Who was that masked man? ran through his head. It was a fair question, though. People who looked like unshaven b.u.ms didn't often go around with enough loot to make them seem like apprentice John Dillingers. And people who did go around with that kind of loot probably weren't in the habit of dropping in on small-town doctors to get their social diseases treated. ran through his head. It was a fair question, though. People who looked like unshaven b.u.ms didn't often go around with enough loot to make them seem like apprentice John Dillingers. And people who did go around with that kind of loot probably weren't in the habit of dropping in on small-town doctors to get their social diseases treated.

Instead of answering in words, he took out the fancy letter with which General Groves had equipped him and handed it to her. She carefully read it through, gave it back to him. "Where are you going, Mr. no, Dr. Larssen, on this important government mission of yours?" she asked. She didn't add, And where did you pick up the clap along the way? And where did you pick up the clap along the way?-just as well, too, since he'd picked it up twice.

He grinned at her. "As a matter of fact, I was coming here. Now I have to get my bicycle out of your waiting room and head on back to make my report."

"You were coming here? To Hanford?" Marjorie Henry burst out laughing. "Excuse me, Dr. Larssen, but what on earth does Hanford have that you couldn't get ten times as much of somewhere-anywhere-else?"

"Water. s.p.a.ce. Privacy," he answered. Those were absolutely the only things Hanford had going for it, with the possible exception of Dr. Henry, but Larssen had already changed his mind about the dreadful review he'd first thought he would give to the place.

"Yes, we have those things," Dr. Henry admitted. "Why are they important enough for the government to send someone out looking for them?"

"I'm sorry; I really can't tell you that." Jens started to regret pulling out the letter. He said, "Please don't spread it around, either. In fact, I'd be grateful if you just told Beulah-did I get her name right?-I won the money in a poker game or something like that."

"All right," she said. "I can do that. You can't afford to gossip as a small-town doctor, anyway. If you do, you lose all your patients after about the first week. I will ask one question, though: are you going to put a hospital in here? You may be Dr. Larssen, but I don't think you're an M.D."

"I'm not, and no, that's not what's planned," Jens said, and let it go at that. Telling her what kind of doctorate he had might have told her other things, too, things she didn't need to know. Now that he was here, security seemed to matter again. He hadn't worried much about it while he was on the road.

Dr. Henry was visibly disappointed, but didn't ask any more questions. Maybe she'd really meant what she said about not gossiping. She stuck out her hand and shook his, man-fashion. "Good luck to you," she said. "I hope the sulfanilamide tablets do as well for you as they commonly do. I also hope you won't need such medications again." Before he could decide if that was patronizing, or get mad about it if it was, she went on, "Will we see you again in Hanford, then?"

"You may very well," he answered. That didn't seem to make her angry. In spite of her jab, she was a doctor, and didn't think of gonorrhea as the end of the world. He nodded to her, opened the door, and walked down the hall to the waiting room.

Dr. Henry called after him, "Mr. Larssen has paid me for the visit, Beulah." Jens nodded again, this time to himself. If she remembered to call him Mr. Larssen in public, she would probably remember not to talk about his letter. He could hope so, anyhow.

In the waiting room sat another pregnant woman, this one less rotund than the one who'd preceded Larssen, and a farmer with a hand wrapped in a blood-soaked rag. They both gave Jens a curious look as he recovered his bicycle. Beulah said, "Go on in, George. The doctor will clean that out and sew it up for you."

"She got any o' that teta.n.u.s stuff left?" George asked as he rose from his chair.

Jens didn't find out whether or not Dr. Henry had ant.i.teta.n.u.s serum. He walked out of her office, lugging the bicycle. Sure enough, the sign outside gave her name in good-sized letters; he just hadn't noticed. If he had, he wouldn't have gone in, and he wouldn't have got the sulfa tablets. Sometimes ignorance worked out pretty well.

He swung onto the bike and began to pedal, southbound now. Dr. Henry was also the first woman he'd met in a long time who hadn't screwed him, one way or another. She knew what her job was and she went out and did it without any fuss or feathers.

"If she'd been waiting for me, she'd have waited, waited, by Jesus," Jens said as he rolled out of Hanford. "She wouldn't have fallen into bed with some lousy ballplayer." When he got back to Denver, he'd have some choice things to say to Barbara, and if Sam Yeager didn't like it, well, there were ways to deal with Sam Yeager, and with Barbara, too. by Jesus," Jens said as he rolled out of Hanford. "She wouldn't have fallen into bed with some lousy ballplayer." When he got back to Denver, he'd have some choice things to say to Barbara, and if Sam Yeager didn't like it, well, there were ways to deal with Sam Yeager, and with Barbara, too.

He reached around behind his back and patted the wooden stock of his Springfield. Then he bent low over the bicycle handlebars and started pumping hard. Colorado was still a long way away, but he could hardly wait to get back.

Lugging a heavy picnic basket uphill on a hiking trail in Arkansas summer wasn't Sam Yeager's idea of fun. But getting away from the Army and Navy General Hospital for a while-to say nothing of getting away from the Lizards-was worth some discomfort. And he wasn't about to let Barbara carry the picnic basket, not when her belly was starting to bulge.

She glanced over at him. "You're red as a beet, Sam," she said. "Really, nothing will happen if I take that for a few minutes. Just because I'm expecting doesn't mean I'm made out of cut gla.s.s. I won't break."

"No," Yeager answered stubbornly. "I'm all right." The path rounded a corner. The pines to either side opened out onto a gra.s.sy meadow. "Besides," he went on with a grin not altogether free of relief, "this looks like a perfect spot."

"Why, so it does," Barbara said. At first he thought that was hearty agreement. Then, when he listened to it again in his mind, he suspected she would have agreed had the meadow been a dismal swamp. She was ready to stop walking, and she was ready to have him stop toting that basket.

The meadow wasn't so closely trimmed as it might have been had the federal government not had more urgent things to worry about. Long gra.s.s didn't bother Yeager; he'd played in outfields where it wasn't a whole lot shorter. He set down the basket, flipped open the lid, pulled out a blanket, and spread it on the ground. As soon as Barbara sat down on it, he did, too.

Now that the hauling was done, the picnic basket became her responsibility. She reached in and got out ham sandwiches wrapped in cloth napkins from the hospital-waxed paper was a thing of the past. The bread was homemade and sliced by hand; the ham came from a Hot Springs razorback; the mustard had never seen the inside of a factory. It might have been the best sandwich Sam had ever eaten. After it came hard-boiled eggs and a peach pie that gave the ham sandwich a run for its money.

The only rough spot in the road was the beer. Several people in Hot Springs were brewing, but what they turned out didn't stack up too well against store-bought brands. It wasn't cold, either. But Sam could drink it, and he did.

When he was through, he lay back on the blanket with a sigh of contentment. "I wish I had me a cigarette," he said. "Otherwise, the world looks like a pretty fine place right now." Barbara didn't answer. He glanced over to her. She hadn't done justice to either that magnificent sandwich or the peach pie. "Come on," he told her. "You're eating for two."

"I know," she said. "Sometimes I still have trouble keeping down food for one, though." She looked a trifle green. Defensively, she added, "It's better than it was a couple of months ago. Then I thought having a baby meant starving to death-or rather, eating something and then tossing it up right away. Thank heaven I'm not doing that any more."

"You said it," he answered. "Well, I'm not going to agitate you about it, not now. It's too nice a day-now that that picnic basket's sitting here on the blanket." He consoled himself: "It's downhill on the way back-and the basket'll be lighter, too."

A lazy breeze drifted through the pines, filling the meadow with their spicy scent. High overhead, a hawk circled. Blue larkspur and violets, great blue sage and purple cone splashed the rainbow here and there across the green gra.s.s. Bees buzzed from one flower to another. Flies snacked on the remains of the feast, and on the picnickers.

Barbara let out a squeak. Sam jumped; he'd been lulled by the peaceful surroundings-the most peace he'd known in quite a while. "What's the matter?" he asked. He reached into the pocket of his chinos. If peace dissolved, as it had a way of doing, he was armed with nothing better than a pocketknife.

But Barbara pointed to the blanket and said, "A little green lizard just ran across there. I didn't see it till it jumped out of the gra.s.s. Now it's gone again."

"I know the ones you mean," Sam said, relaxing. "They can change colors-sometimes they're brown instead of green. People around here call 'em chameleons on account of that, but I don't think they are, not really. They don't have the funny eyes real chameleons do, the ones that go every which way like Lizards' eye turrets."

Barbara sniffed. "I was looking for sympathy, not herpetology," she said, but she was laughing while she said it. Then everything but concentration drained from her face. Her face was turned toward Sam, but she was looking inward. "The baby's moving," she murmured. Her eyes got wide. "Moving, heck-he's kicking like n.o.body's business. Come here, Sam. You should be able to feel this."

He slid across the blanket toward her. She pulled the shirttail of her thin white cotton blouse out from the waistband of her pleated skirt. He set his hand on her belly, just below her navel. When she had clothes on, you couldn't see she was pregnant, or not, and be sure, but you could feel the mound that had begun to rise there. Her flesh was warm and beaded with sweat from the sticky day.

"He's stopped," Barbara said, disappointed. "No, wait-did you feel that?"

"I sure did," Yeager said. Something had-fluttered-under his palm. He'd felt it a few times before, but it never failed to awe him. He closed his hand into a fist, tapped gently on her belly. "h.e.l.lo? Anybody home?"

Barbara made her voice high and squeaky: "I'm sorry, I'm not ready to come out yet."

They both laughed. Somewhere back in the forest, a wood thrush trilled. But for the droning of the bees, that was the only sound. The two of them might have had the national park to themselves. Lazily, Sam slid his hand up under the blouse to cup her left breast through the fabric of her bra.s.siere-gently, because she was still often sensitive.

"What do you think you're doing?" Barbara said. She looked around to see who might be watching. No one was. No one, probably, was within a mile of them.

"I think-I hope-I'm getting ready to make love to my wife," he answered. "How about that?" He pulled the blouse all the way out of her skirt, then bent down to kiss the spot where his hand had rested to feel the baby move.

"How about that?" she said softly. She reached around to the back of her neck. Through endless practice, women learn to work b.u.t.tons behind them as smoothly as men do those they can see. She pulled the blouse up and over her head.

Sam unhooked her bra and tossed it on the blanket. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were fuller than they had been, her nipples larger and darker. He lowered his head to one of them. Barbara sighed. Her head lolled back; her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were sensitive to more than pain these days.

Presently he got out of his own clothes. In weather like this, bare skin felt best anyhow. Barbara was still wearing her skirt. He slid his hand under it, peeled down her panties, and tossed them on top of the bra Then his hand returned. When he kissed her at the same time, she set one hand on the back of his head and pulled him to her. Her other hand toyed with him.

After a couple of minutes of that, he couldn't stand to wait any more. He started to hike up her skirt, but she said, "No. Take it off me," in such urgent tones that he quickly did as she asked. Sometimes being smart didn't amount to anything more than knowing when not to ask questions.

They both glistened with sweat when they were through; their skins slid greasily across each other. Barbara dressed in what seemed like no time flat. "Hurry up!" she hissed to Sam when she saw he wasn't in quite such a rush.

He looked down at his still-bare self and shrugged. "Okay," he said, and sped up. As he b.u.t.toned his shirt and tucked it into his trousers, he went on, "I guess I've spent so much time in the buff in locker rooms and things, I don't much worry about getting caught that way."

"All well and good," Barbara answered, "but getting caught naked with me is different from getting caught naked with a bunch of baseball players-or at least I hope it is."

"You better believe it," he said, and got a chuckle out of her. He folded up the blanket and stowed it inside the picnic basket. The napkins that had wrapped the sandwiches went in there, too. So did the empty bottles of beer, and even their cork-sealed lids. You couldn't afford to waste anything, not with the war going the way it was. Even so, the picnic basket had been a good deal heavier on the way up the trail.

They were almost out of Hot Springs National Park when Barbara said in a small voice, "I'm sorry I barked at you back there." Sam raised a questioning eyebrow. Looking down at the ground, Barbara went on, "I mean about hiking up my skirt. I remembered a time when-" She didn't go on.

Yeager kicked at the dirt. What she probably meant was that she remembered a time when Jens Larssen had hiked up her skirt. If she hadn't thought Jens was dead, she never would have ended up with him. He knew that d.a.m.n well. After a few seconds-maybe a couple of seconds too long-he said, "Don't worry about it. n.o.body here but the two of us now. That's what counts." With a laugh, he set his hand on her belly again. "n.o.body here but the three of us, I mean."

Barbara nodded. They walked on. That's what That's what really really counts, counts, Sam thought. If she hadn't been pregnant, dollars to doughnuts she would have gone back to Larssen when she found out he was alive. Yeager still marveled that she hadn't. You play half your life in the minor league-and most of that in the low minors, to boot-you get used to winding up on the short end of the stick. Winning a big one like having the woman you've fallen in love with pick you instead of the other guy-that was pretty special. Sam thought. If she hadn't been pregnant, dollars to doughnuts she would have gone back to Larssen when she found out he was alive. Yeager still marveled that she hadn't. You play half your life in the minor league-and most of that in the low minors, to boot-you get used to winding up on the short end of the stick. Winning a big one like having the woman you've fallen in love with pick you instead of the other guy-that was pretty special.

When they rounded the last corner and came into sight of the Army and Navy General Hospital, Barbara slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it gratefully. Every once in a while, he wondered whether she regretted the choice she'd made. That was another question he was smart enough never, ever to ask.

A horse-drawn wagon pulled up in front of the two towers of the hospital building just as he and Barbara got to the entrance. A GI-even if the fellow was in civvies, Yeager knew one when he saw one-took a gadget, a Lizardy-looking gadget, from the bed of the wagon and started to carry it in.

"What the devil you got there?" Yeager asked him. The thing, whatever it was, was cylindrical, maybe a foot long and three or four inches wide, with a glittering lens at one end and some wires trailing off the other.

"Bomb guider," the man answered, which left Sam unenlightened. The fellow went on, "We took it from a Lizard dude up in Chicago, figured we'd bring it down here to get the straight skinny on what it does and how it does it. We've got several up there, and we can't make 'em work worth a d.a.m.n." He pointed at Yeager. "You talk Lizard talk?"

"Matter of fact, I do, not too bad," Yeager answered.

"Okay. I figured a lot of guys down here would," the GI said. "You know what skelkw.a.n.k skelkw.a.n.k means? That's what the Lizard POWs say when they talk about this stupid thing, and n.o.body up north can make it make sense." means? That's what the Lizard POWs say when they talk about this stupid thing, and n.o.body up north can make it make sense."

"Skelkw.a.n.k?" Yeager echoed. "Yeah, that's a word I've run into." He was d.a.m.n glad it was, too. Saying you were an expert and then showing you weren't got old fast. "It's something to do with light-I'm not sure exactly what, and I'm not sure anybody else human is, either. I've heard Lizards say Yeager echoed. "Yeah, that's a word I've run into." He was d.a.m.n glad it was, too. Saying you were an expert and then showing you weren't got old fast. "It's something to do with light-I'm not sure exactly what, and I'm not sure anybody else human is, either. I've heard Lizards say skelkw.a.n.k skelkw.a.n.k when they're talking about rangefinders, things like that." when they're talking about rangefinders, things like that."

"That helps some," the fellow said, nodding. "How's skelkw.a.n.k skelkw.a.n.k light different than any other kind, though?" light different than any other kind, though?"

"There you've got me," Sam admitted. "Tell you what-bring that thing inside and we'll round up a Lizard or two and ask 'em some questions. They're pretty good about giving straight answers. As soon as they get captured, they figure we're their superiors now, and they have to obey us. They're not as ornery as people, you know what I mean?"

"Once they're caught, they're not, maybe," the man with the skelkw.a.n.k skelkw.a.n.k device said. "Long as they're still carrying guns, they're no fun at all." device said. "Long as they're still carrying guns, they're no fun at all."

Sam gave an emphatic cough to show he agreed with that. The other fellow understood and nodded. Barbara said, "Here, Sam, you're working again. Give me the picnic basket. I'll take care of it."

"Okay, honey." Sam held the door open for her and for the soldier with the Lizard gadget, then followed them into the lobby of the hospital building. He spotted Ristin there, talking with one of the human doctors. Ristin waved to him, a human gesture he'd picked up. Sam waved back, and then waved him over.

Ristin came up, gaudy in his American-flag style "official" POW body paint. "h.e.l.lo, superior sir," he said in his hissing English. "You need me?"

"Sure do, pal" Yeager pointed to the device the other man held. "Tell me about that thing, will you?"

Ristin turned one eye turret toward it. "That? That is a skelkw.a.n.k skelkw.a.n.k sight, I think maybe from a bomb. Artillery sh.e.l.ls use a smaller model. sight, I think maybe from a bomb. Artillery sh.e.l.ls use a smaller model. Skelkw.a.n.k Skelkw.a.n.k in your language is ... is-" He paused and fluttered his lingers, a Lizardy way of showing frustration. "I think your language has not this word. Yep, that is what! think." in your language is ... is-" He paused and fluttered his lingers, a Lizardy way of showing frustration. "I think your language has not this word. Yep, that is what! think."

The fellow with the skelkw.a.n.k skelkw.a.n.k sight snorted in amus.e.m.e.nt. "First time I ever heard a Lizard go, 'Yep.' " sight snorted in amus.e.m.e.nt. "First time I ever heard a Lizard go, 'Yep.' "

Yeager kicked at the carpet. "He got that from me," he said, mildly embarra.s.sed. "I'm the guy he learned English from, and I say it. Made me laugh, too, first time I heard it from him" He turned back to Ristin. "Okay, we don't have a word for it. Skelkw.a.n.k Skelkw.a.n.k has to do with light, right? What makes has to do with light, right? What makes skelkw.a.n.k skelkw.a.n.k light special?" light special?"

"Why, it comes from a ftaskelkw.a.n.k, ftaskelkw.a.n.k, of course," Ristin said. Tacking of course," Ristin said. Tacking fta- fta- onto the front of a word in Lizard talk was about like tacking onto the front of a word in Lizard talk was about like tacking -er -er onto the back of one in English. A onto the back of one in English. A ftaskelkw.a.n.k ftaskelkw.a.n.k was something that turned light was something that turned light skelkw.a.n.k skelkw.a.n.k a a skelkw.a.n.ker, skelkw.a.n.ker, in other words. The only trouble was, that didn't help much with in other words. The only trouble was, that didn't help much with skelkw.a.n.k skelkw.a.n.k still undefined. still undefined.

"Of course," Yeager said with a sigh. "What does the ftaskelkw.a.n.k ftaskelkw.a.n.k do with the light to change it from regular to do with the light to change it from regular to skelkw.a.n.k?" skelkw.a.n.k?"

"It makes the light-" Ristin used another Lizard word.

Sam turned to the fellow with the gadget. "I've heard that term before, too. It means something like 'coherent.' I don't know what that means here, though."

"Coherent, yep." Ristin liked learning new English words. "Most light, ordinary light, is of waves of all different lengths, photons-is right word?-of all different energies. Coherent light has only one length of wave, only one energy. Is all exact same color, you could say."

"So if I put red cellophane on top of my flashlight lens, I'd have coherent light?" Sam asked, trying to figure out what the Lizard meant.

"Nep. I mean, nope." Ristin's mouth fell open: he was laughing at himself. "Not all photons of exact same energy, only close. Not all going in exact same direction. This is what coherent means."

The GI with the Lizard skelkw.a.n.k skelkw.a.n.k device said, "Okay, how device said, "Okay, how do do you get this, uh, coherent light?" you get this, uh, coherent light?"

"Take rod made of right kind of crystal," Ristin answered. "Grind ends very, very flat, put on coating like mirror. Pump energy into the crystal. Coherent light will come out. Is one way. Are others."

For all the sense he made, he might as well have suddenly started speaking Tibetan. Yeager had seen that happen before when the Lizards talked about goodies they had and people didn't. He said, "Never mind how. What can you do with a ftaskelkw.a.n.k a ftaskelkw.a.n.k once you've got it?" once you've got it?"

"Aim it at, say, one of your landcruisers-no, tanks, you say. Skelkw.a.n.k Skelkw.a.n.k sight here sees that coherent light reflected, guides rocket or bomb straight to it. This is why we do not miss much when we use these sights." sight here sees that coherent light reflected, guides rocket or bomb straight to it. This is why we do not miss much when we use these sights."

The soldier stuck the sight under Ristin's snout. "How does it see the coherent light and not any other kind?"

"How?" Ristin turned one eye on the sight, the other on the soldier. He started to answer, spluttered, stopped, started over, stopped again. "I do not know how it does this. I only know that it does this."

"He's just a dogface like me," Yeager said, "or a dogface like I used to be-I've got three stripes when I'm not in civvies. You want more than that, friend, we've got a couple of Lizard technicians down here who'll talk as long as you'll listen."

The fellow with the sight stared at Sam. "You got this much out of an ordinary Lizard soldier? Holy Jesus, Sergeant, up north they've been beating around the bush with technicians who haven't said as much in weeks as I just got in ten minutes here. You're doing a h.e.l.l of a job."

"Thanks very much," Sam said. "Here, let me take you over to Major Houlihan. He'll be able to fix you up with the Lizards who can tell you the most." He patted Ristin on his scaly shoulder. "Thanks for helping us out."

"It is for me a pleasure, superior sir," Ristin said.

Yeager was still grinning when he got upstairs. He told the story to Barbara, who listened while he burbled on. When he was done, she said, "Why should you be so surprised when somebody tells you you're good at what you do?"

"Because it's not anything like something I imagined I could be good at, and because I don't have any education to speak of-you know that, honey-and because it's important to the country," he answered. "Suppose you got into riveting some kind of way, and after a little while on the job you riveted more wings onto B-17s than anybody else at the plant, even people who've been riveting for twenty years. Wouldn't you be surprised about that?"

"But Sam, n.o.body's been talking with the Lizards for twenty years," Barbara reminded him. "You have more experience at that than just about anyone else here. And you may not have thought you'd be good at it, but by now you should have seen that you are." She gave him the kind of appraising look that always made him nervous, lest she see less than she wanted. "Isn't that what you'd call bush-league thinking, thinking you're not good enough for the big time?"

He stared at her. "What are you doing using baseball talk on me?"

"I'm married to you, remember?" she answered, sticking her tongue out at him. "Don't you think I'd look for some way to get ideas through your thick head?"

Sam walked over and gave her a big kiss. "I'm a heck of a lucky guy, you know that? When I got you, I wasn't thinking bush league at all, not even a little bit."

"That's good," she said. "We keep on like this for another thirty or forty years and we'll have something pretty fine." He nodded. She pulled back a little as his beard rasped her cheek. That, unfortunately, reminded him how unlikely they were to live another thirty or forty years, or to be free if they did live so long.

The pitching deck of a ship in the Baltic did not strike Vyacheslav Molotov as the ideal locale on which to hold diplomatic negotiations. Stalin, however, had not asked his opinion, merely sent him forth.

Being aboard ship had one advantage: it meant he could avoid flying, an experience he heartily loathed. Molotov watched the fishing vessel approach. It flew a Danish flag, white cross on red. His own ship sported the red, gold, and green ensign of Lithuania, even though that unhappy land had first been incorporated into the USSR and then overrun by the n.a.z.is. But the Lizards were more likely to shoot at vessels displaying German and Soviet flags than those of small, weak nations.

A signal light blinked across the water from the fishing boat. "Comrade Foreign Minister, it is indeed the vessel of the German foreign minister," the captain said. "They ask permission to come alongside."

"I am ready to meet with von Ribbentrop," Molotov said-not eager, but ready. "As for matters of shiphandling, that is why you are here, is it not?"