Part 45 (1/2)

”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 s.h.i.+ps 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 stars.h.i.+ps.

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...”