Colonization_ Aftershocks Part 45

"Yes, sir," Johnson answered. "He's the fellow who pretty much wrote the book on the Lizards, isn't he?"

"That's the man." Brigadier General Healey nodded. He leaned forward and glowered at Johnson. "Did you ever meet him?"

"No, sir," Johnson answered. "What's this about, if you don't mind my asking?"

His own b.u.mp of curiosity itched. He'd never met Yeager, no, but he'd spoken with him on the phone. Yeager was another loose cannon, a man with a yen to know. Johnson had sometimes wondered if the Lizard expert had tried finding out who'd attacked the ships of the colonization fleet. He said zero, zip, zilch about that to Healey.

"That man is a troublemaker," the commandant said. "You're a troublemaker, too. Birds of a feather, if you know what I mean."

"Sir, that's not birds of a feather," Johnson said. "That's a wild-goose chase."

"Is it?" Healey said. "I wonder. What would you have done, Lieutenant Colonel, if you'd found out that we were the ones who'd attacked the Lizards' colonization fleet?"

"I can't tell you, sir, because I really don't know," Johnson replied.

"That's the wrong answer," Brigadier General Healey growled, spearing him with the perpetually angry gaze. "The right answer is, 'Sir, I wouldn't have said a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing, not till h.e.l.l froze over.' "

"What if I'd found out the Russians or the Germans did it, sir?" Johnson asked. "Wouldn't I sing out then?"

"That's different," the commandant said. Before Johnson could ask how it was different, Healey spelled it out: "That's them. This is us. Whoever spilled the beans to the Race has got Indianapolis' blood on his hands, and President Warren's blood, too. If I knew who it was..." He'd been out in weightlessness a long time. He could probably never go back to gravity again. If he could, he would without a doubt be permanently weakened. Somehow, none of that seemed to matter much. If he caught the bean-spiller, he would would do horrible things to him. do horrible things to him.

"Sir..." Johnson said slowly, "are you telling me you think this Yeager was the one who told the Lizards we'd done it?" That fit in with his own speculations unpleasantly well. And Healey had access to a lot more secret information than he did.

"I don't know, "the commandant answered, his voice a furious, frustrated rumble. "I just don't know, G.o.ddammit. n.o.body knows-or if anybody does, he's not talking. But plenty of people want to find out-you can bet your bottom dollar on that. Yeager's a loose cannon. I know that for a fact. He was trying to find out about this place, for instance. I know that for a fact, too."

"Was he?" Johnson knew d.a.m.n well Yeager was, or had been. He wondered if Lieutenant General Curtis LeMay had raked Yeager over the coals, too. He could hardly ask.

But he thought he got his answer anyhow, for Brigadier General Healey went on, "Whoever ran off at the mouth, he didn't just cost the president's neck, either. A lot of good officers are sitting on the sidelines now. They might have known this or that, and they kept quiet, the way they were supposed to. And what kind of thanks did they get for it? I'll tell you what," Healey said savagely. "They got the b.u.m's rush, that's what. It isn't right."

"Yes, sir," Johnson said, and then, greatly daring, "Sir, did you know anything about what was going on?"

Brigadier General Healey's face was a closed door. "You are dismissed, Lieutenant Colonel," he said, and bent to the papers secured to his desk by rubber bands.

After saluting, Johnson pushed off from the chair and glided out of the commandant's office. He was thinking hard. Healey had done his best to put him together with Sam Yeager and to get him to say he thought Yeager was the one who'd let the Lizards know the USA had attacked their starships.

Johnson shook his head. "I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll say that," he muttered. He wouldn't have said it even if he thought it true, not without certain proof he wouldn't. He knew one thing, though: he wouldn't have wanted to be in Sam Yeager's shoes, not for all the tea in China.

Sam Yeager brushed his wife's lips with his own and headed for the door. "See you tonight, hon," he said. "Don't know why they want me downtown today, but they do. Have fun with Mickey and Donald."

Barbara rolled her eyes. "I expect I will. They don't pay so much attention to me as they do to you."

"I'm bigger," Sam said. "That probably counts for something. I've got a deeper voice, too. That would count for something with people. I'm not sure how much it matters to the Lizards. Maybe we ought to try to find out."

"Don't you think we ought to treat them as kids first and guinea pigs second?" Barbara asked.

"Part of me does," Yeager admitted. "The other part's the one that's seen Ka.s.squit. It doesn't matter whether we say we're treating them as kids or as guinea pigs. They'll end up guinea pigs. They can't help it. We don't know enough to raise them the way the Race would."

"I'm not sure the Lizards really raise them at all when they're this young," his wife said. "They just try to keep them from eating one another."

"You may be right," Sam said. "Whether you are or not, though, I've still got to go downtown."

"I know," his wife answered. "Be careful."

"I will. I always am." Sam patted the .45 on his hip. "It's part of my uniform, and I wear it. There aren't all that many people who know about what went on and are dangerous-at least, I hope there aren't. But I'm not taking any chances any which way." Before Barbara could answer, he closed the door and went out to the car.

Driving into the middle of Los Angeles during the morning rush hour reminded him of why he didn't like to do it very often. Fighting his way to a parking s.p.a.ce once he got off the freeway hammered the lesson home. And crowding into an elevator to go up to the offices where he worked when he couldn't stay at home added a final unwelcome exclamation point.

Just being here was enough to give him the w.i.l.l.i.e.s. This was where Lieutenant General LeMay had chewed him out for getting too curious about the s.p.a.ce station that became the Lewis and Clark. Lewis and Clark. Had LeMay known what all else he was curious about, the lieutenant general would have chewed him out a lot harder. Had LeMay known what all else he was curious about, the lieutenant general would have chewed him out a lot harder.

Sam grimaced and walked a little straighter. He was still here, while Curtis LeMay didn't work for the U.S. Army any more. There was a small cadre of high-ranking officers-formerly highranking officers-who didn't work for the U.S. Army any more. None of them had ever said a word in the papers about why they didn't work for the Army any more. Yeager suspected something truly drastic would happen to them if they did try to go to the papers.

He wondered if Harold Sta.s.sen had succeeded in rooting out everybody involved in the attack on the colonization fleet. He supposed it was possible, but had his doubts nonetheless. Sta.s.sen had probably done just enough to keep the Lizards from screaming too loud, and not a lot more.

"Good morning, Yeager," said Colonel Edwin Webster, Sam's superior.

"Good morning, sir." Sam saluted. He cast a longing glance toward the coffee pot, but asked, "What's up?" Duty came first.

Webster saw the glance. "Pour yourself some joe if you want it, Yeager," he said. "World's not going to end because you take the time to drink a cup."

"Thanks." Yeager grabbed one of the plastic-foam cups that were steadily ousting waxed cardboard. He adulterated the coffee with cream and sugar, then came back to Colonel Webster. After blowing on the coffee and taking a sip, he said, "Ready when you are, sir."

"Come on into my office," Webster told him, and Yeager dutifully followed him back there. His superior went on, "We've had a devil of a lot more reports of animals and plants from Home in the Southwest and South the past couple of months. I know that's what you were working on when you went on detached duty there this summer, so it seemed logical to call you in to have a look at them."

"Detached duty," Yeager echoed in a hollow voice. "Yeah."

He eyed Colonel Webster. He'd been detached from his duty, all right, detached from it by a couple of fellows speaking in the name of the government of the United States and carrying pistols to back their play. He'd gone to Desert Center. After that, he might have fallen off the edge of the world. Detached duty was a cover story that could fit almost anything. Did Webster know more than he was letting on? If he did, Sam couldn't see it on his face.

You start looking for people who know more than they're letting on and you'll start hearing voices pretty soon, he thought. he thought. They'll come after you with a net and put you in a rubber room. Of course, if you don't worry at all about what happens to you, you're liable to disappear again, and this time odds are you won't come back. They'll come after you with a net and put you in a rubber room. Of course, if you don't worry at all about what happens to you, you're liable to disappear again, and this time odds are you won't come back.

"Something you wanted to say about your duty?" Webster asked.

"Uh, no, sir," Sam answered. "I was just thinking I was glad to get back to California."

"Okay," his superior said crisply. "Come on. I've got the reports waiting for you. This is a real problem. Maybe you'll be able to figure out what to do about it. If you can, that'll put you a long jump ahead of everybody else."

"I'm not sure there's anything we can can do about it, sir," Yeager said, "at least if you mean in terms of stopping these beasts. We may have to see if we can make them useful to us instead. Sometimes G.o.d gives you lemons. If He does, you'd better learn to like lemonade." do about it, sir," Yeager said, "at least if you mean in terms of stopping these beasts. We may have to see if we can make them useful to us instead. Sometimes G.o.d gives you lemons. If He does, you'd better learn to like lemonade."

"Could be." Webster didn't sound convinced. "So far, n.o.body has any idea how to do even that much."

"Well, azwaca and zisuili can be pretty tasty," Sam said. "The Lizards eat 'em. No reason we couldn't."

"They're ugly as sin," Colonel Webster observed.

"So are pigs, sir," Yeager answered. "I grew up on a farm. n.o.body who ever took care of livestock thinks it's beautiful. And the people who don't take care of it don't usually give a d.a.m.n what it looks like. All they'll see is the meat in the butcher case, not the animals it came from."

"Old McDonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-oh," Webster sang in a surprisingly melodious baritone, "and on that farm he had some azwaca, ee-i-ee-i-oh. With a hiss-hiss hiss-hiss here and a here and a hiss-hiss hiss-hiss there..." there..."

Sam stared at the bird colonel as if he'd never seen him before in his life. "You okay, sir?" he asked quizzically.

"How the devil should I know?" Webster answered. "Do the kind of work we do and there's something wrong with you if you don't don't start going a little squirrelly after a while. Or are you going to tell me I'm wrong?" start going a little squirrelly after a while. Or are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"

"I wouldn't think of it," Yeager said. "You want to point me at those reports now?"

"I sure will," Colonel Webster said. "For the time being, what I want you to do is flip through 'em fast. Cover as much ground as you can in the next couple of hours, then come back to my office and we'll talk some more."

"Okay, I can do that," Sam said. He didn't have an office here, though by his rank he would have been ent.i.tled to one. What he had was a sheet-metal desk in one corner of a room filled mostly by clerks and typists. It wasn't even exclusively his; he shared it with a couple of other itinerant officers, and his key opened only two drawers. For obvious reasons, he'd never put anything he worried about anyone else seeing inside that meager s.p.a.ce.

"There you go." Colonel Webster pointed to the pile of papers in the plywood IN basket at the back right corner of the desk. "Skim those and head back to me at, oh, half past ten. Go ahead and set aside any you think you'll need to look at more later on, but I'm going to want a broad overview from you then."

"Right." Yeager saluted, then sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk. Webster headed back to his office. Sam got to work. He nodded to himself as he grabbed the report on top of the stack. At least his boss knew exactly what he wanted. Sam hated few things more than vague orders.

He hadn't had much to do with the spread of plants and animals from Home since getting kidnapped from Desert Center. Now, every report he read made his eyebrows rise higher. Zisuili were eating the desert bare in Arizona. Plants from Home had been spotted outside Amarillo, Texas. Barren places throughout the Southwest were getting more barren. These creatures are worse than goats, These creatures are worse than goats, somebody had written. That made Sam purse his lips and blow out an almost silent whistle. He knew how bad goats were. n.o.body who'd ever kept them could doubt that. Imagining beasts more destructive than they were wasn't easy. But the photos accompanying some of the reports at least raised the possibility that that writer knew what he was talking about. somebody had written. That made Sam purse his lips and blow out an almost silent whistle. He knew how bad goats were. n.o.body who'd ever kept them could doubt that. Imagining beasts more destructive than they were wasn't easy. But the photos accompanying some of the reports at least raised the possibility that that writer knew what he was talking about.

And then there were the befflem. They'd got farther from the Mexican border and raised more kinds of h.e.l.l than all the Race's meat animals put together. They killed cats. They killed some dogs, too. They raided henhouses. They stole from garbage cans. They bit people. They ran very fast for creatures with such stumpy legs, and their armored carca.s.ses made them tough to harm.

"What will be interesting," Sam said when he returned to Colonel Webster's office, "will be seeing how all these animals-and the plants that are spreading, too-come through the winter. My guess is that cold weather will limit the northern range for most of them, but it's only a guess."

"There will be places where they can thrive year-round, though," Webster said. "This is one of them." He tapped his desk as if expecting a herd of ssefenji to come trampling across it.

"Yes, sir, I think so," Sam agreed. "Unless I'm wrong, we'll have to learn to live with them as best we can."

"What do we do if their plants start crowding out our crops?" Webster asked.

"Sir, I haven't got any good answers for that," Yeager said. "I don't think anyone else does, either. Maybe the pesticide people will come up with something that kills plants from Home but leaves our stuff alone. Something like that's liable to be our best chance."

Colonel Webster eyed him with more than a little respect. "I happen to know that that's being worked on right now. I don't know when results will come, or even if they'll come, but it is being worked on."

"Stands to reason," Sam said. "But do you know what I think the real trouble spot could be?" He waited for Webster to shake his head, then went on, "Befflem. They're liable to be as much of a nuisance as rats and wild cats put together, and they don't seem to have any natural enemies here."

"Cold weather, like you said," Webster suggested.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. But I've looked at a couple of reports there that talk about finding them in dens with nests, so maybe cold won't bother them as much as it would some other beasts from Home."

Webster scrawled a note. "I'm glad I called you in, Yeager. I don't think anybody else has mentioned that." He paused, scratching his head. "The Lizards keep befflem for pets, don't they? Maybe we could do the same."

"We keep cats for pets, too-or they keep us for pets, one," Yeager answered. "That doesn't mean they aren't a nuisance plenty of places." He managed a lopsided grin. "Of course, as far as the Lizards are concerned, we're nothing but nuisances ourselves, so I don't think we'll get much sympathy from them."

"Too G.o.dd.a.m.n bad," Webster said. Sam's grin got wider. He nodded.

"No." Johannes Drucker shook his head. "I don't think we can go back to Greifswald. There's a good-sized Lizard garrison there, and that male called Gorppet knows me much too well. We'd be under a microscope if we tried."

"Too bad." Both of his sons and his daughter spoke at the same time.

But his wife nodded. "I'd just as soon stay here in Neu Strelitz, or else go someplace where n.o.body has any idea at all who we are and start over there. Too many people back in Greifswald know why they took me away for a while."

Drucker watched his older son. That Heinrich had joined the band of holdouts in Stargard had probably saved Drucker's own neck; the major who commanded them had changed his mind about shooting him. But those holdouts were at least as fanatical about Party ideology as any 55 men. If they ever found out Heinrich Drucker's mother was, or might have been, a quarter Jewish...

Very visibly, Heinrich figured that out for himself. He walked over and put a hand on his mother's shoulder. "All right," he said. "We'll go somewhere it's safe for you."

Letting out a small, silent sigh of relief didn't show, and sigh Drucker did. The n.a.z.is made heroes of children who turned in their parents. He hadn't thought Heinrich would fall for such nonsense, but you couldn't be sure till things actually started happening.

Claudia turned to him and asked, "Father, if you can't fly into s.p.a.ce any more, what will you do for a living?"

That was a good question. It was, in fact, the the good question. Drucker wished he had a better answer for it. As things were, he said, "I don't know. Something will turn up. Something always does, if you're willing to work. I can be a mechanic, I suppose. I can make an engine sit up and do as it's told." good question. Drucker wished he had a better answer for it. As things were, he said, "I don't know. Something will turn up. Something always does, if you're willing to work. I can be a mechanic, I suppose. I can make an engine sit up and do as it's told."

"A mechanic?" Claudia didn't sound very happy at that. The social difference between a Wehrmacht Wehrmacht officer's daughter and a mechanic's could be measured only in light-years. officer's daughter and a mechanic's could be measured only in light-years.

"Honest work is honest work," Drucker insisted, "and mechanics make pretty good money." Claudia looked anything but convinced.

Before he could say anything else, somebody knocked on the front door to Kathe's uncle Lothar's house. The Druckers crowded it to the bursting point, but Lothar, a widower, didn't seem to mind. He was Kthe's father's brother, and didn't let on that he knew anything about the possibility of Jewish blood on the other side of her family tree. n.o.body talked about that where Uncle Lothar could overhear-better safe than sorry summed up everyone's att.i.tude. summed up everyone's att.i.tude.

He came into the back bedroom now with a frown on his face: a big, raw-boned man in his sixties, still physically strong but, like so many others, badly at sea in this new, diminished Reich. Reich. Nodding to Drucker, he said, "Hans, there's a soldier out front wants to speak to you." Nodding to Drucker, he said, "Hans, there's a soldier out front wants to speak to you."

"A soldier?" Suspicion roughened Drucker's voice. "What kind of soldier? Wehrmacht Wehrmacht or or Waffen-SS?" Waffen-SS?" He wasn't at all sure he wanted to meet an SS man without an a.s.sault rifle in his hands. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to meet an SS man without an a.s.sault rifle in his hands.

But Kathe's uncle answered, "A Wehrmacht Wehrmacht lieutenant, just barely old enough to shave." lieutenant, just barely old enough to shave."

"I'll see him," Drucker said with a sigh. "I wonder what he'll make of me." He wore one of Lothar's old shirts, which was too big on him, and denim trousers that had seen better days. He hadn't shaved this morning.

Sure as the devil, that wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant didn't look as if he believed his eyes. "You "You are Colonel Johannes Drucker?" He seemed to have to remind himself to come to attention and salute. are Colonel Johannes Drucker?" He seemed to have to remind himself to come to attention and salute.

Drucker returned the salute, though he wasn't at all sure he remained in the Wehrmacht Wehrmacht himself. "That's right, sonny," he answered, no doubt further scandalizing the lieutenant. "What can I do for you today?" himself. "That's right, sonny," he answered, no doubt further scandalizing the lieutenant. "What can I do for you today?"

Visibly holding in his anger, the young officer spoke with exquisite politeness: "Sir, I am ordered to bring you to a secure telephone line and connect you to the Fuhrer Fuhrer in Flensburg." Every line of his body screamed that he hadn't the faintest idea why Walter Dornberger would want to speak with such a derelict. in Flensburg." Every line of his body screamed that he hadn't the faintest idea why Walter Dornberger would want to speak with such a derelict.

"A secure phone line?" Drucker said, and the lieutenant nodded. "Secure from the Lizards?" he persisted, and the kid nodded again. Drucker hadn't known such lines survived anywhere in the Reich, Reich, let alone in sleepy Neu Strelitz. Maybe he wouldn't have to be a mechanic after all. "I'll come." let alone in sleepy Neu Strelitz. Maybe he wouldn't have to be a mechanic after all. "I'll come."

He'd expected to be taken either to the telephone exchange or to the Burgomeister's Burgomeister's hall. Instead, the lieutenant led him to a fire station where men playing draughts looked up without much curiosity as he walked by. hall. Instead, the lieutenant led him to a fire station where men playing draughts looked up without much curiosity as he walked by.

The secure telephone looked like an ordinary instrument. But another Wehrmacht Wehrmacht officer was in charge of it. He gave Drucker a fishy stare, too. When the lieutenant confirmed Drucker's ident.i.ty, the other officer made the call. It took a couple of minutes to go through. When it did, the officer thrust the handset at Drucker and said, "Go ahead." officer was in charge of it. He gave Drucker a fishy stare, too. When the lieutenant confirmed Drucker's ident.i.ty, the other officer made the call. It took a couple of minutes to go through. When it did, the officer thrust the handset at Drucker and said, "Go ahead."

"Johannes Drucker speaking," Drucker said, feeling like an idiot.

"h.e.l.lo, Hans. Good to hear from you." That was Walter Dornberger's voice, all right.

"h.e.l.lo, sir," As soon as Drucker spoke, he knew he should have called Dornberger mein Fuhrer. mein Fuhrer. Now that the former commander at Peenemunde had the job, how seriously did he take it? Would he be offended if he didn't get the respect he thought he deserved? Drucker plowed ahead, trying to hide his gaffe: "What can I do for you? I thought I was retired." Now that the former commander at Peenemunde had the job, how seriously did he take it? Would he be offended if he didn't get the respect he thought he deserved? Drucker plowed ahead, trying to hide his gaffe: "What can I do for you? I thought I was retired."

"n.o.body who's still breathing is retired," Dornberger answered. "If you're breathing, you can still serve the Reich. Reich. That's why I was so glad to hear you'd turned up in Neu Strelitz. I can use you, by G.o.d." That's why I was so glad to hear you'd turned up in Neu Strelitz. I can use you, by G.o.d."

"How?" Drucker asked in real confusion. "The Lizards won't let us get back into s.p.a.ce. Unless..." He paused, then shook his head. With radar watching every square centimeter of the Reich, Reich, clandestine launches were impossible. Weren't they? Hoping he was wrong, he waited for the new clandestine launches were impossible. Weren't they? Hoping he was wrong, he waited for the new Fuhrer's Fuhrer's reply. reply.