Harry Turtledove - In the Balance

The four unwounded Lizards did what they could for the two who were hurt. It wasn’t much; the humans had stripped them of the belts that along with their helmets were all they wore-no telling what deadly marvels they might have concealed inside.

Yeager had never thought about how Invaders from Space might feel if they were wounded and captured by humans who were as alien to them as they were to people. They didn’t look all-powerful or supremely evil. They just looked worried. In their shoes (if they’d worn shoes), he would have been worried, too.

He picked up one of the belts, started opening pouches. Before long, he found what looked like a bandage, wrapped in some clear stuff smoother and more pliable than cellophane. If it concealed a deadly marvel, he decided, he’d eat his helmet He pushed past the rest of the Americans-who still had their rifles leveled at the Lizards-and held out the bandage pack.

“What the hell you doing?” Otto Chase growled. “Who cares whether them damn things live or die?”

“If they’re prisoners of war, we’re supposed to treat ’em decent,” Yeager answered. “Besides, they hold a lot more of our kind than we do of theirs. Tormenting ’em might not be what you call smart.”

Chase grunted and subsided. The Lizards’ eyes swiveled from Yeager’s face to the bandage and back again. They reminded him of the chameleon he’d seen at the zoo in-was it Salt Lake? Maybe Spokane. Whichever, it was a long time ago now.

One of the Lizards took the bandage pack in its small hand. As it used its claws to tear open the wrapping, it hissed something at Yeager. It and all its companions, even the two injured ones, lowered their turreted eyes to the floor of the bus for a second or two. Then it deftly began to bandage a gash in a wounded Lizard’s flank.

“Paw through those belts,” Yeager said over his shoulder. “See if you can find some more bandages.” He was afraid the others would argue more, but they didn’t. He heard their feet shift. Somebody-he didn’t look back to see who-handed him another pack and then another. He passed them on to the Lizards.

By the time the bus pulled up in front of the Mills and Petrie Memorial Center in Ashton, the injured Lizards were swathed in enough gauze to make them look like something halfway between real wounded soldiers and Boris Karloff as the Mummy. Men in Army khaki, civilian denim and plaid flannel, and every possible combination thereof milled around in front of the stone and yellow brick building.

Through the open driver’s window, Mutt Daniels yelled, “We got Lizard prisoners in here. What the devil we supposed to do with ’em?”

That drew all the attention he wanted and then some. People converged on the school bus at a dead run. Some pushing and elbowing followed, as men of higher rank made those below them give way. The first officer who actually got into the bus was a full colonel, the highest-ranking fellow Yeager had seen in Ashton (when he’d joined up a couple of weeks before, Sergeant Schneider had been the highest-ranking soldier in Ashton).

“Tell me how you took them, soldier,” he said in a drawl almost as thick as Mutt’s. “They’re some of the very first Lizard captives we’ve managed to get our hands on.”

“Yes, sir, Colonel Collins,” Daniels answered, reading the name badge on the officer’s right breast pocket. He ended up telling only part of the story, though, for the rest of the men, Yeager among them, kept interrupting with details of their own. Sam knew that wasn’t showing proper military discipline, but he didn’t care. If this Colonel Collins, whoever he was, didn’t want to listen to Americans speaking their minds, to hell with him.

Collins listened without complaint. When the story was done, he said, “You boys had the luck of the devil-I hope you know that. Hadn’t been for those Warhawks takin’ out the enemy helicopters” (So that’s the right name for them, Yeager thought), “you could’ve had a mighty thin time of it.”

The colonel strode down the center aisle of the bus to get a closer look at the Lizards; like almost everyone else in the still free part of the United States, he hadn’t yet really seen any of them. He brushed past Yeager, studied the prisoners for a couple of minutes, then turned back to their captors. “Don’t look like so much, do they?”

“No, sir,” Yeager said, in chorus with the other Americans. Collins, he thought, looked like quite a lot The colonel was about Mutt’s age, but with that and their accents the resemblance between them ceased. Collins was tall, still slim, handsome, with a full head of silver hair. He didn’t keep a chaw in his cheek. Without the uniform, Yeager would have guessed him a politician, say, the mayor of a medium-sized and prosperous city.

He said, “You boys did somethin’ special here; I’ll see you’re all promoted for it.”

All the men grinned. Mutt said, “Sergeant Schneider, back there in Amboy, he deserves a big part o’ the credit, sir.” Yeager nodded vigorously.

“I’ll see that he gets it, then,” Collins promised. “Any time privates speak well of a sergeant when he’s not around to hear it, I reckon he’s some sort of special man.” As the soldiers chuckled, Collins went on, “Now the thing we have to do is get these Lizards someplace where they can be studied by people who have a chance of figuring out what they’re all about and what they’re up to.”

Yeager spoke up. “I’ll help get ’em there, sir.”

Colonel Collins fixed him with a cold gray stare. “You so eager to get out of the front line, eh, soldier?”

“No, sir, that doesn’t have a thing to do with it,” Yeager said, first flustered and then angry. He wondered if Collins had ever been in the front line. Maybe during the First World War, he admitted to himself. He didn’t know how to read the fruit salad of service ribbons on the colonel’s left breast.

“Why should I pick you in particular, then?” Collins demanded.

“Best reason I can think of, sir, is that I’ve been reading science fiction for a long time. I’ve been thinking about men from Mars and invaders from space a lot longer and harder than anybody else you’re likely to find, sir.”

Collins was still staring at him, but not in the same way. “Damned if I know what kind of answer I expected, but that’s not it. You’re saying you’re more likely to be mentally flexible around these-things-than someone chosen at random, are you?”

“Yes, sir.” Yeager hadn’t been in the Army long, but he’d learned in a hurry not to promise too much, so he hedged: “I hope so, sir, anyhow.”

Like managers, officers earn their pay by making up their minds in a hurry and then following through. After what couldn’t have been more than a ten-second pause, Collins said, “Okay, soldier, you want it so bad, you’ve got it. Your name is-?”

“Samuel Yeager, sir,” Yeager said, saluting. He could hardly keep the grin off his face as he spelled Yeager.

The colonel pulled out a little notebook and a gold-plated mechanical pencil. He was, Yeager saw, a southpaw. He put the notebook away as soon as he’d jotted down Sam’s name. “All right, Private. Yeager-”

Mutt Daniels spoke up: “Ought to be Co’poral Yeager, sir, or at least PFC.” When Collins turned to frown at him, he went on blandly, “You did say you were promotin’ us.”

Yeager wished Mutt had kept his mouth shut, and waited for Colonel Collins to get angry. Instead, the colonel burst out laughing. “I know an old soldier when I hear one. Tell me you weren’t in France and I’ll call you a liar.”

“Can’t do it, sir,” Mutt said with a wide, ingratiating smile that kept a lot of umpires from throwing him out of the game no matter how outrageously he carried on.