Zeshpa.s.s said. "Surely your priorities became distorted during your long years of exile."

"I disagree." Straha used the negative gesture and added an emphatic cough. "Sam Yeager did a great deal for me while I was in exile. The actions of the leadership of the Race were what drove me into exile. Naturally, Yeager's wishes and his wellbeing were and are important to me."

"I shall make a note of that," Zeshpa.s.s said, with the air of a magistrate pa.s.sing sentence on a criminal. Straha realized he'd been too vehement, too outspoken, too opinionated. So much for meek and mild, So much for meek and mild, he thought. Now more like a hunting beast than a confidante, Zeshpa.s.s returned to the questioning: "So you believe it was legitimate for you to hatch friendships among the Big Uglies?" he thought. Now more like a hunting beast than a confidante, Zeshpa.s.s returned to the questioning: "So you believe it was legitimate for you to hatch friendships among the Big Uglies?"

"Yes, I do," Straha answered. Of course I do, you addled egg. Of course I do, you addled egg. "After all, I believed I would live among them the rest of my life." Maybe he could steer his way back toward meek and mild after all. "After all, I believed I would live among them the rest of my life." Maybe he could steer his way back toward meek and mild after all.

Zeshpa.s.s wasn't about to make things easy for him. Voice sharp as filed fingerclaws, she demanded, "It was for this reason, then, that you put your individual concerns and the concerns of this Big Ugly friend of yours above those of the Race as a whole?"

"The species of my friend is not relevant," Straha said, pushing her away from the major accusation and toward something smaller. "Rabotevs and Hallessi are citizens of the Empire, no less than males and females of the Race. If the conquest here succeeds in the end, the same will be true of Big Uglies."

"That may well be a truth." Zeshpa.s.s admitted what she plainly would sooner have denied. She had to admit it; equality of species under the law and in the afterlife was a cornerstone of the Empire. She tried to rally: "You said nothing, I notice, about your rampant and unwarranted individualism."

There was the dangerous charge, especially from the viewpoint of members of the colonization fleet. Straha said, "Have you noticed that the males of the conquest fleet show more individualism than would have been common back on Home?"

"I have," Zeshpa.s.s answered. "Everyone from the colonization fleet has noticed this. No one from the colonization fleet approves. Our view is that the males of the colonization fleet have been contaminated by the bizarre ideologies of the Tosevites."

"We have done what we needed to do to survive and flourish on a world of individualism run wild," Straha said. "That is the Race's view, of course. To the Big Uglies, we are hopeless reactionaries."

"I do not see why the views of the local barbarians should carry any special weight," Zeshpa.s.s said primly.

"Do you not?" Straha said. "I would think the answer fairly obvious, and shown by the recent war with the Deutsche if it was not adequately obvious without that demonstration. What the Big Uglies think about us matters because they can hurt us. They can hurt us badly. Why do you have so much trouble believing that?"

Zeshpa.s.s said, "This is not the way things were to be when we got to Tosev 3. This is not the way we were told things would be when we got to Tosev 3."

"But this is the way things are," Straha said. "If you cannot see that, if you cannot adapt to that, the colonization effort will face severe difficulties."

"We are the Race," Zeshpa.s.s said. "We shall prevail. We have always prevailed. We can do it again."

"We can, certainly," Straha agreed. "Whether or not we shall... that is a different question. If we act as if our triumph is guaranteed, that only makes it more difficult. The Tosevites present the most severe challenge we have ever faced. Turning our eye turrets away from that challenge, acting as if it does not exist, will make things worse, not better. You may be sure the American Big Uglies, whom I know best, do not believe their triumph is guaranteed. As a result, they work unceasingly to subvert us."

"Working is one thing. Succeeding is another," Zeshpa.s.s said. "I submit to you, superior sir, that your view of these matters is colored by your having lived among the American Tosevites for so long."

"And I submit to you that your view is colored by not having lived among any Big Uglies, and by your ignorance of them," Straha retorted.

They glared at each other in perfect mutual loathing. "Time will tell which of us is correct," Zeshpa.s.s said, and Straha made the affirmative gesture.

It was some time after midnight when the guard named Fred shook Sam Yeager awake. "Come on, pal," he said when Yeager showed signs of returning to the real world. "You sleep like a rock. Shows you've got a clean conscience. I wish to G.o.d I did, believe me."

Sam yawned and rubbed his eyes. Around the yawn, he asked, "What's going on that won't keep till morning?" He sounded mushy without his false teeth.

"Somebody wants to see you," Fred answered. "Come on."

"Yeah?" Yeager tensed, wishing he hadn't made that sound quite so dubious. Who'd want to see him in the middle of the night? Were the guards waking him up so they could dispose of him more conveniently?

Fred might have read his mind. "Don't do anything stupid, Yeager," he said, and his .45 appeared as if by magic in his right hand. "If I wanted to ice you, I could blow your brains out without bothering to wake you up, right? No fuss, no muss, no bother. But I wasn't blowing smoke up your a.s.s. Somebody wants to see you, and he's waiting in the living room."

Yeager sniffed. The odor of fresh-perked coffee wafted in from the kitchen. As much as Fred's words, that convinced him the guard was telling the truth. He put in his dentures and slid out of bed, asking, "Who is it? And can I get out of my pajamas first?"

"Don't bother about the PJ's," Fred answered. "As for who, come on out front and see for yourself."

"Okay." Sam sighed. Whoever was out there would be in a uniform, or maybe a business suit. Facing him in blue-and-white striped cotton pajamas would only put Yeager at a disadvantage. Well, he was at a big enough disadvantage already. His feet slid into slippers. "Let's go."

"Attaboy." Fred made the pistol vanish as smoothly as he'd brought it out.

Up the hall Yeager went. When he walked into the living room, he wasn't surprised to see John and Charlie already there. With them stood another couple of men he hadn't seen before. They wore nearly identical off-the-rack suits, and they both looked jumpy and alert despite the hour. Sam noticed that much about them, but nothing more, for his eyes went to the man in the rocking chair by the far wall. Despite pajamas, he wanted to come to attention. He didn't, not quite. Instead, he nodded and spoke as casually as he could: "h.e.l.lo, Mr. President."

Earl Warren returned the nod. "h.e.l.lo, Lieutenant Colonel Yeager," he replied. "Officially, I'll have you know, this conversation is not taking place. Officially, I'm somewhere else-you don't need to know where-and sound asleep. I wish I were." He glanced over to one of the strangers in a suit. "Elliott, why don't you get Yeager here a cup of coffee? I expect he could use one. I know I'm glad to have mine."

"Sure," said the Secret Service man-or so Sam a.s.sumed him to be. "You take cream and sugar, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Both, please. About a teaspoon of sugar," Yeager answered, for all the world as if this were an utterly normal conversation. Elliott went off to the kitchen.

"Sit down, Lieutenant Colonel, if you please," President Warren said, and Sam saw that all the guards had left the armchair across the room from the rocker for him. The only reason they were there was to make sure he didn't strangle the president. He'd asked to see Warren not really expecting anyone would pay any attention to him, but now Warren was here.

Elliott brought him the coffee. Not a drop had slopped from cup into saucer; the Secret Service man had steady hands. "Thanks," Sam told him, and got a curt nod in return. He sipped the coffee. It was hot and strong and good.

President Warren let him drink about a third of the cup, then said, "Shall we get down to bra.s.s tacks?"

"Okay by me." Yeager pointed to Fred and Charlie and John. "But these fellows have said they don't want to know why they've been keeping me here. Should they listen in?"

His guards and the Secret Service men put their heads together. Then, to his surprise, the fellows who'd ridden herd on him trooped out of the living room and out of the house; he heard the door close behind them. President Warren said, "I think Jim and Elliott should be able to keep me safe." Yeager nodded; they were bound to be armed. Even if they weren't, either one of them could have broken him in half. With a sigh, the president asked, "Well, Lieutenant Colonel, what's on your mind?"

Sam took another sip of coffee before answering. He took a deep breath, too. Now that he had to bring them out, the words wanted to stick in his throat. He wished the coffee were fortified with something stronger than cream and sugar. But he said what he had to say: "Sir, why did you order the attack on the colonization fleet?"

Both Secret Service men started. Elliott muttered something under his breath. He and the one named Jim stared at the president. Earl Warren sighed again. "The cla.s.sic answer is, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And it did did seem like a good idea. It was the hardest blow humans have even struck against the Race, and the Lizards never really suspected the United States. No one did-except you, Lieutenant Colonel. Are you happy to realize that, by being right, you may have brought your country down in flames?" seem like a good idea. It was the hardest blow humans have even struck against the Race, and the Lizards never really suspected the United States. No one did-except you, Lieutenant Colonel. Are you happy to realize that, by being right, you may have brought your country down in flames?"

That made Sam take another deep, anything but happy breath. "Mr. President, I decided a long time ago that whoever launched missiles at the colonization fleet was a murderer," he answered. "I swear to G.o.d, I thought it was the n.a.z.is or the Reds. I never imagined the trail would lead back to us."