Homeward Bound (50 page)

“With you personally, superior sir? I never said a thing about that,” Garanpo said. “I never said it, and I do not mean it. But I think it does have something to do with you Big Uglies, and that is a truth.”

“For the third time, Inspector, what is your evidence?”

“Oh, my evidence? I thank you for reminding me.” The police officer made as if to assume the posture of respect again, then checked himself. “Well, my evidence is that the price of ginger on the streets lately has fallen right on its snout, if you understand what I am saying.”

“I understand what you mean, yes, Inspector,” Jonathan answered. “I do not understand why you think this has anything to do with us Big Uglies, though. One of your starships is much more likely to have done the smuggling.”

“But we did not have any new ships come in from Tosev 3 just before the price of the herb tumbled,” Garanpo said.

Damn,
Jonathan thought. But he said, “You have not had any new Tosevite ships come in, either. Why blame the
Admiral Peary
? Our ship has been peacefully orbiting Home for some time now.”

“There was recently contact between your ship and one of ours. This was shortly before the price change in ginger,” Garanpo said. “No one has found ginger on the
Horned Akiss
—which is the name of our ship—and no one can prove it got from the
Horned Akiss
to the surface of Home, but that is the way things look. No one can prove it
yet,
I should say. Yes, I should say that. But we are working on it, which is also a truth.”

Damn,
Jonathan thought again. This time, he said, “I think you had better tell my sire, the ambassador, what you have just told me. I think you had better tell him the abridged version of it, too.”

“Do you know, superior Tosevite, my supervisor often says the very same thing to me,” the Lizard replied. “‘Abridge it, Garanpo,’ he says, and so I do my best, but somehow I find myself pining for the details. Have you ever had that feeling, where you are pining to tell all you know because some little part of it may turn out to be
the
important part? And of course you never know which part ahead of time, so. . . .”

He went on for some time. The feeling Jonathan had was guilt at inflicting him on his father. However unpleasant that might be, though, he feared it was necessary. Garanpo had some circumstantial evidence, anyhow.

“Your sire, you tell me?” Garanpo said as he and Jonathan rode up the elevator together. “Now that is interesting, very interesting. I cannot think of many members of the Race who could name their own sires. I am sure I cannot. Are you sure you can?”

He doesn’t know he’s just insulted me and my mother,
Jonathan reminded himself. He made the affirmative gesture and said, “Yes, Inspector, I am sure. Our mating customs differ from yours.”

“Well, they must,” Garanpo said. “I do not know much about you Big Uglies, I admit.” If he was like any human cop Jonathan had ever met, he was sandbagging like a mad bastard. He went on, “Do you really choose your leaders by snoutcounting? It does not strike me as a very efficient system.”

“We really do. It seems to work for us,” Jonathan answered. The elevator stopped. The door slid open. Jonathan got out. Without being told, Garanpo turned left, the direction in which Sam Yeager’s room lay. Jonathan nodded to himself. Yes, the Lizard knew a good deal more than he was letting on.

After a couple of strides, Garanpo seemed to realize Jonathan wasn’t following. One of his eye turrets swung back toward the American. “I do need you to show me the way, you know,” he said testily.

“Yes, of course, Inspector,” Jonathan said. If Garanpo didn’t know his father’s room number—and probably his hat size, too—he would have been amazed.

“Hello, son,” Sam Yeager said in English after he let Jonathan and Garanpo in. He switched to the language of the Race to ask, “Who is your friend?” Jonathan introduced the policemale. His father said, “I greet you, Inspector. I am pleased to meet you. And what can I do for you today?”

Garanpo did a better job of summing up the ginger situation than Jonathan had thought he could. He finished, “And so, your, uh, Ambassadorship—that is a funny word, is it not?—now you know why I think some of the Big Uglies up in space may have been involved in all this.”

“I can see why you think so, yes,” Sam Yeager replied. “I can also see that you have nothing resembling proof. Members of the Race out in space might have held ginger to release it at a time when the price was to their liking, too, you know.”

“Oh, yes. That is a truth, your Ambassadorship,” Garanpo said. “They might have. But they might not have, too. The timing makes me think they did not. And if they did not, what do you propose to do about it?”

“I am not going to answer a hypothetical question. If you have proof Tosevites are involved in this business, by all means come and see me again,” Jonathan’s father said. “I do want to point out, though, that possession and sale of ginger are not illegal for us. Among Tosevites, it is only a spice, not a drug.”

“Is conspiracy illegal?” Garanpo asked, and then waved away his own question. “Never mind. Forget I said that. I will do just what you say, your Ambassadorship, and I thank you for your time. A pleasure to meet you as well, Jonathan Yeager.” He sketched the posture of respect to both Americans—a little more deeply to Jonathan’s father—and left the room.

“What do you think, Dad?” Jonathan asked.

“I don’t know.” Sam Yeager checked the antibugging gadgetry on the table between them, then nodded to himself. “Okay. Inspector Garanpo didn’t manage to plant anything new in here. That’s a relief. I guess we can talk pretty freely. What do I think? I think somebody upstairs screwed up. I think whoever it is better not screw up again, or we’ll have trouble diplomatic immunity won’t even start to get us out of. What do
you
think?”

“I’ve got the feeling you’re right,” Jonathan said in a troubled voice. “I’d be surprised if the
Admiral Peary
didn’t have ginger along.”

“I’d be
amazed
if the
Admiral Peary
didn’t have ginger along,” his father agreed. “It’s not just a weapon—it’s a can opener, too. It can help us find out all kinds of things we wouldn’t know about otherwise.”

“It can get us into all kinds of trouble we wouldn’t know about otherwise, too,” Jonathan said.

“Oh, you bet it can.” His father added an emphatic cough even though they were speaking English. “It can, and I’d say it just has.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Jonathan asked.

Sam Yeager made a sour face. “Only one thing I can think of to do: I’ve got to have a little heart-to-heart with Lieutenant General Healey. All things considered, I’d rather have a drunk tree surgeon yank my appendix without anesthetic.”

Jonathan winced. He couldn’t help himself. “You don’t
like
Lieutenant General Healey, do you?”

“What gave you that impression?” his father said. They grinned at each other. Sam Yeager went on, “Why, I think the commander is a Swell Old Boy.” The capital letters thudded into place. He dropped his voice. When he muttered, “Brass hat,” Jonathan wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. But evidently he was, for his father continued, “Healey’s the sort of guy who would have cheered his head off when we blew up Lizard colonists in cold sleep. He’s the sort of guy who—” He broke off.

By his expression, though, Jonathan had a good notion of what was in his mind. His father probably figured Healey was the sort of guy who would have locked him up and lost the key after he let the Lizards know what the USA had done. There were a lot of people like that. Quite a few of them, understandably, held high military rank.

With a sigh, Sam Yeager said, “Well, it’s just got to be done. I don’t think the Race can unscramble our communications. Our gear was state of the art in 1994, and better than anything they had on Earth. I wonder what we’ve got now. Probably walks the message up to the ship and whispers in Healey’s ear.”

“I’d like to be a fly on the wall when you do talk to him,” Jonathan said.

“Nope. No flies. This has got to be between him and me,” his father said. “Officially, I don’t know anything. Officially, I don’t even suspect anything. I’m just calling to check. That’s how it’s got to be . . . officially. The rest is . . . officially . . . off the record.”

There were times, Jonathan knew, when arguing with his father was useless. He could tell this was one of those times. Since his hint hadn’t worked, he just said, “Okay, Dad. You know what you’re doing.” He hoped his father would let him know how things had gone somewhere later on.

Sam Yeager sent him a look of mingled surprise and gratitude.
He thought I was going to squawk,
Jonathan realized. And Jonathan might well have squawked if he were the age he had been when his father went into cold sleep. But he’d done some growing and changing of his own in the seventeen years till they put him on ice.

He set a hand on his father’s shoulder. “It really is okay. I’ll just stay tuned for the next exciting episode, that’s all. We’ll find out who done it then, right?”

“Well, sure,” his father answered. “Right before the last commercial break. That’s how it always works, isn’t it?” They both smiled. Jonathan wished life really were so simple. Who didn’t? Who wouldn’t?

He went back down to the lobby. He more than half expected to find Inspector Garanpo poking around there, looking for signs of ginger. But the Lizard had left. Garanpo had a disorganized air that was also disarming. Jonathan had the feeling a keen brain lurked behind that unimpressive façade.

With a sigh, he went into the refectory. He couldn’t do anything about whatever Garanpo found out. He hoped his father could. Whether anyone up on the
Admiral Peary
would pay attention to the American ambassador was an interesting question. Sam Yeager was a civilian these days, while the starship was a military vessel. Would Lieutenant General Healey remember he was supposed to take orders from civilians? If he didn’t, what could Dad do about it?

Frank Coffey was sitting in the refectory talking with Kassquit. Jonathan would have liked to hash out some of his worries with the major, but he couldn’t now. What he would have to say wasn’t for Kassquit’s ears. Jonathan hoped Coffey did remember not to tell his new lady friend too much. Then he laughed at himself. He’d assured Karen that that couldn’t possibly happen, and now
he
was worrying about it.

Kassquit and Frank Coffey laughed. They had not a care in the world—not a care in more than one world. Jonathan envied them more than he’d thought he could.
He
had worries, sure enough. So did Coffey, as a matter of fact. The only difference was, he didn’t know it yet.

How stupid
had
they been, up on the
Admiral Peary
?

When Sam Yeager had a long conversation with Lieutenant General Healey, nobody aboard the
Admiral Peary
except the commandant officially knew what they talked about. That didn’t keep rumors from flying, of course. If anything, it made them fly faster than ever. As soon as Glen Johnson heard a rumor involving Healey and ginger, he just nodded to himself.

Sure as hell, the scooter hadn’t performed the way it should have when he took it over to the
Horned Akiss.
Sure as hell, it had seemed as if the little rocketship was heavier than usual. It
had
been heavier than usual. Somebody must have figured out a way to pack it full of ginger while fooling the Race’s sensors—or maybe the Lizards using those sensors had been well paid not to notice anything out of the ordinary. Such arrangements were common enough on Earth; no doubt they could be cooked up here, too.

Johnson felt like kicking himself because he hadn’t figured out what was going on before he delivered the scooter. He didn’t like thinking of himself as a chump or a jerk. What choice did he have, though? Not much.

He wasn’t the only one on the starship to work out what had probably happened, either. When he came up to the control room to take a shift less than a day after Yeager and Healey talked, Mickey Flynn greeted him with, “And how is everyone’s favorite drug smuggler this morning?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Johnson answered. “You can’t mean me.”

“I can’t? Why not?”

“Because that would violate regulations, and I’d get a spanking if I violated them.”

“This has, of course, been your abiding concern since time out of mind.”

“Why, certainly,” Johnson said. “Would I be here if it weren’t?”

“The mind reels at the possibilities,” Flynn replied. “Even if you were smuggling drugs to the Race, though, why would you worry about it?”

That was a good question. In truth, Johnson didn’t much care how the Lizards amused themselves in their spare time. He wouldn’t have minded sending them ginger . . . if it had been his idea. His voice roughened as he answered, “I’ll be damned if I want that shithead in charge of us making me do his dirty work for him.”

“I’m shocked—shocked, I tell you. Anyone who didn’t know better would think you’d conceived a dislike for the man.”

What Johnson said to that had something to do with conceiving, but not much. His opinion of Lieutenant General Healey was certainly less than immaculate.

It seemed like fate, then—and not a very benign sort of fate, either—that the commandant of the
Admiral Peary
summoned Johnson to his office as the pilot came off his shift. Mickey Flynn said, “There, you see? He was listening all along.”

“I don’t care. He already knows what I think of him,” Johnson answered, which was true enough. But, however little he wanted to, he did have to find out why Lieutenant General Healey wanted to see him.

Healey greeted him with the usual unfriendly glare. But he said nothing about what Johnson had said in the control room. Instead, fixing him with a glare, the commandant barked, “Are you ready to fly the Lizards’ scooter back to the
Horned Akiss
? We’ve learned everything we’re likely to from it.”

“That depends, sir,” Johnson answered.