Page 79 of Aftershocks (Colonization 3)

“My thought exactly,” Gorppet said. “By all the signs, the only thing that keeps the Deutsche from rising against us is the certainty that they will lose.”

“I agree,” Hozzanet said. “Our superiors also agree. They take the idea of trouble from the Deutsche very seriously indeed. You were right, and I was right-these Big Uglies are caching weapons against a day of rebellion. We recently discovered a double ten of landcruisers, along with supplies, hidden in the galleries of an abandoned coal mine.”

“A good thing we did discover them,” Gorppet exclaimed. “I missed that report. The other interesting question is, what have we failed to discover? And will we find out only when it is too late?”

“Yes, that is always the interesting question.” Hozzanet shrugged. “We made this place radioactive once. We can always make it radioactive again. I do not think the Deutsche have managed to conceal any great number of explosive-metal weapons, anyhow.”

“And they surely have no long-range delivery systems left,” Gorppet said. “Whatever they have, they can only use it against us here inside the territory of the Reich.” He laughed a wry laugh. “How reassuring.”

“Reassuring for the Race,” Hozzanet said. “Not so reassuring for the males here-that I can hardly deny.” He swung an eye turret toward Gorppet. “Things could have been worse, you know, if you had stayed in the infantry. Then you could have been trying to fight your way up into the not-empire called the United States.”

“I am just as well pleased we avoided that fight, thank you very much,” Gorppet said. “I do not think we would have had a pleasant time trying to force our way up from the south on a front that got wider the farther we went-you see, I have been examining the maps.”

“That is what you should do. That is why they go into the databases,” Hozzanet said. “But I do not think there would have been so much ground combat on the lesser continental mass as there was here. Here, the Deutsche invaded our territory, so we had to fight them on the ground. Against the USA, we probably would have used missiles to batter the not-empire into submission, then picked up the pieces with infantrymales.”

Gorppet considered. “Yes, that sounds reasonable. But they would have used missiles against us, too, as the Deutsche did. That would have been… unpleasant. Just as well the war did not happen.”

He expected Hozzanet to say, Truth! But the other male hesitated. “I wonder,” he said. “What was hoped, of course, was that the American Big Uglies would surrender their space installations. When they gave up a city instead, that left their capacity for mischief undiminished. Sooner or later, we will have to deal with them.”

“I suppose so.” Gorppet sighed. “This world is doing horrible things to all of us. When I went into one of the new towns the colonists ran up, I did not fit there at all, even though it hatched out of an egg from Home. I am sick of being a soldier, but I have no idea what else I might do with my life. And if we of the conquest fleet stop being soldiers, what will the colonists do against the Big Uglies?”

Hozzanet sighed, too. “That, I am given to understand, is under discussion at levels more exalted than our own. As I see it, the colonists have two choices: they can learn to be soldiers, or they can learn to live under the rule of the Big Uglies.”

“Oh, good,” Gorppet said. “I see no other choices, either. I was wondering if you did.” He stood up from the computer monitor. “Shall we head over to the refectory tent? My insides are empty.”

“Mine, too,” Hozzanet agreed.

The refectory was serving azwaca ribs. Gorppet fell to with a will. He’d got used to eating Tosevite foods before the colonization fleet came. He’d come to like some of them, especially pork. But the meats of Home were better, without a doubt.

After eating, he went back to work. The day was drawing to a close when the telephone attachment hissed. When he answered it, the quartermaster’s face appeared in the monitor. He said, “The motorcar I sent out with the Big Ugly has not come back.”

“It should have,” Gorppet answered. “That Neu Strelitz place is not very far away.”

“Well, it cursed well has not,” the quartermaster answered. “I am worried about my driver. Chinnoss is a good male. What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Something has gone wrong.” That was all Gorppet could think of to say. Had Drucker betrayed him, or had someone betrayed Drucker?”We had better find out what.”

12

David Goldfarb looked up from his work as Hal Walsh sauntered back into the Saskatchewan River Widget Works after going out for lunch. Goldfarb scratched his head. His boss was a high-pressure type if ever there was one. Up till the past couple of weeks, David had never seen him saunter; he’d moved everywhere as if he needed to get there day before yesterday. That dreamy look on his face was new, too.

Seeing it made a light bulb come on above Goldfarb’s head. “You went out to lunch with my doctor again.”

To his amazement, Walsh blushed like a schoolgirl. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” he said. “Jane’s… quite something.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” Goldfarb said, most sincerely. “If I were ten, fifteen years younger and single, I’d give you a run for your money. Maybe even if I weren’t ten, fifteen years younger.”

“Next time I see Naomi, I’ll tell her you said that,” Walsh said.

“I’m allowed to look,” Goldfarb answered. “I’m allowed to think. I’m also allowed to keep my hands to myself if I want to keep them on the ends of my arms.”

“Sounds like a sensible arrangement,” his boss said. “Oh, and speaking of your hands, Jane asked me to ask you how your finger’s doing since she took out the stitches.”

After flexing the digit in question, David said, “It’s not half bad. Still a little sore, but not half bad.” He eyed Hal Walsh. “I gather she thinks you’ll have the chance to pass this on to her some time fairly soon?”

Sure as the devil, Walsh blushed again. “That’s right.” He coughed a couple of times, then went on, “You know, cutting that finger may have been the best thing you e

ver did for me.”

“I like that!” Goldfarb said in mock high dudgeon. “I like that quite a lot. Here I give you the phone-number reader, and what do I get credit for?” He grinned. “For working my finger to the bone, that’s what.” He held it up again.

Walsh groaned and held up a different finger. They both laughed. Jack Devereaux came into the office just then. He saw his boss’ upraised digit. “Same to you, Hal,” he said, and used the same gesture.

“You don’t even know why you did that,” Walsh said.

“Any excuse in a storm,” Devereaux answered.

“The RAF was never like this,” Goldfarb said. The only time he’d known anything even close to such informality in the RAF had been in the days when he was working under Group Captain Fred Hipple, desperately trying to learn all he could about Lizard radars and jet engines. He’d looked back fondly on those days-till Basil Roundbush, who’d worked with him then, came back into his life.

He hadn’t heard anything from Roundbush lately, or from any of Roundbush’s Canadian associates, either. Nor had anybody tried to kill him lately. He approved of that. He would have been hard pressed to think of anything he approved of more than not getting killed, in fact. He would have been happier still had he known Roundbush had given up for good. Unfortunately, he knew nothing of the sort. And Roundbush was not the sort to give up easily.

But every day without trouble was one more day won. He’d thought that way during the war, first during the Battle of Britain when nobody’d known if the Nazis would invade, and then after the Lizards came till they did invade. With the return of peacetime, he’d been able to look further ahead again. But trouble brought him back to counting the days one at a time.

Walsh said, “Shall we see if we can get something more useful than the odd obscene gesture done today?”

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