Colonization_ Down To Earth Part 28

11.

In her life aboard the Race's stars.h.i.+p, Ka.s.squit had known little bodily discomfort. Oh, she'd had her share of b.u.mps and bruises and cuts-more than her share, as she saw things, for her skin was softer and more vulnerable than the scaly hides of the Race-but none of them had been bad. And, since her body reached maturity, she'd also had to deal with the cyclic nature of Tosevite female physiology. It made her resent her origins-the Race certainly had no such problems-but, with the pa.s.sage of time, she'd grown resigned to it.

These immunizations brought a whole different order of unpleasantness. One of them raised a nasty pustule on her arm. Up till then, her knowledge of infections had been purely theoretical. For a while, as the afflicted region swelled and hurt, she wondered if her immune system could cope with the microorganisms from the planet on which her kind had evolved. But, after a few days, the pustule did scab over, even though the scar it left behind looked as if it was liable to be permanent.

Other injections proved almost as unpleasant as that one. They made her arm or her b.u.t.tock sore for a couple of days at a time. Some of them raised her body temperature as her immune system fought the germs that stimulated it. She'd never known fever before, and didn't enjoy the feeling of la.s.situde and stupidity it brought.

As a physician readied yet another hypodermic, she asked, "By the Emperor, how many diseases are are there down on Tosev 3?" there down on Tosev 3?"

"A great many," the male answered, casting down his eyes for a moment. "Even more than there are on Home, by all indications-or perhaps it is just that the Big Uglies can cure or prevent so few of them. This one is called cholera, I believe. It is not an illness you would want to have, and that is a truth." He used an emphatic cough. "This immunization does not confer perfect resistance to the causative organism, but it is the best the Tosevites can do. Now you will give me your arm?"

"It shall be done," Ka.s.squit said with a sigh. She did not flinch as the needle penetrated her.

"There. That was very easy," the physician said, swabbing the injection site with a disinfectant. "It was, in fact, easier than it would have been with a male or female of the Race. Here, your thin skin is an advantage?"

"How nice," Ka.s.squit said distantly. She did not want to be different from the Race. With all her heart, she wished she could be a female like any other. She knew what such wishes were worth, but couldn't help making them.

Except for the one that had raised the pustule, the injection for the disease called cholera proved the most unpleasant Ka.s.squit had endured. She enjoyed neither the pain nor the fever. They seemed to take forever to ebb. If the disease was worse than the treatment that guarded against it, it had to be very nasty indeed.

Sam Yeager telephoned Ka.s.squit while she was recovering from the immunization. Not feeling up to dealing with the Big Ugly, she refused the call. Before long, he sent her a message over the computer network: I hope I have done nothing to cause offense. I hope I have done nothing to cause offense.

That was polite enough to require a polite answer. No, No, she replied. she replied. It is only that I have not felt well lately. It is only that I have not felt well lately.

I am sorry to hear it, he wrote back promptly. he wrote back promptly. I did not think it would be easy for you to get sick up there, away from all the germs of Tosev 3. I hope you get better soon. I did not think it would be easy for you to get sick up there, away from all the germs of Tosev 3. I hope you get better soon.

I have been free of the germs of Tosev 3, Ka.s.squit answered. Ka.s.squit answered. That is the cause of my present discomfort: I am being immunized against them, and some of the immunizations have unpleasant aftereffects. That is the cause of my present discomfort: I am being immunized against them, and some of the immunizations have unpleasant aftereffects.

Again, Sam Yeager wrote back almost at once. He had to be sitting by his computer as Ka.s.squit was sitting by hers. Are you getting immunized so you can meet Big Uglies in person? Are you getting immunized so you can meet Big Uglies in person? he asked. he asked. If you are, I hope that my hatchling and I are two of the Big Uglies you will want to meet. We certainly want to meet you. If you are, I hope that my hatchling and I are two of the Big Uglies you will want to meet. We certainly want to meet you. He used the conventional symbol that represented an emphatic cough. He used the conventional symbol that represented an emphatic cough.

Despite its breezily informal syntax, Ka.s.squit studied that message with considerable respect. Wild Big Ugly Sam Yeager might be, but he was anything but a fool. Yes, that is why I am being immunized, Yes, that is why I am being immunized, Ka.s.squit told him, her artificial fingerclaws clicking on the keyboard. Ka.s.squit told him, her artificial fingerclaws clicking on the keyboard. And yes, you and your hatchling are two of the Tosevites I am interested in meeting. And yes, you and your hatchling are two of the Tosevites I am interested in meeting.

Sam Yeager's hatchling, Jonathan Yeager, intrigued her no end. She had never seen anyone who resembled her so closely. Living as she did among the Race, she had never imagined that anyone could resemble her so closely. He even shaved his head and wore body paint. It was as if he and she were two ends of the same bridge, reaching toward the middle to form... what?

If this world has a future as part of the Empire, she thought, she thought, its future will be as whatever forms in the middle of that bridge. its future will be as whatever forms in the middle of that bridge.

Once more, Sam Yeager wasted no time in replying. We very much look forward to it, superior female, We very much look forward to it, superior female, he wrote. he wrote. Shall we start setting up arrangements with the Race? Shall we start setting up arrangements with the Race?

Part of Ka.s.squit-probably the larger part-dreaded the idea. The rest, though, the rest was intrigued. And she agreed with Ttomalss that such a meeting would bring advantage to the Race. And so, in spite of a sigh, she answered, Yes, you may do that, and I will do the same. I do not know how long the negotiations will take. Yes, you may do that, and I will do the same. I do not know how long the negotiations will take.

Too long, Sam Yeager predicted. Sam Yeager predicted.

Ka.s.squit laughed. You are intolerant of bureaucracy, You are intolerant of bureaucracy, she observed. she observed.

I hope so, the wild Big Ugly wrote, which made Ka.s.squit laugh again. Sam Yeager went on, the wild Big Ugly wrote, which made Ka.s.squit laugh again. Sam Yeager went on, Bureaucracy is like spice in food. A little makes food taste good. Because it does, too many males and females think a lot will make the food taste even better. But cooking does not improve that way, and neither does bureaucracy. Bureaucracy is like spice in food. A little makes food taste good. Because it does, too many males and females think a lot will make the food taste even better. But cooking does not improve that way, and neither does bureaucracy.

Some regulation is necessary, Ka.s.squit wrote. She had known nothing but regulation throughout her life. Ka.s.squit wrote. She had known nothing but regulation throughout her life.

I said as much, Sam Yeager answered. Sam Yeager answered. But when does some become too much? Tosevites have been arguing that question for as long as we have been civilized. We still are. I suppose the Race is, too. But when does some become too much? Tosevites have been arguing that question for as long as we have been civilized. We still are. I suppose the Race is, too.

No, not really. Ka.s.squit keyed the characters one by one. Ka.s.squit keyed the characters one by one. I have never heard such a discussion among the Race. We have, for the most part, the amount of regulation that suits us. I have never heard such a discussion among the Race. We have, for the most part, the amount of regulation that suits us.

I do not know whether to congratulate the Race or offer my sympathy, the Tosevite responded. the Tosevite responded. And as for you, you are with the Race but not of it, the way hatchlings of the Race would be if Big Uglies raised them. And as for you, you are with the Race but not of it, the way hatchlings of the Race would be if Big Uglies raised them.

I would like to meet such hatchlings, if there were any, Ka.s.squit wrote. Ka.s.squit wrote. I have thought about that very possibility, though I do not suppose it is likely. Even if it were, such hatchlings would still be very small. I have thought about that very possibility, though I do not suppose it is likely. Even if it were, such hatchlings would still be very small.

So they would, Sam Yeager replied. Sam Yeager replied. And I have another question for you-even if you did meet these hatchlings when they were grown, what language would you speak with them? And I have another question for you-even if you did meet these hatchlings when they were grown, what language would you speak with them?

Why, the language of the Race, of course, Ka.s.squit wrote, but she deleted the words instead of sending them. The Big Ugly had thought of something she hadn't. If his kind were raising hatchlings of the Race to be as much like Tosevites as possible, they would naturally teach them some Tosevite tongue. Ka.s.squit had trouble imagining males and females of the Race who didn't know their own language, but it made sense that such hatchlings wouldn't. And why not? She was a Big Ugly by blood, but spoke not a word of any Tosevite tongue. Ka.s.squit wrote, but she deleted the words instead of sending them. The Big Ugly had thought of something she hadn't. If his kind were raising hatchlings of the Race to be as much like Tosevites as possible, they would naturally teach them some Tosevite tongue. Ka.s.squit had trouble imagining males and females of the Race who didn't know their own language, but it made sense that such hatchlings wouldn't. And why not? She was a Big Ugly by blood, but spoke not a word of any Tosevite tongue.

What she did transmit was, I see that you have done a good deal of thinking on these matters. Do I understand that you have been dealing with the Race since the conquest fleet came to Tosev3? I see that you have done a good deal of thinking on these matters. Do I understand that you have been dealing with the Race since the conquest fleet came to Tosev3?

Yes, the Tosevite answered. the Tosevite answered. In fact, I was interested in non-Tosevite intelligences even before the conquest fleet got here. In fact, I was interested in non-Tosevite intelligences even before the conquest fleet got here.

Ka.s.squit studied the words on the screen. Sam Yeager wrote the language of the Race well, but not as a male of the Race would have: every so often, the syntax of his own language showed through. That was what had first made her suspect he was a Big Ugly. Did his message mean what it looked to mean, or had he somehow garbled it? Ka.s.squit decided she had to ask. How could you have known of non-Tosevite intelligences before the conquest fleet came? How could you have known of non-Tosevite intelligences before the conquest fleet came? she wrote. she wrote. Big Uglies had no s.p.a.ce travel of their own up till that time. Big Uglies had no s.p.a.ce travel of their own up till that time.

No, we had no s.p.a.ce travel, Sam Yeager agreed. Sam Yeager agreed. But we wrote a lot of fiction about what it might be like if Tosevites met all different kinds of intelligent creatures. I used to enjoy that kind of fiction, but I never thought it would come true till the day the Race shot up the railroad train I was riding. But we wrote a lot of fiction about what it might be like if Tosevites met all different kinds of intelligent creatures. I used to enjoy that kind of fiction, but I never thought it would come true till the day the Race shot up the railroad train I was riding.

"How strange." Ka.s.squit spoke the words aloud, and startled herself with the sound of her own voice. The more she learned about the species of which she was genetically a part, the more alien it seemed to her. She wrote, Such things would never have occurred to the Race before s.p.a.ceflight. Such things would never have occurred to the Race before s.p.a.ceflight.

So I gather Sam Yeager replied. Sam Yeager replied. We speculate more than the Race does, or so it seems. We speculate more than the Race does, or so it seems.

Is that good or bad? Ka.s.squit wrote. Ka.s.squit wrote.

Yes. The unadorned word made her stare. After a moment, in a separate message, Sam Yeager went on, The unadorned word made her stare. After a moment, in a separate message, Sam Yeager went on, Sometimes differences are not better or worse. Sometimes they are just different. The Race does things one way. Big Uglies do things a different way-or sometimes a lot of different ways, because we are more various than the Race. Sometimes differences are not better or worse. Sometimes they are just different. The Race does things one way. Big Uglies do things a different way-or sometimes a lot of different ways, because we are more various than the Race.

If it hadn't been for that variability, Ka.s.squit knew the Race would easily have conquered Tosev 3. The majority of the planet's inhabitants, the majority of the regions of its land surface, had fallen to the conquest fleet with relatively little trouble. But the minority... The minority had given, and continued to give, the Race enormous difficulties.

Before Ka.s.squit could find a way to put any of that into words, SamYeager wrote, I have to leave now-time for my evening meal. I will be in touch by message and by telephone-if you care to talk with me-and I hope to see you in person before too long Goodbye. I have to leave now-time for my evening meal. I will be in touch by message and by telephone-if you care to talk with me-and I hope to see you in person before too long Goodbye.

Goodbye, Ka.s.squit answered. She got up from her seat in front of the computer, took off the artificial fingerclaws one by one, and set them in a storage drawer near the keyboard. It wasn't time for her evening meal, or anywhere close to it. All the s.h.i.+ps in the conquest fleet-and now in the colonization fleet, too-kept the same time, independent of where in their orbit around Tosev 3 they happened to be. Intellectually, Ka.s.squit understood how time on the surface of a world was tied to its sun's apparent position, but it had never mattered to her. Ka.s.squit answered. She got up from her seat in front of the computer, took off the artificial fingerclaws one by one, and set them in a storage drawer near the keyboard. It wasn't time for her evening meal, or anywhere close to it. All the s.h.i.+ps in the conquest fleet-and now in the colonization fleet, too-kept the same time, independent of where in their orbit around Tosev 3 they happened to be. Intellectually, Ka.s.squit understood how time on the surface of a world was tied to its sun's apparent position, but it had never mattered to her.

She hoped she would hear from Sam Yeager again soon. Such hope surprised her; she remembered how frightened she'd been at first of the idea of communicating with a wild Big Ugly. But he looked at the world in a way so different from the Race, he gave her something new and different to think about in almost every message. Not even Ttomalss did that.

And Sam Yeager, just because he was a Big Ugly, knew her and knew her reactions, or some of them, better than even Ttomalss could. In some ways, Ka.s.squit suspected Sam Yeager knew her better than she knew herself. She made the negative hand gesture. No. He knows what I would be, were I an ordinary Big Ugly. No. He knows what I would be, were I an ordinary Big Ugly.

But wasn't she some of that anyhow? She shrugged helplessly. How was she supposed to know?

Reuven Russie had thought he knew a good deal about medicine. His father was a doctor, after all; he'd had the benefit of insight and training no one starting from scratch could hope to equal. And he'd attended the Moishe Russie Medical College, learning things from the Race that human physicians wouldn't have discovered for themselves for generations. If that didn't prepare him for practice, what could?

After his first few hectic weeks of working with his father, he began to wonder if anything could have prepared him for the actual work of medicine. Moishe Russie laughed when he complained about that, laughed and remarked, "The Christians say, 'baptism by total immersion.' That's what you're going through?"

"Don't I know it?" Reuven said. "The medicine itself isn't all that different from what I thought it would be. The diagnostic tests work the same way, and the results are pretty clear, even if the lab you use isn't as good as the one attached to the college."

"Isn't it?" Moishe Russie's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Not even close," Reuven told him. "Of course, the technicians are only human." He didn't realize how disparaging that sounded till he'd already said it.

Now his father's laugh held a wry edge. "You'd better get used to dealing with human beings, son. We mostly do the best we can, you know."

"Yes, I do," Reuven said. He glanced around his father's office, where they were talking. It was a perfectly fine place, with palm trees swaying in the breeze just outside the window; with Moishe Russie's diplomas, one of them in the language of the Race, in frames on the wall; with shelves full of reference books; with a gleaming microscope perched on a corner of the desk.

And yet, to Reuven's eyes, it was as if he'd fallen back through time a century, maybe even two. The plaster on the walls was uneven and rough. It was at home, too, but he noticed it more here because he contrasted it to the smooth walls of the Moishe Russie Medical College. The microscope seemed hopelessly primitive next to the instruments he'd used there. And books... He enjoyed reading books for entertainment, but electronics were much better for finding information in a hurry. His father had access to some electronics, but didn't display them where his patients could see them. He didn't seem to want people to know he used such things.

That was part of the problem Reuven had been having in adjusting: pretending to know less than he did. The other part lay in the patients themselves. He burst out, "What do I do about the little old men who come in every other week when there's nothing wrong with them? What I want to do is boot them out on the street, but I don't suppose I can."

"No, not really," Moishe Russie agreed. "Oh, you could, but it wouldn't do you much good. They'd come back anyhow: either that or they'd go bother some other doctor instead."

"I've been looking over the files," Reuven said. "Looks like we've got some patients other doctors have run off."

"I'm sure we do," his father said, nodding. "And they have some of ours, too-I try to be patient, but I'm not Job. Sometimes all the little old men and women really want is for someone to tell them, 'Don't worry. You're really all right.' And"-he grinned at Reuven-"you're a hero to a lot of them, you know?'

Reuven shrugged in some embarra.s.sment. "Yes, I do know. I don't think it's worth making a fuss over."

"I know you don't, but you have to remember: you grew up here in Jerusalem, not in Warsaw or Minsk or Berlin," Moishe Russie said. "Being a Jew is easy here. It wasn't so easy back in Europe, believe me. And a Jew who walks away from something important so he doesn't have to go wors.h.i.+p the spirits of Emperors past"-he used the language of the Race for the phrase-"deserves to have people notice."

"If we had advertis.e.m.e.nts, you could use it in them: 'genuine Jewish doctor,' I mean," Reuven answered. "But it doesn't make me any smarter. If it does anything, it makes me stupider."

His father shook his head. "It may make you a little more ignorant, but not stupider. And it makes you honest. That's important for a doctor."

Reuven snorted. "If I were honest, I'd tell those people to geh kak afen yam." geh kak afen yam."

"Well, you can't be a hundred percent honest all all the time." Moishe Russie chuckled, but then sobered. "And the other thing to remember is, you can't take anything for granted. Just the other day, I found a lump in Mrs. Berkowitz's breast. She's been coming in here three, four times a year for the past ten years, and I never noticed anything worse than varicose veins wrong with her up till then. But you have to be careful." the time." Moishe Russie chuckled, but then sobered. "And the other thing to remember is, you can't take anything for granted. Just the other day, I found a lump in Mrs. Berkowitz's breast. She's been coming in here three, four times a year for the past ten years, and I never noticed anything worse than varicose veins wrong with her up till then. But you have to be careful."

"All right," Reuven said. By the unhappy expression on his father's face, he suspected that Moishe Russie wished he'd found the lump sooner. Knowing his father, he'd probably been kicking himself ever since he did discover it. Reuven continued, "And it feels strange to have a chaperone of some sort in the room whenever I examine a woman, even if she's older than the Pyramids."

"You have to be careful," his father repeated, this time in a different tone of voice. "I know a couple of men who ruined their careers because they weren't. Why take chances when you don't have to."

"I don't," Reuven answered, knowing his father would land on him like an avalanche if he did. "It still seems like something out of the Middle Ages, though."

"Maybe it is, but that doesn't mean it's not real," Moishe Russie said. "Our Arab colleagues have a harder time with it than we do. Sometimes they can't touch their female patients at all. They have to do the best they can by asking questions. If they're lucky, they get to ask the woman. If they're not, they have to ask her husband."

"Yes, I know about that," Reuven said. "There's a fellow named Nuqras.h.i.+ who resigned from the college about the same time I did. He's back in Baghdad now, I suppose, getting his practice going. I wonder if he's having those kinds of troubles."

"Worse troubles than those in Baghdad nowadays," his father said. "Sometimes they spill over here, too. If I never hear anybody shouting 'Allahu akbar!' 'Allahu akbar!' again, I won't be sorry." Moishe Russie's eyes went far away. "Not long after we first came to Palestine, I tried to help a wounded Arab woman in the streets of Jerusalem, and an Arab man thought I was going to violate her. He did change his mind when he realized what I was doing, I will say that." again, I won't be sorry." Moishe Russie's eyes went far away. "Not long after we first came to Palestine, I tried to help a wounded Arab woman in the streets of Jerusalem, and an Arab man thought I was going to violate her. He did change his mind when he realized what I was doing, I will say that."

"What happened to her?" Reuven asked.

His father looked bleak. "She bled to death. Torn femoral artery, I think."

Before Reuven could answer that, the receptionist tapped on the door and said, "Dr. Russie-young Dr. Russie, I mean-Chaim Katz is here for his appointment. He's complaining about his cough again."

"Thanks, Yetta." Reuven got to his feet. As he started for the examination room, he glanced back at his father, who was lighting a cigarette. In disapproving tones, he said, "Katz would do a lot better if he didn't smoke like a chimney. As a matter of fact, you'd do better, too."

Moishe Russie looked innocent. "I'd do better if Katz didn't smoke? I don't see that." He inhaled. The end of the cigarette glowed red.

"Funny," Reuven said, though he thought it was anything but. "You know what the Lizards have found out about what tobacco does to your lungs. They think we're meshuggeh meshuggeh for using the stuff." for using the stuff."

"Among other reasons they think we're meshuggeh." meshuggeh." His father breathed out smoke as he spoke. He looked at the cigarette between his index and middle fingers, then shrugged. "Yes, they've found out all sorts of nasty stuff about tobacco. What they haven't found is how to make somebody quit using the stuff once he's got started." He raised an eyebrow. "They haven't figured out how to make themselves stop using ginger, either." His father breathed out smoke as he spoke. He looked at the cigarette between his index and middle fingers, then shrugged. "Yes, they've found out all sorts of nasty stuff about tobacco. What they haven't found is how to make somebody quit using the stuff once he's got started." He raised an eyebrow. "They haven't figured out how to make themselves stop using ginger, either."

That struck Reuven as more rationalization than reasoned defense, but he didn't have time to argue-not that arguing was likely to make his father stub out that cigarette and never smoke another one. All he said was, "You can't be having as much fun with tobacco as the Lizards do with ginger." Moishe Russie laughed.

In the examination room, Chaim Katz was working a cigarette down to a tiny b.u.t.t and coughing between puffs. He was about sixty, stocky, bald, with a gray mustache and tufts of gray Hair sprouting from his ears. "h.e.l.lo, Doctor," he said, and coughed again.

"h.e.l.lo?" Reuven pointed to an ashtray. "Will you please put that out and take off your s.h.i.+rt? I want to listen to your chest." He reached for his stethoscope, which hung beside his father's. Even as he set the ends in his ears, be knew he wouldn't be hearing everything he might. The Race had electronically amplified models.

He didn't need anything fancy, though, to dislike what he heard in Chaim Katz's chest. He marveled that the older man got any air into his lungs at all: wheezes and hisses and little whistling noises filled his ears. "Nu?" "Nu?" Katz said when he put the stethoscope away. Katz said when he put the stethoscope away.

"I want you to make an appointment with Dr. Eisenberg for a chest X ray," Reuven told him. Back at the medical college, he could have sent the man for an X ray then and there, and learned the results in a few minutes. Unfortunately, things weren't so simple here. "When I see the film, I'll have a better idea of where we stand." I'll find out whether you've got a carcinoma in there, or just a running start on emphysema. I'll find out whether you've got a carcinoma in there, or just a running start on emphysema.

"That'll be expensive," Katz complained.

Reuven said, "How expensive is being sick, Mr. Katz? You've had this cough for a while now. We need to find out what's going on in there." The stocky little man made a sour face, but finally nodded. He put on his s.h.i.+rt, b.u.t.toned it, and pulled out the pack of cigarettes in the breast pocket. Reuven pointed to them. "You'll probably get some relief if you can give those up. They don't call them coffin nails for nothing."

Chaim Katz looked at the cigarettes-a harsh Turkish blend-as if just consciously noticing he was holding them. He stuck one in his mouth and lit it before answering, "I like 'em." He took a drag, then continued, "All right, I'll talk to Eisenberg. Tell your old man h.e.l.lo for me." Out he went, leaving a trail of smoke behind.

With a sigh, Reuven ducked into his own office-smaller and a good deal starker than his father's-and wrote up the results of the examination. He was just finis.h.i.+ng when the telephone rang. He looked at it in mild surprise; his father got most of the calls. "Miss Archibald for you," Yetta said.

"Put her through," Reuven said at once, and then switched from Hebrew to English: "Hullo, Jane! How are you? So you still remember me even though I escaped? Do you remember me well enough to let me take you to supper tomorrow night?"

"Why not?" she said, and laughed. Reuven grinned enormously, though she couldn't see that. She continued, "After all, you're a man of money now, with your own practice and such. Since you've got it, why shouldn't you spend it on me?"

Had he thought she meant that in a gold-digging way, he would have hung up on her. Instead, he laughed, too. "Only goes to show you haven't had a practice of your own yet. How are things back there?" He still longed for news, even after severing himself from the medical college.

"About what you'd expect," Jane answered. "The Lizards keep muttering about Tosevite superst.i.tions." She dropped into the language of the Race for the last two words. "I don't think they expected nearly so many people to resign."

"Too bad," Reuven said with more than a little relish. "Even after all these years, they don't understand just how stubborn we are."

"Well, I know how stubborn you are," Jane said. "I'm still willing to go out to supper with you. What time do you think you'll be by the dormitory?"

"About seven?" Reuven suggested. When Jane didn't say no, he went on, "See you then," and hung up. Maybe if he was stubborn enough, she'd be willing to do more than go out to supper with him. Maybe not, too, but he could hardly wait to find out.

Every time Sam Yeager went to Little Rock, the new capital of the United States seemed to have grown. It also seemed as gawky as Jonathan had during the years when he was shooting up like a weed. He thought the president's residence-the papers called it the Gray House, in memory of the White House that was, these days, slightly radioactive ruins-lacked the cla.s.sic dignity of its predecessor. People said it was more comfortable to live in, though, and he supposed that counted, too.

Posters on the telephone poles outside the Gray House shouted, REELECT WARREN & STa.s.sEN! REELECT WARREN & STa.s.sEN! They were printed in red, white, and blue. The Democrats' posters were black and gold. They were printed in red, white, and blue. The Democrats' posters were black and gold. HUMPHREY FOR PRESIDENT! HUMPHREY FOR PRESIDENT! was their message, along with a picture of the beaky, strong-chinned governor of Minnesota. Yeager had nothing much against Hubert Humphrey or Joe Kennedy, Jr., but didn't intend to vote for them. President Warren was a known quant.i.ty. At Sam's stage of life, he approved of known quant.i.ties. was their message, along with a picture of the beaky, strong-chinned governor of Minnesota. Yeager had nothing much against Hubert Humphrey or Joe Kennedy, Jr., but didn't intend to vote for them. President Warren was a known quant.i.ty. At Sam's stage of life, he approved of known quant.i.ties.

A receptionist at the front entrance to the residence nodded politely to him as he came up. "May I help you, Lieutenant Colonel?" she asked.