Part 50 (1/2)

Thinking about s.e.x made him think about Lucy Vegetti-and thinking about her was certainly more enjoyable than not thinking about anything at all. Trouble was, he couldn't do anything but think about Lucy right now. She was down on Ceres, helping to set up a habitat there. He missed her. He hoped she missed him. If she didn't, she could find plenty of guys to take his place.

He wondered if she'd taken her bottle of Cutty down to the surface of the asteroid. A jolt of scotch was almost enough to tempt him into some breaking and entering-almost, but not quite.

And then, before he let himself get more tempted than he should have, the intercom came to noisy life. ”Lieutenant Colonel Johnson! Lieutenant Colonel Glen Johnson! Report to the commandant's office immediately! Lieutenant Colonel Glen Johnson! Report to the-”

”I'm coming,” Johnson muttered. ”Keep your s.h.i.+rt on.” The intercom went right on bellowing.

”Lucky son of a gun,” Bob said.

”Going to see the commandant?” Johnson shook his head. ”I'd sooner keep exercising.”

He unhooked the belt that tethered him to the bicycle and pushed off toward the nearest handhold. He didn't bother changing out of his exercise togs. If Healey wanted him immediately, that would be how the commandant got him. And if he was a little sweaty, a little smelly, what better proof he'd been doing his work like a good little boy?

He sailed right past Brigadier General Healey's adjutant and into the commandant's office, catching himself on a handhold there. ”Reporting as ordered, sir,” he said, saluting.

”Yes.” Healey eyed him. ”There are times when you find following orders to the letter more amusing than others, aren't there, Lieutenant Colonel?”

”I don't know what you're talking about, sir,” Johnson said with the air of a maiden whose virtue had been questioned.

”Tell me another one,” Healey said. ”I shanghaied you, and you've been trying to make me sorry ever since. Sometimes you've even done it. But not today. This doesn't bother me, not a bit.”

Johnson shrugged. ”That's the way it goes, sir.” If he was disappointed-and he was, a little-he'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd admit it. ”Did you want me for anything else besides seeing how fast I could get here?”

Brigadier General Healey, unlike Mickey Flynn, had the stereotypical Irishman's fair skin. When he got angry, he turned red. Johnson watched him flush now, and carefully pretended not to notice a thing. Biting off his words one at a time, the commandant said, ”As a matter of fact, I did.”

”All right, sir,” Johnson said. ”What is it?”

Healey leaned forward across his desk, for all the world as if he were back on Earth. n.o.body else aboard the Lewis and Clark Lewis and Clark was so good at pretending weightlessness didn't exist. He said, ”You're the one with the orbital patrol experience. If the Germans and the Lizards start slugging it out, which way do you think the Russians are likely to jump?” was so good at pretending weightlessness didn't exist. He said, ”You're the one with the orbital patrol experience. If the Germans and the Lizards start slugging it out, which way do you think the Russians are likely to jump?”

That was a real question, all right. Johnson went from insolent to serious in the blink of an eye. ”Sir, my best guess is, they sit on their hands. They hate the n.a.z.is, and the Lizards scare the h.e.l.l out of them. That'd be a war where they hope both sides lose, so they can pick up the pieces. If there are any pieces left to pick up, I mean.”

Healey's jowls wobbled slightly as he nodded. ”Okay. That makes pretty good sense. Matches up pretty well with what I've been hearing from back on Earth, too.” As much to himself as to Johnson, he added, ”You always like to get things from more than one source if you can.”

You don't trust anybody, Johnson realized. Johnson realized. It's not just me. You don't trust the bigwigs who sent you out here, either. It's not just me. You don't trust the bigwigs who sent you out here, either. ”Besides, sir,” he said, ”the Russians fly tin cans. That's compared to what we've got and what the Germans have. Compared to what the Lizards have...” He shook his head. ”Besides, sir,” he said, ”the Russians fly tin cans. That's compared to what we've got and what the Germans have. Compared to what the Lizards have...” He shook his head.

To his surprise, Healey laughed. ”What they fly doesn't matter much, not for this game. They've got their missiles aimed at the Lizards-and at the n.a.z.is-and they've got their submarines. As long as those work, everything else is gravy.”

Johnson didn't like to hear what he'd spent his career doing belittled. He could have argued about it; several relevant points occurred to him. Most times, he would have done it. At the moment, he had something more urgent on his mind. ”Ask you a question, sir?” When Brigadier General Healey's bulldog head bobbed up and down, Johnson said, ”If the n.a.z.is and the Lizards go at it, sir, will we stay out of it?”

Healey's eyebrows sprang upward. ”We'd d.a.m.n well better, or this mission will fail. We still need resupply missions from home. We'll need more people, too, sooner or later.”

”Yes, I understand all that.” Johnson couldn't very well misunderstand it, not after so much time aboard the Lewis and Clark. Lewis and Clark. ”But ”But will will we stay out of it if it heats up?” we stay out of it if it heats up?”

”I'm hoping it won't,” the commandant said. ”If the Germans were going to jump, they would have jumped by now-that's what the consensus back home is, anyhow.” He paused and coughed, realizing he hadn't answered the question Johnson asked. With another cough, he did: ”As far as I know, we aren't going to go to war unless we're attacked. Will that do?”

”Yes, sir,” Johnson said. ”It'll have to, won't it?” Brigadier General Healey nodded again.

Vyacheslav Molotov nodded to Paul Schmidt. ”Good day,” the Soviet leader said. ”Be seated; take tea, if you care to.” He gestured toward the samovar that stood on a table in a corner of his office.

”No thank you, Comrade General Secretary,” the German amba.s.sador said in his good Russian. ”I suppose you are curious as to why I asked to see you on such short notice.”

”Somewhat,” Molotov said, and said no more. No matter how curious he was, he didn't intend to show Schmidt anything.

Rather to his annoyance (which he didn't show, either), the German amba.s.sador smiled. Paul Schmidt had known him a long time-since before the Lizards came-and might well guess how much he was concealing. Schmidt said, ”My government has charged me with announcing the dissolution of the Committee of Eight and the selection of a new Fuhrer Fuhrer to guide the destiny of the Greater German to guide the destiny of the Greater German Reich Reich.”

That was indeed news. It was news Molotov had awaited with a curious mixture of hope and dread. He concealed both of those, too, asking only, ”And to whom are congratulations due?” Who's come out on top in the intrigue and backstage bloodletting? Who's come out on top in the intrigue and backstage bloodletting?

”Why, to Dr. Ernst Kaltenbrunner, inheritor of the great mantle formerly worn by Hitler and Himmler,” Schmidt replied.

”Please convey to him my heartiest and most sincere felicitations, and the hope that he will have a long, successful, and peaceful tenure at the head of the Reich Reich,” Molotov said.

Not even his legendary self-control could keep him from putting a little extra stress on the word peaceful. peaceful. It did, however, keep his most sincere felicitations from sounding too dreadfully insincere. Kaltenbrunner was the man he had hoped would not rise to the top in Germany, and would surely have been Himmler's chosen successor had Himmler not dropped dead before choosing anyone. A big Austrian with cold eyes, Kaltenbrunner had stepped into Reinhard Heydrich's shoes after the British arranged Heydrich's untimely demise in Prague, and filled them all too well. It did, however, keep his most sincere felicitations from sounding too dreadfully insincere. Kaltenbrunner was the man he had hoped would not rise to the top in Germany, and would surely have been Himmler's chosen successor had Himmler not dropped dead before choosing anyone. A big Austrian with cold eyes, Kaltenbrunner had stepped into Reinhard Heydrich's shoes after the British arranged Heydrich's untimely demise in Prague, and filled them all too well.

No one noticed him for a while, either, Molotov thought. Heydrich had been a.s.sa.s.sinated just as the Lizard invasion began, and the chaos that followed masked many things for a long time. But, when the dust settled, there was Kaltenbrunner, as much of a right-hand man as Himmler allowed himself. Molotov thought. Heydrich had been a.s.sa.s.sinated just as the Lizard invasion began, and the chaos that followed masked many things for a long time. But, when the dust settled, there was Kaltenbrunner, as much of a right-hand man as Himmler allowed himself.

Now Molotov asked the question he had to ask: ”What will-Doctor, did you say?-yes, Dr. Kaltenbrunner's policies be?”

”I expect him to continue on the path laid down by his ill.u.s.trious predecessor and continued by the Committee of Eight,” the German amba.s.sador said.

That was the answer Molotov had expected. It was also the answer he dreaded. Picking his words with some care, he said, ”A change of leaders can sometimes lead to a change in policy with no disrespect for what has gone before.” I have not been nearly such a mad adventurist as Stalin, for instance. I have not been nearly such a mad adventurist as Stalin, for instance.

But Schmidt shook his head. ”The new Fuhrer Fuhrer is convinced his predecessor followed the proper course. Our neighbors ignore the legitimate claims of the is convinced his predecessor followed the proper course. Our neighbors ignore the legitimate claims of the Reich Reich at their peril.” at their peril.”

”At their peril, certainly,” Molotov said. ”But also at yours. I hope the new Fuhrer Fuhrer bears that in mind as well.” bears that in mind as well.”

Unlike the leaders he served, Schmidt was a man of culture. Molotov had thought so for many years. But the German did serve the ruffians who led the Reich, Reich, and served them loyally. He said, ”The and served them loyally. He said, ”The Fuhrer Fuhrer does indeed have that in his mind. Because he does, he sent me to renew the offer his predecessor, does indeed have that in his mind. Because he does, he sent me to renew the offer his predecessor, Reichs Reichs Chancellor Himmler, extended to the Soviet Union in regard to the illegally occupied Polish regions.” Chancellor Himmler, extended to the Soviet Union in regard to the illegally occupied Polish regions.”

”He wants us to join him in an attack on the Race, you are telling me,” Molotov said.

”Yes.” Schmidt nodded. ”After all, part of the territory between our states was formerly occupied by the Soviet Union.”

”So it was-till 22 June, 1941,” Molotov said with a savage irony he did not try to hide. ”I asked you once, and now I ask you again: if our borders marched with each other, how long would it be till the Reich Reich was at the Soviet Union's throat again?” was at the Soviet Union's throat again?”

”Perhaps longer than it would take for the Soviet Union to be at the Reich Reich's throat,” Schmidt answered tartly. ”Or perhaps-and it is certainly the new Fuhrer Fuhrer's earnest hope-we could live at peace with each other once the victory has been won.”

”Living at peace with each other if our borders touched would take a small miracle,” said Molotov, using the language of the religion in which he had not believed since youth. ”Living in peace with the Race after attacking Poland, however, would take a large miracle.”

”As Reichs Reichs Chancellor Himmler did not, Dr. Kaltenbrunner does not share this view,” Schmidt said. Chancellor Himmler did not, Dr. Kaltenbrunner does not share this view,” Schmidt said.

”As I told Himmler through you, so I tell Kaltenbrunner: if he wants to attack Poland on his own, that is his affair,” Molotov said. ”I do not think, however, he will be pleased with the result.”

But did that matter to the n.a.z.is? Molotov doubted it. Fascists wanted what they wanted because they imagined they were ent.i.tled to it. Whether their desires inconvenienced or infuriated anyone else mattered very little to them. What they wanted, after all, was legitimate. What anyone else wanted was nothing but the twisted desires of subhumans or, in the case of the Lizards, nonhumans.

They couldn't even see that. Not even the clever, able ones among them, of whom there were a depressing number, could see it. Paul Schmidt, for instance, only shrugged and said, ”I obey the Fuhrer Fuhrer.”

”Take him my answer, then. It is the same one I gave to Himmler: no.” Molotov spoke the word nyet nyet with more than a little relish. ”And now I will tell you something on a personal level-I think you are fortunate to be here in Moscow. If this war begins, you would not want to be in Germany.” with more than a little relish. ”And now I will tell you something on a personal level-I think you are fortunate to be here in Moscow. If this war begins, you would not want to be in Germany.”