Colonization_ Down To Earth Part 17

Monique didn't say anything to that. She couldn't, not unless she cared to give the game away. She did manage another smile. It was a smile of gloating antic.i.p.ation, but Dieter Kuhn didn't need to know that.

He finished dressing, smugly kissed her, even more smugly fondled her, and, at last, headed for the door. Monique, still naked, stayed in the bedroom. That was what she always did when Kuhn left. If she did anything different tonight, she might rouse his suspicions. The last thing she wanted was to rouse Kuhn in any way.

He turned the k.n.o.b. Hinges creaked as the door swung open. Back in the bedroom, Monique hugged herself in glee. She didn't know it would be tonight, but she hoped, she even prayed...

A burst of gunfire shattered the quiet of the street outside, gunfire and a scream. "Gott im Himmel!" "Gott im Himmel!" Dieter Kuhn exclaimed. Still in German, he went on, "That was a Lizard weapon, or I'm a Jew." He slammed the door shut behind him and ran down the hall. Dieter Kuhn exclaimed. Still in German, he went on, "That was a Lizard weapon, or I'm a Jew." He slammed the door shut behind him and ran down the hall.

"No," Monique said, shaking her head back and forth. "No, no, no." She had a horrible feeling she knew what had happened. The Race had as much trouble telling human beings apart as people did telling one Lizard from another. If the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin had been told to kill whoever came out of the block of flats at such-and-such a time, and if some luckless fellow had chosen just that time to go out for a stroll or a gla.s.s of wine... if that had happened, the fellow's blood was on her hands.

A couple of minutes later, someone pounded on her door. Kuhn, Kuhn, she thought, and then, she thought, and then, Dammit. Dammit. She threw on a nightgown and went to open the door. The SS man pushed past her and into the flat. "I need to use your telephone," he said. She threw on a nightgown and went to open the door. The SS man pushed past her and into the flat. "I need to use your telephone," he said.

"What happened?" Monique asked, though she feared she knew only too well.

"Someone just shot a man to death outside this building with a Lizard automatic rifle," Kuhn answered. "Merde alors, if I had gone out a couple of minutes sooner, that could have been me." He was dialing the telephone as he replied, and began speaking into it in German, too fast and excited for Monique to follow more than one word in three. if I had gone out a couple of minutes sooner, that could have been me." He was dialing the telephone as he replied, and began speaking into it in German, too fast and excited for Monique to follow more than one word in three.

"Quel dommage," she said distantly. If the SS man heard her, she thought he would think she meant it was a pity the other fellow had got shot, not that he himself hadn't. she said distantly. If the SS man heard her, she thought he would think she meant it was a pity the other fellow had got shot, not that he himself hadn't.

After a couple of minutes, Kuhn hung up. He turned back to her. "They are on their way," he said, returning to French. "As long as you have some clothes on, come downstairs with me and see if you can identify the body. The fellow may live here. If we know who he is, we may be able to find out why someone with a Lizard weapon-maybe even a Lizard-wanted him dead."

Monique gulped. "Do I have to?" she asked. She knew perfectly well why the poor fellow out there on the street was dead: because of her, and because the drug-dealing Lizard who'd shot him didn't know what the devil he was doing. Seeing the result of her failed revenge was the last thing she wanted.

But Dieter Kuhn, as she knew all too well, didn't care what she wanted. "Come on," he repeated, and grabbed her by the arm. He wasn't the typical hulking German; by his looks and compact, wiry build, he might more readily have been French. But he was much stronger than Monique. When he dragged her along with him, she had no choice but to come.

A little crowd of the curious and the ghoulish had gathered around the corpse on the sidewalk just in front of Monique's block of flats. Blood, black in the moonlight, streamed down into the gutter. A man had a startling amount of blood in him. Monique could smell it, and the latrine stench that had come when the dead man's bowels let go.

Sirens yowled in the distance, rapidly coming closer. Kuhn took a little flashlight off his belt and shone it in the dead man's face. "Do you know him?" he asked.

"Yes," Monique answered, trying not to look at the wound that had torn away one side of his jaw. "That's Ferdinand Bonnard. He lives-lived-downstairs from me, on the second floor. He never bothered anyone that I heard of." And I killed him, as sure as if I'd pulled the trigger myself And I killed him, as sure as if I'd pulled the trigger myself. She wondered if she'd be sick.

Kuhn wrote the name in a little notebook he fished from a trouser pocket. "Bonnard, eh? And what did he do?"

"He sold fish in a little shop on the Rue de Refuge, not far from the harbor," Monique answered as a couple of SS vehicles squealed to a stop and uniformed Germans spilled out of them. Everyone but Monique suddenly found urgent business elsewhere.

"Dealt with fishermen, did he? Maybe he was a smuggler, too," Kuhn said, and started talking to his n.a.z.i colleagues. He might have forgotten about Monique. But when she started to go back inside the apartment building, Kuhn shook his head. "No-you will come with us to the Palais de Justice and answer more questions." She must have looked as horrified as she felt, for he added, "It will not be as bad as it was last time. You have my word of honor."

And it wasn't-quite.

Once he started getting used to it, Rance Auerbach discovered Cape Town's District Six wasn't such a bad place after all. Yes, he had to treat Negroes as if they were as good as anybody else. He even had to take orders from them every now and then. That wasn't easy for a Texan. But after he leaped the hurdle, he started having a pretty fair time.

Everybody in District Six, black and white and colored (a distinction between full-blooded blacks and half-breeds the USA didn't bother drawing) and Indian, was hustling as hard as he or she could. Some people had honest work, some work that wasn't so honest. A lot of people had both kinds of jobs, and ran like maniacs from long before the sun rose over Table Mountain till long after it set in the South Atlantic.

Rance couldn't have run like a maniac even if he'd wanted to. Getting up and down the stairs to the flat he and Penny Summers shared was plenty to leave him sore and gasping. When he shuffled along the streets near the apartment building where he lived, kids of all colors laughed at his shuffling gait. They called him Stumpy, maybe because of his stick, maybe just because of the way he walked.

He didn't care what they called him. Kids back in the States had thought he walked funny, too. h.e.l.l, even he thought he walked funny. But he could get to the Boomslang saloon a couple of blocks from his apartment building, and most of the time that was as far as he wanted to go.

Boomslang, he found, meant he found, meant tree snake, tree snake, and one particular, and particularly poisonous, kind of tree snake at that. Considering some of the rotgut the place served up, he could understand how it got its name. But it was close, it was cheap, and the crowd, despite being of all colors, was as lively and interesting as any he'd ever found in a bar. and one particular, and particularly poisonous, kind of tree snake at that. Considering some of the rotgut the place served up, he could understand how it got its name. But it was close, it was cheap, and the crowd, despite being of all colors, was as lively and interesting as any he'd ever found in a bar.

To his surprise, he found he was interesting to the Boomslang's other patrons. His American accent made him exotic to both whites and blacks. So did his ruined voice. When people discovered he'd been wounded fighting the Lizards, he won respect for courage if not for sense.

But when they found out how he'd wound up in South Africa, he won... interest. One evening, somewhat elevated from a few hours at the saloon, he came home and told Penny, "Half the people in this G.o.dd.a.m.n country are either in the ginger-smuggling business or want to be, if you listen to 'em talk."

His girlfriend threw back her head and laughed. "You just figured that out, Rance? h.e.l.l, sweetheart, if I'd've wanted to, I could've gotten back into business long since. But I've been taking it easy, you know what I mean?"

"You?" Auerbach felt the whiskey singing in him. It didn't make him stupid, but it did make him care less about what he said. "Since when did you ever believe in taking it easy?"

Penny Summers turned red. "You really want to know? Since those d.a.m.n n.a.z.is pointed every gun in the world right at my head and carted you and me off to that jail in Ma.r.s.eille, that's when." She shuddered. "And then, after the Lizards got us back, they could've locked us up in their own jail and thrown away the key. So I'm not real hot to give 'em another shot at doing that. Thanks, but no thanks."

Auerbach stared. Of all the things he'd expected, Penny cautious was among the last. "You mean you like living like this?" His wave took in the cramped little flat. If he hadn't been careful, he would have barked his knuckles on the wall.

"Like it? h.e.l.l no," Penny answered. "Like it better than a nice, warm, cozy cell with nothing but Lizards to look at for the rest of my days? h.e.l.l, yes."

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," he said wonderingly. "They really did put the fear of G.o.d in you, didn't they?"

She walked up to him and set her hands on his shoulders. It wasn't the prelude to a kiss, as he'd hoped at first it might be. "Listen to me," she said, as serious as he'd ever heard her. "Listen to me good. We caused those scaly b.a.s.t.a.r.ds a lot of trouble, I mean a lot lot of trouble. If you don't think they're keeping an eye on us to make sure we're good little boys and girls, you're smack out of your mind. Want to bet against me? How much have you got?" of trouble. If you don't think they're keeping an eye on us to make sure we're good little boys and girls, you're smack out of your mind. Want to bet against me? How much have you got?"

Auerbach thought about it. He thought slower than he should have, but still thought pretty straight. When he was done, he shook his head, even though it made his ruined shoulder ache. "Nope. That'd be like raising with a pair of fives against a guy who's got four diamonds showing."

Now Penny did kiss him, a peck on the lips that had nothing to do with l.u.s.t and everything to do with grat.i.tude. "See, Rance?" she said. "I knew you weren't dumb."

"Only about you," he answered, which made her laugh, though he hadn't been more than half joking. He sighed and went on, "But if you listen to them, half the guys in the Boomslang have sold the Lizards a taste one time or another."

Penny laughed again. "How much have you had to drink, babe? Must be a h.e.l.l of a lot, if you're dumb enough to believe what a bunch of barflies say. And even if they have sold some poor d.a.m.n Lizard a taste or two, so what? That's nickel-and-dime stuff. If I ever do start playing the game down here, it won't be for nickels and dimes, and you can bet your bottom dollar on that."

"If you get in trouble, you want to get in a whole lot of trouble-that's what you're telling me." Now Rance nodded; that did sound like the Penny Summers he'd known for the past twenty-odd years. Penny... you could say a lot about her, but she never did things by halves.

She knew it, too. "I stiffed my pals for plenty before I came running back to you," she said. "If I ever take a shot at it again, I'll do it once-once and then it's off to Tahiti or one of those other little islands the Free French run."

Free France was a joke, but a useful joke. The j.a.panese Empire could have run the French off their South Pacific islands. So could the USA. So could the Lizards, flying out of Australia. n.o.body bothered. Neutral ground where n.o.body asked a whole lot of questions was too useful to everyone.

"I could go for that," Rance agreed. The ginger he and Penny had run down into Mexico should have got them a stash that would have taken them to Tahiti. Auerbach liked the notion of island girls not overburdened with clothes or prudery. But things hadn't worked out the way they'd had in mind, and so....

Penny said, "I'll tell you one more time, sugar: you won't find anything that could head us toward Free France there in the G.o.dd.a.m.n Boomslang. And if you do find it in the Boomslang, it's dollars to doughnuts somebody's trying to set us up. You want to be a sucker, go ahead, but leave me out, okay?"

"Okay," Auerbach said, and then he yawned. "Let's go to bed."

"How do you mean that?" Penny asked.

"d.a.m.ned if I know," he answered. "Meet me in the bedroom and we'll both find out." Five minutes later, two sets of snores rose from the bed.

A couple of evenings afterwards, Rance and Penny went to the Boomslang together. She didn't go with him all the time, but then, she wasn't in constant pain, either. When she did come into the saloon, she always drew admiring glances, not just from whites but from blacks as well. That was one more thing Auerbach had had to get used to in a hurry here. Those kinds of looks from Negroes in Texas might have touched off a lynching bee. He gathered the same thing had been true in South Africa before the Lizards came. It wasn't true any more.

Rance drank scotch that had never been within five thousand miles of Scotland. Penny contented herself with a Lion Lager. A barmaid took one of the other regulars upstairs. "Don't even think about it, buster," Penny murmured.

"I won't," Rance promised. "She's homely." Penny snorted.

After a while, a big, broad-shouldered black fellow whom Auerbach knew only as Frederick-emphatically not not as Fred-came over and sat down beside him. "It is the ginger man," he said in a rumbling ba.s.s. His smile was broad and friendly. Too broad and friendly to be convincing? Rance had never quite figured that out, which meant he stayed wary where Frederick was concerned. The black man inclined his head to Penny. "And this is the ginger lady?" as Fred-came over and sat down beside him. "It is the ginger man," he said in a rumbling ba.s.s. His smile was broad and friendly. Too broad and friendly to be convincing? Rance had never quite figured that out, which meant he stayed wary where Frederick was concerned. The black man inclined his head to Penny. "And this is the ginger lady?"

His musical accent made the question less offensive than it might have been otherwise. Penny tossed her head. "There's plenty of ginger in me, pal," she said, "but I'm spoken for." She put a hand on Rance's arm.

In a way, Rance was annoyed that she thought she needed to say such a thing, especially to a Negro. In another way, he was relieved. He wouldn't have wanted to tangle with Frederick even if he'd had two good arms and two good legs. With things as they were, the black man could have broken him in half without working up a sweat.

But Frederick shook his head. "No, no, no," he said. "Not that kind of ginger, dear lady. The kind that makes the Lizards dance."

"Ixnay," Rance muttered to Penny. South African English was different enough from the kind he'd grown up with that he didn't worry about Frederick's knowing what that meant.

Penny nodded slightly, but leaned forward so she could see Frederick around Rance and said, "Yeah, I've done that. But so what? If I hadn't done it, I wouldn't have ended up here, and so I'm not going to do it any more."

If the Negro was a plant, if the Lizards were looking to get Rance and Penny in more trouble, that would put sugar in their gas tank. But all Frederick said was, "No doubt you are wise. Still, though, do you not miss the excitement of never knowing when things might turn... interesting?"

d.a.m.n him, Auerbach thought. He'd made a shrewd guess there. Penny liked living on the edge. Once upon a time, Rance had known that feeling, too. Before Penny could answer, he said, "You lose excitement in a hurry the first time somebody puts a couple of bullets through you." Auerbach thought. He'd made a shrewd guess there. Penny liked living on the edge. Once upon a time, Rance had known that feeling, too. Before Penny could answer, he said, "You lose excitement in a hurry the first time somebody puts a couple of bullets through you."

"Yeah," Penny said. If she sounded a little disappointed, then she did, that was all. Tahiti remained tempting-to her and to Auerbach both-but only if the potential gain made the risk worthwhile. And she was dead right about that being unlikely for any deal made in a no-account District Six saloon.

Frederick spoke a sentence in whatever African language he'd grown up with, then translated it into English: "Who is a hunter after the lion bites?" He beamed. "You see? We are not so very different, you people from a far land and me."

"Maybe not," Auerbach said. He didn't want to start a brawl. A couple of bullets had ruined his taste for that, too. Penny nodded, which eased his mind. She was still looking for her big chance; she just didn't think she'd find it here.

And d.a.m.ned if Frederick wasn't doing the exact same thing. With a sigh full of longing, he said, "If only I could find enough ginger and the right Lizards, all my worries would be over."

"Yeah," Penny said, that same longing in her voice.

"h.e.l.l of a big if," Rance said, and hoped she was listening to him.

Engine rumbling, Jonathan Yeager's elderly Ford came to a stop in front of Karen's house. He killed the engine, jumped out of the car, and hurried toward the door. Summer nights could be chilly in Southern California, but that wasn't the only, or even the main, reason he wore his T-s.h.i.+rt striped with the fleetlord's body paint. Karen's parents were nice people-for old fogies, he added to himself, as he did whenever the thought occurred to him-but they weren't the sort of folks who took bare chests for granted. he added to himself, as he did whenever the thought occurred to him-but they weren't the sort of folks who took bare chests for granted.

He rang the doorbell. A moment later, the door opened. "h.e.l.lo, Jonathan," said Karen's father, a burly man whose own red hair was going gray. "Come on in. She'll be ready in two shakes, I promise."

"Okay, Mr. Culpepper. Thanks," Jonathan said. He looked around the living room. The Culpeppers didn't have so many books as his family did, but n.o.body he knew had as many books as his family did.

"Would you like a c.o.ke, Jonathan?" Mrs. Culpepper asked, coming out of the kitchen. She was a blonde herself, but Karen looked more like her than like her husband. As far as Jonathan was concerned, that was all to the good.

But he shook his head now. "No, thanks. Karen and I will get our sodas and popcorn and candy at the movie."

Karen came into the front room just then. "Hi!" she said brightly, and wrinkled her nose at Jonathan. She switched to the language of the Race, saying, "I greet you, Exalted Fleetlord," and dropped into the posture of respect. Then, laughing, she straightened up again. Her own body paint said she was a senior mechanized combat vehicle driver. Her halter top didn't hide much of it-didn't hide any, in fact, because she'd continued the pattern on the fabric in washable paint.

Her parents looked at each other. Jonathan saw them roll their eyes. They didn't take the Race for granted, the way Karen and he did. Well, even his own folks didn't do that, but they knew how important the Race was. The Culpeppers didn't seem to get that, either, or to want to get it.

"Have fun at the movie," Mrs. Culpepper said.

"Don't get back too late," Mr. Culpepper added. But his voice didn't have a growl in it, the way it had when Karen and Jonathan first started dating. He approved of Jonathan, as much as any middle-aged man could approve of the lout going out with his precious daughter.

As soon as the car got moving east up Compton Boulevard, Karen turned to Jonathan and said, "Okay, now you're going to tell me why you're so hot to see The Battle of Chicago The Battle of Chicago. I didn't think war movies were your taste of ginger." By her tone, if war movies were his taste of ginger, she was wondering whether she'd made a mistake by having anything to do with him.

But Jonathan answered, "Sure, I'll tell you. It's because my dad and mom were in in the Battle of Chicago, or at least the first part of it. Their s.h.i.+p got shot up when it took them and everybody else who was working on our explosive-metal bomb out of Chicago when it looked like the Lizards would break in." the Battle of Chicago, or at least the first part of it. Their s.h.i.+p got shot up when it took them and everybody else who was working on our explosive-metal bomb out of Chicago when it looked like the Lizards would break in."

"Oh." Karen thought about it, then nodded. "Okay. I guess I can put up with it for that. But it won't be much like what really happened, you know."

"Of course it won't-it's a movie." Jonathan stopped at the light at Vermont, waited for a couple of southbound cars to go by, and turned right to follow them. On the radio, a fellow with a soft drawl shouted above tw.a.n.ging electric guitars. Jonathan's parents found modern music raucous-all the more reason for him to like it.

He drove with his left hand for a couple of seconds so he could poke Karen in the ribs with his right forefinger. As she squeaked, he went on, "And don't tell me you're just putting up with it, either, not when you'll be drooling all over everything every time James Dean shows up-and since he's the star, he'll show up most of the time."

She made a face at him. "Like you won't be leering at that French chippie, whatever her name is-you know, the one who keeps trying to fall out of her clothes all the time. What was she she doing in the battle of Chicago?" doing in the battle of Chicago?"

"Decorating it?" Jonathan suggested. Karen poked him in the ribs for that, which made him swerve the car and almost nail a station wagon in the next lane. The fellow in the station wagon sent him a dirty look. Jonathan gave Karen one, too, and added, "You were the one who said it wouldn't be much like what really happened."

"I didn't mean like that," that," Karen said. They kept teasing each other till they got to the Vermont drive-in, a little past Artesia. Houses were thin that far south; some of the little farms and orchards and nurseries that had been there since before the war still survived. The drive-in movie theater made a raucous addition to the air of rural charm. Karen said. They kept teasing each other till they got to the Vermont drive-in, a little past Artesia. Houses were thin that far south; some of the little farms and orchards and nurseries that had been there since before the war still survived. The drive-in movie theater made a raucous addition to the air of rural charm.

Jonathan chose a parking s.p.a.ce well, away from the snack bar, though a good many closer to it were open. Karen raised an eyebrow-she knew what he had in mind aside from watching the movie. She stuck out her tongue at him, but didn't say anything. If she had said something, he might have moved the car. As things were, he said, "I'll be right back," and headed off to bring back a cardboard carton full of grease and salt and chocolate and fizzy, caffeinated water and other nutrients essential to human life.

When he got back, he found that Karen had mounted the little speaker on the window of the front driver's-side door. She was waiting in the back seat, and opened the rear door for him so he wouldn't have to put down the carton and maybe spill all the goodies.

They grinned at each other as they started eating Milk Duds. She hadn't come along with him just to watch the movie, either. They didn't do anything but grin, not yet; cars were still coming in, the glare of headlights blasting into their faces every few seconds. Jonathan didn't even put his arm around her. They'd have plenty of time for that later.

By luck-and also by Jonathan's strategic choice of parking s.p.a.ce-n.o.body parked close to the Ford. He looked out at the white lines painted on the asphalt as if he'd never expected such a thing. "How about that?" he said.

"Yeah, how about that?" Karen did her best to sound stern-that was one of the rules of the game-but a giggle lurked somewhere down at the bottom of her voice. They'd been going out for a good long while now. Sure enough, she knew what he had in mind, and he knew she knew, and had it on her mind, too. It wasn't as if they'd just started discovering each other.

They'd made a good-sized dent in the big bags of popcorn when the screen lit and music blared out of the tinny speaker. An announcer's voice followed: "Here are scenes from our coming attractions!"

Now Jonathan slipped his arm around Karen's shoulder. Her flesh was warm and smooth under his hand. She slid closer to him-carefully, so as not to disturb the surviving food and what was left of the sodas. One of the coming features had dinosaurs that looked remarkably like overgrown Lizards tearing up the landscape, one was a tear-jerking love story, and one had Red Skelton and Bing Crosby wisecracking, strutting their stuff, and outwitting real Lizards (one of whom Jonathan thought he recognized) left and right.

"My father would like that one," Karen said with a sigh.

"Uh-huh," Jonathan said. "So would mine, even if he spent half the time telling everybody else in the car with him what all was wrong with it."

"How are Mickey and Donald?" Karen asked as the cartoon came on-a rascally rabbit who eluded Lizards and b.u.mbling human hunters at every turn.

"Growing like weeds," he answered. "Eating us out of house and home." Cliches were safest when he talked about the hatchlings. His father surely wished he wouldn't talk about them at all, but hadn't ordered him not to do it. He tried not to betray the trust he'd earned. Adding, "They keep learning things all the time, too," seemed safe enough.

"And now, our feature presentation," the announcer boomed. Karen snuggled closer to Jonathan. He let his hand close on the smooth skin of her shoulder rather than just resting there. Quite involuntarily, he took a deep breath. He had to remind himself they weren't in a hurry: for one thing, it was a three-hour movie.

s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps filled the enormous screen. "That's terrific trick photography," Karen said.

"No, it's not-it's real Lizard newsreel footage. I've seen it before," Jonathan answered. "I wonder how much MGM had to pay the Race to use it."

They watched the movie for a while, though the view from the backseat wasn't so good as it would have been from up front. Jonathan soon discovered the film was even hokier than he'd feared; just from things his folks had said, he soon found half a dozen absurdities. But some of the battle sequences looked very gritty and realistic. They were newsreel footage, too, human-filmed black-and-white footage turned into color with the help of computers. Watching how the director cut back and forth from them to the actors and the story he was shooting himself kept Jonathan half interested for a while. James Dean aside, Karen hadn't much cared to begin with. Before long, they found other things to do.

Jonathan untied the bow that held her little halter top on. It was so small, n.o.body coming by in the dark would notice whether she was wearing it, anyhow. And... "You did the body paint under there, too!" he exclaimed.

Karen smiled at him. "I thought you might find that out," she answered as he caressed her. She turned toward him. He kissed her, then lowered his face to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She sighed and pressed him to her. They sank down onto the seat together.