Homeward Bound Part 56

"And that means?"

Hating him, Atvar said, "It means you are not only a trusting fool but a gloating fool." Straha just laughed again.

Bruce Yeager had settled his parents into a two-bedroom apartment in Torrance, not far from where they'd lived before going into cold sleep. The furniture, or most of it, was even their own; the government had stored it against the off chance they'd come back. The stove and the refrigerator were new, and much more efficient than the ones they replaced.

Jonathan Yeager didn't much care about efficiency. What mattered to him was that Karen should like them. She did.

Also new was the computer. The one that had gone into storage was a hopeless antique. This one . . . This one would do everything but tie Jonathan's shoes. As a matter of fact, it could do that, too, if he fitted it with a waldo attachment. Such things were common and cheap these days. They made life closer to tolerable for handicapped people, and had countless industrial uses besides.

Before very long, Jonathan realized he was a handicapped person in this Los Angeles. He knew exactly what his handicap was, too: he was missing almost forty years. Knowing didn't help. He had no idea how to fix it.

When he complained, Karen said, "It's nothing we have to worry about right away. We may be missing the years, but we're not missing the money from them. We won't miss any meals, either-I promise you that."

"I know," he said. "But I don't want to sit back and twiddle my thumbs the rest of my life. I want to do something useful, and it doesn't look like anything I can do is useful any more."

"We both still know the Race well," Karen said.

He shook his head. "Here, we knew knew the Race well. We know it well on Home. We're up to date there. We're most of a lifetime behind here. Who'd want to pay us to catch up?" the Race well. We know it well on Home. We're up to date there. We're most of a lifetime behind here. Who'd want to pay us to catch up?"

Karen started to say something, but she didn't. Jonathan had a pretty good idea of what she'd swallowed. Yes, their son would doubtless put them on his payroll. That stuck in Jonathan's craw. He didn't think he'd mind working for Bruce. But he would mind getting a sinecure, and anything he would do would only be worth a sinecure.

"I think I'd rather try to write my memoirs," he said. "They'd be up to the minute--well, pretty close, now-and I can tell a story hardly anybody else will ever be able to."

"Can you do it well enough to get people to pay money for it?" Karen said. "I've been asking myself the same question."

"We've both done plenty of writing," Jonathan answered. "We ought to try, anyhow. I think we can do it." He managed a wry grin. "It's our story. What could be more interesting to us than we are?"

"To us, yeah," Karen said. "How about to anyone else?"

"All we can do is give it our best shot." Jonathan laughed out loud. "Maybe we should ask Mickey who his literary agent is."

"Yes, I think we should," Karen said, and she wasn't laughing at all. She sounded bleak, in fact, as she went on, "For one thing, that may help us. For another, Mickey doesn't hate us-or if he does, he's more polite about it than Donald."

"He gives us more credit for doing the best we could." Jonathan wondered how good that best had been. "I think we did better with them than Ttomalss did with Ka.s.squit."

"Not a fair comparison," Karen said. "We knew a lot more about the Race when we started than Ttomalss did about us when he he started. And Mickey and Donald had each other for company. That had to help, too." Jonathan might have known his wife wouldn't cut Ka.s.squit any slack. But then Karen surprised him by adding, "She'll have her baby before too long." started. And Mickey and Donald had each other for company. That had to help, too." Jonathan might have known his wife wouldn't cut Ka.s.squit any slack. But then Karen surprised him by adding, "She'll have her baby before too long."

"So she will," Jonathan said. "I think Frank was smart to go back: over there, he's not behind the times. He helped make the arrangements the new people are dealing with."

"The new people." Karen tasted the phrase. "They really do feel like that, don't they? Like they just started out and everything's ahead of them, I mean. Even when they're our age, they've got that feel to them. I don't know whether to be jealous or to want to pound some sense into their stupid heads."

"They're like the people who went West in covered wagons," Jonathan said. "They can taste the wide open s.p.a.ces in front of them. And do they ever have them! Jesus! Light-year after light-year of wide open s.p.a.ces. No wonder they've got that look in their eye and they don't want to pay any attention to us. We're the city slickers who just want to stay back in Philly-and that even though we went traveling."

"Yeah." His wife nodded. "What we did hardly counts these days. It was all the Lizards had for all those thousands of years. It's still all they have. And it's as obsolete as we are."

Jonathan nodded, too. "Melanie will have to go back to school if she wants to keep on being a doctor. They know so much more now than they did when she went on ice. Tom and Linda are as out of date as we are. And Dad's got it even worse. He's older, and he spent all those extra years in cold sleep."

"I think he'll do fine, though, once he gets his feet on the ground," Karen said. "He's had to adapt before. Look how much things changed for him when the Lizards came, but he did okay then. Better than okay, in fact."

"Hope you're right," Jonathan answered. Again, he didn't much feel like arguing with his wife. He didn't have much from which to argue: only the lost look he thought he saw in his father's eyes. He suspected his old man would have indignantly denied it if anyone called him on it. He also suspected the denial would mean nothing, or maybe a little less. Instead of arguing, Jonathan said, "Want to go to a movie tonight?"

"Sure," Karen said, and then, with a wry smile of her own, "This is supposed to help us fit into the here-and-now?"

"Well . . . It depends on which one we pick," Jonathan said. When he and Karen were dating, films showed things they hadn't when his father was a young man. When his sons started taking girls out, films showed things they hadn't in his day. The trend hadn't slowed down while he and Karen went to Home and back. A lot of what ordinary people lined up to see now would have been blue movies in the 1960s.

They didn't have drive-ins any more, either. Jonathan had fond memories of the one on Vermont, but apartment buildings stood where the lot and the big screen had been. Boys and girls these days didn't seem to feel the lack, so they must have had other ways to find privacy when they wanted it.

Karen flipped through the Los Angeles Times. Los Angeles Times. Just about all the photos and ads in the paper were in color, which they hadn't been in 1994. "We don't want the sappy kiddy shows," she said. "Those are just as bad as they ever were, maybe worse." Jonathan didn't argue with that, either. She pointed to one movie ad and started to giggle. "Here. Just about all the photos and ads in the paper were in color, which they hadn't been in 1994. "We don't want the sappy kiddy shows," she said. "Those are just as bad as they ever were, maybe worse." Jonathan didn't argue with that, either. She pointed to one movie ad and started to giggle. "Here. The Curse of Rhodes. The Curse of Rhodes. A horror flick. How can they mess that up?" A horror flick. How can they mess that up?"

"Isn't that why we're going?" Jonathan asked. Karen raised an eyebrow. He explained: "To find out how they can mess it up."

"Oh." Karen laughed. "Sure. But we know from the start that this is hok.u.m." She pointed to the ad again. A bronze statue strode across what was presumably the Aegean with a naked girl in its arms. A few wisps of her long blond hair kept things technically decent.

"Works for me," Jonathan said solemnly. Karen made the kind of noise that meant she would clobber him if she weren't such an enlightened, tolerant wife: a noise only a little less effective than a real set of lumps would have been. Jonathan mimed a whiplash injury and pointed out, "You were the one who suggested it."

"Well, let's go," she said. "We can always throw popcorn at the screen if it gets too awful." She paused. "We may pick different times."

"Here's hoping," Jonathan said, and laughed when she made a face at him.

Most of the people buying tickets for the movie were in their teens or twenties. Most of the ones who weren't had ten- or twelve-year-old boys in tow. Jonathan and Karen looked at each other, as if to ask, What are we getting ourselves into? What are we getting ourselves into? They both started to laugh. Maybe a really bad horror movie was just what they needed. They both started to laugh. Maybe a really bad horror movie was just what they needed.

Jonathan bought popcorn and candy and c.o.kes. The smells of the concession stand hadn't changed a bit since before he went into cold sleep. Prices had, but not too badly. Even back then, theaters had gouged people on snacks.

The slope of the rows of seats was steeper than it had been back in a twentieth-century theater. That let each seat have a proper back without interfering with children's views of the screen. Some unknown genius had thought of putting a cup holder in each armrest. The rows were father apart than they had been; Jonathan could stretch out his feet. He closed his eyes. "Good night."

"If you can't stay awake to leer at the naked girls, don't expect me to shake you," Karen said. He sat up very straight. She poked him.

Down went the lights. There were more ads and fewer coming attractions than Jonathan remembered. Maybe that meant he was turning into a curmudgeon. But, by body time, it hadn't been that long ago, so maybe the folks who ran things were trying harder to squeeze money out of people. The sound was louder than he remembered, too. He had as much trouble enjoying the music as his father had had with what he'd listened to when he was young.

That same pounding, noisy beat suffused The Curse of Rhodes. The Curse of Rhodes. For a while, he hardly noticed it. The special effects were astonis.h.i.+ng. A lot of them would have been impossible, or impossibly expensive, in the twentieth century. Computers could do all sorts of things that had been beyond them in those days. For a while, he hardly noticed it. The special effects were astonis.h.i.+ng. A lot of them would have been impossible, or impossibly expensive, in the twentieth century. Computers could do all sorts of things that had been beyond them in those days.

And then Jonathan noticed something that wasn't a special effect. He stared at the elderly archaeologist who was trying to calm the frightened young hero and heroine-and who was bound to come to a Bad End before long. "Look at that guy," he whispered to Karen. "I'll be d.a.m.ned if that's not Matt Damon."

She eyed the actor. "My G.o.d! You're right. He used to be just a little older than our kids-and he still is." She squeezed his hand. "We've been away a long time."

The Curse of Rhodes showed that in other ways, too. The violence was one thing. Gore and horror movies went together like pepperoni and pizza. But some of the doings between the hero, the heroine, and the resurrected, bad-tempered Colossus of Rhodes . . . Jonathan wouldn't have taken a ten-year-old to see them in 1994. He wasn't so sure he would have gone himself. The heroine was either a natural blonde or very thorough. She was also limber enough for an Olympic gymnast, though he didn't think they gave gold medals in showed that in other ways, too. The violence was one thing. Gore and horror movies went together like pepperoni and pizza. But some of the doings between the hero, the heroine, and the resurrected, bad-tempered Colossus of Rhodes . . . Jonathan wouldn't have taken a ten-year-old to see them in 1994. He wasn't so sure he would have gone himself. The heroine was either a natural blonde or very thorough. She was also limber enough for an Olympic gymnast, though he didn't think they gave gold medals in that. that.

As the Colossus sank beneath the waves-gone for good or ready to return in a sequel, depending on how The Curse of Rhodes The Curse of Rhodes did-and the credits rolled, the house lights came up. "What did you think?" Karen asked. did-and the credits rolled, the house lights came up. "What did you think?" Karen asked.

"I know what the curse of Rhodes is now," Jonathan said. "The screenwriter, or maybe the director." Karen stuck out her tongue at him. He went on, "It was really dumb and really gory and really dirty."

She nodded. "That's what we came for."

Was it? Jonathan wasn't so sure. He thought they'd come not least to try to forge some link between the time in which they'd lived and the one in which they found themselves. The movie hadn't done it-not for him, anyhow. Instead, it reminded him over and over what a stranger he was here and now. With a shrug, he started for the parking lot. Maybe time would help. Maybe nothing would. He'd have to find out day by day, that was all.

Some things didn't change. The building in downtown Los Angeles where Sam Yeager faced a colonel who'd been born about the time he left for Tau Ceti was the one where he'd worked a generation before that, before he got saddled with the responsibility for Mickey and Donald. The office furniture hadn't changed much, either. He wondered whether that battered metal desk could possibly date from the 1960s.

Colonel Goldschmidt said, "No, you are not permitted to see any Lizards. You might pa.s.s intelligence from Fleetlord Atvar to them."

You bureaucratic idiot. Sam didn't say it. He was ever so tempted, but he didn't. Sam didn't say it. He was ever so tempted, but he didn't. What a good boy am I, What a good boy am I, he thought, even if he didn't have a plum on his thumb. Clinging to shreds of patience, he said, "Colonel, you or somebody gave me permission to see Atvar. I'm sure you or somebody listened to what we said. If I'd wanted to do that, I could have gone to a pay phone the minute I got out of his hotel room." he thought, even if he didn't have a plum on his thumb. Clinging to shreds of patience, he said, "Colonel, you or somebody gave me permission to see Atvar. I'm sure you or somebody listened to what we said. If I'd wanted to do that, I could have gone to a pay phone the minute I got out of his hotel room."

"But you didn't do that. You didn't telephone any Lizards from your place of residence, either." Goldschmidt had a narrow face with cold blue eyes set too close together. He wore a wedding ring, which proved somebody loved him. Sam wondered why.

"So you've been monitoring me," he said. Goldschmidt nodded. Sam asked, "If you people thought I was that big a menace, why did you let me see him in the first place?"

"There were discussions about that," Goldschmidt replied. He gave no details. Even though the discussions had been about Yeager, the hatchet-faced colonel's view was that they were none of his business. "It was decided that the risk was acceptable."

It was decided. Maybe that meant G.o.d had sent down a choir of angels with the answer. More likely, it meant no one wanted to admit he'd done the deciding. No, some things didn't change. Sam said, "Seems to me you people didn't think this through as well as you might have. Now that I Maybe that meant G.o.d had sent down a choir of angels with the answer. More likely, it meant no one wanted to admit he'd done the deciding. No, some things didn't change. Sam said, "Seems to me you people didn't think this through as well as you might have. Now that I have have seen Atvar, how are you going to keep me away from Lizards for the rest of my life? When I take an elevator down to the lobby and walk out on the street, it's better than even money that I b.u.mp into one, or two, or three. We're only a few blocks from the Race's consulate, you know." seen Atvar, how are you going to keep me away from Lizards for the rest of my life? When I take an elevator down to the lobby and walk out on the street, it's better than even money that I b.u.mp into one, or two, or three. We're only a few blocks from the Race's consulate, you know."

Colonel Goldschmidt looked as if his stomach pained him. "I have my orders, Mr. Yeager. You are not permitted to travel to any territory occupied by the Race or to contact any members of the Race."

"Then you can lock me up and throw away the key"-Sam was careful to use the human idiom, not the Lizards'-"because I've already done it."

"What? Where? How?" Now Goldschmidt looked horrified. Had something slipped past him and his stooges?

"My adopted sons-Mickey and Donald," Sam said.

"Oh. Them." Relief made the colonel's voice sound amazingly human for a moment. "They don't count. They're U.S. citizens, and are considered reliable."

"What about other Lizards who are U.S. citizens? There are lots of them." Sam took a certain malicious glee in being difficult.

"As we have not made determinations as to their reliability, they are off-limits for you at this point in time," Colonel Goldschmidt said.

Yeager got to his feet. He gave Goldschmidt his sweetest smile. "No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a technical term meaning, well, no," Sam answered. "I suppose you can keep me from leaving the country if you don't issue me a pa.s.sport-Lord knows my old one's expired. But if I want to see old friends, I will. Or if I b.u.mp into a Lizard on the street, I'll talk to him. You may decide you made a mistake letting me see Atvar, but you went and did it. You can't very well unpoach the egg."

"There will be repercussions from this," Goldschmidt warned.

"That's what I just told you," Sam said. "You people forgot there would be repercussions when you let me see Atvar, and now you're trying to get around them. If you really thought I was a traitor, you shouldn't have let me do it. If you don't think I am, why can't I see other Lizards? You can't have it both ways, you know."

By Goldschmidt's expression, he wanted to. He said, "I am going to have to refer this to my superiors."

"That's nice," Sam said. "Meanwhile, I'm going to do what I think is right." He'd been doing that for a long time. Yeah, and look at the thanks I've got, Yeah, and look at the thanks I've got, he thought. he thought.

He got some more now. "The last time you did what you thought was right"-Goldschmidt all but spat the words at him-"it cost us Indianapolis."

"f.u.c.k you, Colonel," Sam said evenly. "The horse you rode in on, too." He walked out of Goldschmidt's office. As he headed for the elevators, he wondered if the Army man would shout for MPs to head him off. He'd already been held incommunicado once in his life, and hadn't enjoyed it much. The real irony was that he'd told Goldschmidt the exact and literal truth. Atvar hadn't given him any message to pa.s.s on to the Lizards here on Earth, and he wouldn't have done it if the fleetlord had. He was and always had been loyal to his country, in spite of what seemed to be his country's best efforts to make him change his mind.

No shouts came from behind him. He stabbed at the elevator's DOWN DOWN b.u.t.ton with unnecessary violence even so, and clenched his fists while waiting for a car to arrive. Part of him, the part that kept forgetting he wasn't a kid any more, b.u.t.ton with unnecessary violence even so, and clenched his fists while waiting for a car to arrive. Part of him, the part that kept forgetting he wasn't a kid any more, wanted wanted a fight. The rest of him knew that was idiotic; one soldier in the prime of youth could clean his clock without breaking a sweat, let alone two or three or four. All the same, the sigh that escaped him when the elevator door opened held disappointment as well as relief. a fight. The rest of him knew that was idiotic; one soldier in the prime of youth could clean his clock without breaking a sweat, let alone two or three or four. All the same, the sigh that escaped him when the elevator door opened held disappointment as well as relief.

Sure as h.e.l.l, Lizards were on the streets when Sam headed for the parking structure a couple of blocks away. They seemed as natural to him as the Hispanic men selling plastic bags of oranges and the British tourists festooned with cameras who exclaimed about how hot it was. That made him want to laugh; after Home, Los Angeles seemed exceedingly temperate to him.

One of the Lizards almost b.u.mped into him. "Excuse me," the Lizard said in hissing English.

"It is all right. You missed me," Yeager answered in the Race's language. He grinned fiercely; he'd taken less than a minute to violate Colonel Goldschmidt's order, and he loved doing it.

The Lizard's mouth fell open in a startled laugh. "You speak well," he said in his own language. "Please excuse me. I am very late." Off he skittered, for all the world like a scaly White Rabbit.

"I thank you," Sam called after him, but he didn't think the Lizard heard. He was tempted to yell something like, Rosebud! Rosebud! at the male just in case sitting in Goldschmidt's chair had been enough to plant a listening device on him. That would give the Army conniptions, by G.o.d! In the end, though, he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want, or didn't suppose he wanted, to make these moderns any more paranoid than they were already. at the male just in case sitting in Goldschmidt's chair had been enough to plant a listening device on him. That would give the Army conniptions, by G.o.d! In the end, though, he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want, or didn't suppose he wanted, to make these moderns any more paranoid than they were already.

His car was a three-year-old Ford. It wasn't enormously different from the ones he'd owned before he went on ice. The styling was plainer-real streamlining had taken a lot of individuality out of design. One year's models nowadays looked like another's, and one company's like another's, too. The engine was smoother. The radio sounded better. But making cars had been a mature technology even in 1977. The changes were refinements, not fundamentals. He had no trouble driving it.

Traffic was worse than he remembered. The Los Angeles area had more than twice as many people as when he'd gone into cold sleep, and it didn't have more than twice as many freeways. Too many cars were trying to use the roads at the same time. But things did thin out as he rode down to the South Bay.

His apartment wasn't far from the one where Karen and Jonathan were living. That was convenient for them in case he got sick. It was also convenient for him: they were two of the very few people he could talk to in any meaningful way. Where cold sleep separated him from the vast majority of mankind, it had brought him closer to his son and daughter-in-law because he'd been in it longer than they had.

"I meant it, Colonel Goldschmidt-you and the horse both," he said when he walked in the door. He a.s.sumed the apartment was bugged. What could he do about it? Nothing he could see.

He sat at the computer for a while. Like Jonathan and Karen, he was working on his memoirs. He wondered if anyone would want to read his once he finished. Very few people these days remembered how things had been back in the 1960s. Instead, they knew what they'd learned in school about that time. What they'd learned in school wasn't kind to one Sam Yeager.

He shrugged and typed some more. If he couldn't persuade an American publisher to print the work, he could still sell translation rights to the Race. The Lizards would want to hear what he had to say even if his own people didn't. And faster-than-light travel might mean he could sell the rights not only on Earth but also on Home, Rabotev 2, and Halless 1-and see the money now instead of in the great by and by. That would be nice. He had no guarantee he'd be around for the great by and by. Odds were against it, in fact.

He jumped when the telephone rang. He'd got used to phones on Home that hissed. And he was going well at the keyboard. He said something unkind as he walked over and picked it up. "h.e.l.lo?"

"h.e.l.lo, Sam. This is Lacey Nagel." Mickey's literary agent had taken him on, and Jonathan and Karen as well. He hadn't met her in person, but gathered she was about the apparent age of his son and daughter-in-law. She'd been, or at least seemed, more optimistic about the project than he was. Some of that, no doubt, was professional necessity; an agent who wasn't optimistic wouldn't stay in business. But Sam hoped some was real.

"Hi, Lacey," he answered now. "What's up?"

"We have a deal with Random House," she said crisply. Sam's jaw dropped. Then she told him how much it was for. His jaw dropped farther, all the way down onto his chest. "I hope that's satisfactory," she finished.

"My G.o.d," he said, and she laughed out loud. He tried to come up with something more coherent. The best he could do was, "How did you manage that?"

"Well, I didn't do anything to the acquiring editor that left a mark," she said, which made him laugh in turn. She went on, "They're excited about it, in fact. They must be, or they wouldn't have made that offer. They said it was high time you told your own story."

He couldn't very well have told it before this unless he'd done it before he went into cold sleep. That hadn't even occurred to him back then. Now the book would feel like history to everybody who read it. "My G.o.d," he repeated.

"I hope that means you're pleased," Lacey Nagel said.

"I'm more than pleased-I'm flabbergasted," Sam told her.

"Now there's a word I haven't heard in a while," she said.

"I'm not surprised," Sam said without rancor. "I know the way I talk is old-fas.h.i.+oned as all get-out these days." Saying all get-out all get-out was old-fas.h.i.+oned these days, too. was old-fas.h.i.+oned these days, too.

"Don't worry about it," Lacey said. "No matter how you say it, what you have to say will be right up to the minute."

"I hope so." He still felt a little-more than a little-dizzy. "I was working on it when you called."

"Oh-oh!" she said. "That means you want to wring my neck for interrupting you."

He shook his head. Lacey Nagel couldn't see that; his phone didn't have a video attachment, which only proved how old-fas.h.i.+oned he was. "Oh, no," he said. "If you've got news like that, you can call me any old time. Thank you. I don't think I said that before. Thank you!" He added an emphatic cough. When he walked back to the computer, his feet didn't touch the carpet once.